Are you hurt, ma'am?

Are you alone?

Are you the manager for Shaw Financial?

Questions bombard me from all sides, making the pain in my head ten thousand times worse. For a second, I'd give anything to be back in the frosty silence with Trent.

Just me, him, and a yawning void, broken open only when we can't hold it anymore.

“I'm...fine,” I tell the big burly black man in the firefighter uniform with his hands on my shoulders. His grip is strong, sturdy, brings me back to life. “Yes, thank you. Yes, I'm sure. Fine.”

Hardly.

I'm actually anything but. My eyes stab through the small crowd, trying to find Trent, aching to deliver one more subtle bombshell: this isn't over, you prick.

I had a hundred questions on the tip of my tongue and lost them all the instant our saviors showed up.

How could he say such horrible things after saving my life? Not just insulting, but insane.

Trent Usher is delusional. He's convinced himself the past is wrong. Somehow, someway, he honestly believes the nuclear hellfire he unleashed on our lives really isn't his fault.

He thinks he's a victim. Thinks he's in the right to march back in our lives after half a decade and turn everything upside down again.

He's maddeningly set on ruining Jace, blaming him for...I don't even know.

My brother was an idiot. He was up to his neck in their scheme, too dumb to realize he was getting played by Trent's brains.

But Jace isn't malicious. He wasn't steering that mess. I'll never believe it.

He couldn't have possibly orchestrated the filth they found in the burned out hulk of my crashed convertible, abandoned on a remote stretch of coast outside Olympia, the car bloody with DNA we never had tested because we decided to show mercy...

No. Hell no.

My brother's not that stupid. He's not an actual criminal. More like a gullible accomplice.

I swallow hard, craning my neck, trying to spot Trent in the crowd. One of the cops is sick of my tight-lipped act. He spins me around, mutters something to an EMT about “checking the lady for a concussion,” and reminds us the building's being evacuated.

I'm too dizzy to ask why. I just hear his voice in the corner, incredulous, defiant. “What the hell do you mean? I'm not going anywhere. I've got a trip to the thirtieth floor to make and I'm not leaving –”

“Sir, whatever business you have will have to wait. Building's closed. Sustained too much damage from the power outage, the elevator crash. It started a fire on the first floor that took us hours to control. Same reason it took so long getting up here.”

“Fire?” It's the last word I hear on Trent's lips.

Then there's a flurry of hands around me, grabbing for mine, helping me through the steel door. They treat me like a toddler learning to walk. It takes forever to get downstairs and pass through the door to sweet freedom on the floor above the lobby.

And when I'm on ground level again, waiting outside the yellow emergency tape and cones for a taxi, it's a fight not to rush back inside through the chaos, through the billion cops.

Yes, I'm ground down, dazzled by the fresh morning air, and chilled by the nightmare I just survived.

And I still want to strangle Trent Usher. Right after I find out what happened the past few years to turn him into a self-righteous prick living an alternate reality.

“Don't be stupid,” I tell myself, whispering under my breath as a blue and white cab pulls up.

He wants me in stitches. Limping home with questions rattling my brain. Trent would love it if I gave him more rent in my head than he really deserves, and as hard as it is to forget what just happened, I need to try.

The ride to the hotel takes forever in the early morning rush hour traffic. I barely remember to tip the driver. My brain is on fire, begging for sleep. Good, nourishing rest – not the two or three choppy hours that left a kink in my neck, broken by Mr. I-Need-to-Pee pounding on the door.

I don't know why I think I'll win that game where you try not to think about something. It never works.

But, I'm trying my damnedest, the whole way up to my room. I take the stairs, skipping out on the elevator. It'll be a good long while before I'm comfortable in a metal box again, even though the climb finishes off my knees.

At last, peace and quiet. The huge king-sized bed in the middle of the room beckons like the world's best chocolate – something I'm sure I'll seek out later to kill the sugar craving pulsing in my stressed out veins. I yank the curtains shut, wash my face, and crash down in the pillows face first, inwardly cursing his name every spare second.

Screw you. This isn't over.

When I have the energy and the heart and the focus to track you down, I will.

Cryptic words won't save you next time.

Two can play at ripping old wounds open.

And it just so happens I've got an arsenal of salt to pour.

* * *

"I'll talk to Maxwell. You have my word.” His palms sweep across my face and my heart pounds happily in my ears.

Tonight those big hands hold the world, so many promises, only outdone by the gorgeous shine in his eyes.

It's a seductive one, too. The wet, tense heat pools between my legs, fiercer by the second, twisting my belly in knots.

This...this is happening. Holy hell.

I shift against him, leaning forward slightly, brushing my lips on his. Just kiss me again. Please.

But Trent isn't done talking, no matter how seductively I try to run my fingers up his huge biceps. "Now, much as I like your folks, they're the last fucking thing I want to talk about while I'm breaking you in."

Thunder rumbles in his throat. The next time our lips touch, it's perfection.

Hot and wet and so electric.

Incandescent. The fire in my lower belly flares through me, igniting everything in its wake, plucking every nerve.

My nipples call to him beneath my gown. My thighs pinch shut, seeking sweet friction.

Just a brief flash of relief from this inferno pulsing in my core. His hand sweeps down my back the longer we kiss.

Tongues and hands and bodies unite, finding their natural rhythm.

I need more. Now. A need so potent it's making me delirious.

Trent's knees knock gently against mine. His lips dive bomb mine again, then pull back, making me beg. Then he hauls me up, wraps my legs around his body, and takes us to bed.

I crash down under him with a whimper. His hands trawl my legs, feeding new flames, a sultry look in his majestic blue eyes that says, tonight you'll bare your all, Precious, and I will fucking take it.

No argument here. It's been an insane few weeks.

Ever since the kiss on Bainbridge, the catalyst that never should've followed a volley of insults, we've been inseparable. It's shocking how fast things change.

I'm even more shocked my stupid brother hasn't noticed, but then, he's been busy juggling Lindsey and that skank, Georgia, again. Both at once. Behind each others' back.

No, I'm not letting my ex-best friend know. If she wants to keep hooking up with Jace, she'll learn his faults the hard way.

I'm doing the same with Trent, aren't I? Risking my heart?

Fair is fair.

Oh, but there's nothing fair about how my body tingles when his lips stamp a soft line up my throat. His fingers lace through my hair, bringing my face to his again and again. He pauses for breath, pressing his forehead against mine. We share a moment drunk on wanton anticipation, sex and fire mingling in our veins.

“Get this thing off, Presh. Show me every inch of you.” He gives my shoulder strap a fierce tug, making room for me to sit, helping me up with his hands.

So, this is it. My teeth dig into my bottom lip while I grab the hem, lift it up, peeling it off my body.

Just panties underneath. Soaked in a way I desperately want to hide.

Nothing escapes his eyes. I'm more naked, more vulnerable, more turned on than I've ever been.

Trent notices the wet heat pooling between my legs. Shoving his hand in my cleft, he toys with me through the drenched fabric, stroking my labia. “Fucking hell, darling. You need it bad. Almost as bad as I do.”

I nod. Awestruck that a man like him could be tangled up in the same wild urges ripping through me.

This is wrong on so many levels, and it's never been more right.

I wasn't supposed to go down like this. Not with him.

Dad always hoped I'd find someone richer, softer, probably older and wiser. But no other boy ever would've captured my heart from the very first kiss.

No other boy would've made me wait years, want and hate locking swords in my heart, begging for the day we'd put that all aside and sort our issues out in the flesh.

Today. Tonight. Now.

Trent's teasing fingers quicken their strokes while his mouth collides with mine, pushing me into the bed again. A groan spills out of him and his tongue returns to mine. It's my turn to moan when his fingers find my clit.

What sweet hell is this? What agony? It's a delicious torture, a needy pleasure, numbing my senses. Everything dulls except the lightning heat in my nerves screaming more.

“Trent!” I whimper, once his fingers find their pace. I'm close to breathless.

Growling, he shoves my panties aside, the better for his fingertips to stroke my naked pussy.

I'm coming apart.

They tease my entrance, but don't quite force their way in.

“Look at me, woman,” he rumbles, slowing his frantic strokes until I meet his eyes. “This is what's haunted my dreams since the first day I laid eyes on you. This is what I've wanted. This is where my dick belongs. This, beautiful, is my pussy now. And after I've had it, neither one of us will ever be the same.”

There's a wicked weight in his words. A truth that adds more fuel to my pulse. I reach for his neck, winding my fingers down his skin, loving how strong, how big, how powerful this man actually is.

He wouldn't be here if it were any other way. The bigger question is whether I can handle him.

It's a serious, pointed question, too, just a second later, when he rears up, pulling on his belt. Once it's unclasped, he pauses, a vicious smirk on his lips. “Take a good long look, Amy Kay. You want a peepshow, you'll get it.”

His face disappears behind his shirt as it rolls over his head. In the years since I've seen him shirtless, he's become sculpted. All tight muscle packed on manly bones, big and broad enough to end the world. There's a smattering of ink on one shoulder, connecting to the black lightning coursing up one arm. A majestic wolf's face that wasn't there a few summers ago catches my eye.

“What's this for?” I whisper, my fingers gingerly reaching out, marveling at his muscle. The design fits him perfectly, glowing on his skin like a brand for a dark angel.

“It's a reminder, Presh. Tells me I've got the heart, the will, the drive to do anything I set my mind to. Also lets me know I'm a pack animal, however much I wish it weren't true. Wolves defend their kin like nothing you've ever seen. Saw it in a documentary once.” Something about that makes me smile, the idea of big, tough, brainy Trent kicking back in a chair, watching a nature show.

“They'll rip the whole world to shit if the people they love are threatened. Call it dumb, I don't care, there's something noble there.”

“That's why we're getting naked? So you can talk about your favorite animals?” Teasing, I run my fingers down his chest, suppressing a lustful shudder. I've reached his abs, and oh my God...chiseled isn't even the right word.

They're a coiled six pack. Maybe even eight. Just one look, one gentle touch, makes me imagine what they can do, how many different ways they help his godly body twist and fight and fuck.

“You know damn well why I came by tonight,” he growls, his blue eyes turning darker. “Next words I hear out of your mouth better be screams, Precious. You've given me plenty of grief with that mouth, and I'd be a liar if I said I haven't imagined all the ways I'll wash that sass right out.”

And how.

The bastard kisses me, shutting up my playful tongue. My little fingers haven't lost their fight, though. They hook in his half-open belt and tug. He breaks the kiss, gives me a sexy smile, and then hooks his hands on his jeans, fingering the loops. “Thanks for your patience, ma'am. Special delivery.”

“Dork!” Even through the killer heat throbbing in my veins, I push him gently in the ribs, laughing as he rips his jeans down.

Silence reigns the second I see the outline of his cock. “Don't worry. I'll teach you to suck the hell out of this in good time. For now, I've got bigger plans...”

I'm blushing like the excited, scared virgin I truly am as he stands at the edge of the bed, steps up to me, and grabs my hand. He moves it to his boxer's waistband, pinching my fingers tight. “Go ahead. Open your present. It's Christmas morning.”

It's mid-July, and we both know it. I'm far too curious to laugh at his ridiculousness this time.

I give it a vicious tug. There's an elastic snap, a helping push from his hands, and then –

“Holy. Shit.” I don't know what pops out faster: my words or my eyes. They both want to leave my body the second I see what he's been hiding.

It's thick. It's enormous. It's as hard and determined and maybe a little pissed off as the rest of him.

Trent wraps a fist around the base, gives it a squeeze, and pushes his fingers up to the swollen head. A string of pearly liquid flows out his opening. For a girl who's never seen a penis in the flesh before, I'm stuck on the size. There's no hiding the fact he's huge, and I'm forced to wonder all over again if I'm physically ready for this.

But that question seems less relevant by the nano-second. He pulls my hand to his shaft. New heat screams in my blood the instant I feel his fullness, warm and tense and pulsing.

“Just like that, yeah. Give it a few more pulls before my tongue takes over.”

Tongue? I don't get what he's talking about as I give his throbbing, gorgeous cock a few quick pumps.

I don't understand until his lips start at my bare shoulder, arcing down, down, down. Trent palms my right breast, pulling the nipple with his teeth. It's sharp and brusk and oh so warming.

Hello, master. Now, I know.

This tongue knows what it's doing, and so do his lips. Every time he lifts back, encircling my breasts, the sweet tension sends new shocks through my body.

I'm writhing on his hand, helpless for his fingers, pinching my thighs shut. Trent growls, grinding his fingers harder against my pussy, taking my left breast in his stormy mouth.

My pussy aches. My heart beats a firm relentless thud in my temples.

I'm not in Kansas anymore. Or Washington. Or anywhere in the same universe.

The beast on top of me rockets pleasure through my body, bringing me closer to my very first O with a man.

Oh, and what an O.

What a brutal, glorious, soul splitting O it will be.

“Presh, spread your legs. Lift your butt. These are coming the hell off now.” His head slips down and his rough arms pin my legs against his shoulders. His teeth carefully but swiftly hook to my panties and pull.

They saunter down my legs in one quick burst. Raw need roars through me.

There's nothing but his pulse, this heat, this wild, wild fire pining for his touch. His head snaps to the side and I hear the faint sound of my bottoms hitting the floor.

“Please, Trent,” I whisper. “Please. Show me what that tongue can do.”

My mouth isn't the only one that's been hell for us in the past. The things he's done to me over the years with those piercing eyes, that Herculean body, those whip-sharp lips, and every word they give...

It ends here tonight in a licking, tangled mess. Or does it ever end?

I can't tell where I begin as soon as his kisses land on my thighs. He moves between them in perfect balance, crawling up my legs, feeding the inner flames.

Trent pauses, lips against my swollen pussy, hot breath wafting a tease. The first flick of his tongue on my clit splits me in two.

He growls into me, holding my legs apart, intoxicated on my scent, my taste, my pleading hips. Every movement, every harsh whimper, every moan urges him on. His tongue quickens, dipping inside me, lashing my inner walls.

It's filthy and delightful and I think – oh, God! – I think I don't have a prayer.

I can't last long.

There's barely time to throw my hands over my head, clench the sheets in angry fistfuls, and suppress a scream.

Hell, screw suppressing. Good thing my parents aren't home.

His tongue starts on my clit. I can't even dream of staying muffled. I'm over in a bellow, a flash of legs shaking on his shoulders, a convulsion. The fireball in my lower belly explodes, pouring out, bathing my brain in pleasure.

I come on his face. I come so hard it hurts.

Pinching my teeth together, drowning in his frantic licks, yanked into the undertow by the fiery rings he traces between my legs. They all scream this mantra: don't fucking stop, Precious. Come for me. Come hard. Come now.

And I do. I so freaking do.

Pleasure yawns wide with his face working overtime, swallows me up, and seems to go on forever. But even this delicious madness has to end. I come down from my high, white-knuckling the sheets, my vision finally working again.

I'm just in time to see Trent Usher drawing my legs up as he kneels between them, wonderfully naked. He's the pinnacle of oh, fuck and so fucking hot. His abs draw my eyes, a perfect view between my legs, still shaking as he pins them against his body.

Something soft and metallic glistens in one hand. His teeth tear the corner as he raises it to his lips. A condom, I realize, watching him roll it onto his pulsing length a second later. Then his fullness is against me, hard and thick and ready.

“Any last words as a virgin, Presh? Be quick.” He pinches my legs tighter against his rock hard body.

“Just take me,” I say, eyes locked on his, amazed how bad my cunt wants him again so soon after coming on his mouth. I stiffen, grinding my wetness against his cock, greedy and impatient. “Fuck me, Trent Usher.”

The spark in his eye goes from admiring to feral. Then his hips plow forward, crashing into mine, feeding his hardness into me.

My back arches. Pain and pleasure and a little shred of panic explode in my brain. But I fight through the bad parts, determined to take this, to make my first time something I'll remember on my deathbed.

That part is easy.

How could I forget the glint in his eye as he mounts me for the first time, claiming my flesh?

How could I forget the fierce ripple of muscle in the moonlight, or how the wolf moves on his skin as he digs in to the hilt?

How could I ever forget the slow, powerful thrusts forming my body to his?

They come in a steady wave, fusing us, making my pussy fit him like silk.

“Trent!” I whimper the one word I'm able to remember as he fucks me.

“So tight, Presh. So good. So goddamned mine tonight.” He's able to talk because I guess he's done this a thousand times.

But there's a wicked satisfaction when I see his face contort. He's holding back, controlling the full power thrusts, fighting the need to give it to me like I'm just another warm, wet place for his cock to take control.

I'm not just another woman. I'm his, the one he's wanted for years. I'm going to make him come so hard he can't think.

It's another minute of frantic thrusting before I wonder if that's possible. Trent leans in, bowing my legs, grinding in deeper and faster, the better to ignite my clit. His lips fall on mine with a hunger, a groan, a muffled word I never expected.

It sounds like, “finally.”

“Fucking finally,” he grunts again, breaking the kiss, running our foreheads together. “It's even better than the thousand times I imagined fucking you, Amy Kay. All the nights I beat my dick to you, to us, to having you under me. Fuck!”

“Trent, yes!” His name hangs on my lips. I kiss him again, quick and messy, loving how the friction wrings more pleasure out of him the harder and longer we fuck.

The pain and discomfort in my virgin flesh fades. Our hips collide, faster and faster, and soon I'm in a headlong rush toward my second O, wishing so bad he'd come with me.

I want him losing control. I want him giving up. I want him breaking deep inside me, filling me, surrounding the edgy strongman act so I can see his soul bared for just a few impossible seconds.

“Trent...”

“What did I tell you, Amy Kay?” he growls, slowing his thrusts until I stare into his eyes. “Screams. Only thing I want leaving your mouth when I'm balls deep and damn close to coming.”

God, yes. I want it.

Want him to join the frenzy in my veins, my pulse, pinching my legs tight to him to draw him in deeper, harder, closer to the beautiful end.

Come the hell with me, Trent Usher, I beg inside my head, too lost to make words with my lips.

My mouth gives him screams aplenty.

They tell him everything. My pussy betrays my deepest want, my need, every time it convulses around his cock; sucking, pulling, pleading.

Trent. I grab at his arms, hold on tight, and buck my hips into him.

A small gasp escapes his throat. His rhythm changes. Before, a gradual rise in tempo and tension, but now the wall is down.

Trent! He's thrusting harder, doubling his speed, his amazing ass clenched under my ankles. If this is what it is to be power fucked, then I'll never have it any other way.

Trent, Trent, Trent!

Can't think. Can't breathe. Can't do anything except stare into his fierce eyes offering their conquest, and try to keep up with his rhythm.

I lose the battle I barely knew was happening inside me in an instant. His huge chest swells, I hear him take a guttural breath, and then he goes absolutely ballistic between my legs. Lightning electrifies every nerve, bringing me off.

Bringing me down.

I come so hard on his cock I think I lose my vision, my hearing, my tactile sensation all at once. But I can still hear, still feel where we're joined together, and what comes next drives me to places I never knew existed.

There's a rough hand in my hair, tugging like mad, holding me down as he slams his last full measure into me. Then there's a swelling against mine, his cock growing bigger, brandishing new heat against my walls.

“Fuck, Presh. Fuck!” It's the last thing I hear. Then the pleasure becomes so deafening it drowns out everything.

It's just me and him. Trent and Amy Kay, lost in each other, the cord to the universe severed by orgasmic bliss.

We come beautifully. It's a lovely chaos, sweat and flesh and thudding hearts, madness and hoarse screams. I don't even bother to hold mine back, knowing we've got this huge place to ourselves.

Even if we didn't, I'm not sure I'd be able to care or stop.

Trent has officially fucked me into ruin.

And I already want him to do it again and again and again.

I don't open my eyes until I feel him pull out of me, sated for now. It won't last long, and I'm looking forward to it.

Trent ties off the condom, leans over the bed, flicks it into my bin. “You sure housekeeping won't squeal?”

“Oh, no. Julia Davis likes me too much to tell mom or dad unless I'm really doing wrong. I'm also eighteen now. Legally obliged to screw your brains out without consequences, Mr. Usher, or did you already forget?” I nuzzle my face against his chest, fingers dancing across his rigid muscle. Reaching up, I pat his cheek, loving the five o'clock shadow there.

More like nine o'clock if I'm being honest. He hasn't shaved in at least a day. Picturing him with a beard just makes me wet all over again.

“I forgot all kinds of things after that,” he says, stroking my cheek, then bringing my face up to his. “You fuck like a mad woman, Presh. Or a desperate one. All the years playing good girl must've made you horny as hell. Love it.”

The new flush scorches my cheeks, giving me away. It's strange how good he is at making me feel so bare, so honest, especially when I'm completely naked. “Good. Then you'll help a girl make up for lost time,” I whisper, brushing my lips against his.

I pull back before he can kiss me. His eyes are narrowed, annoyed, but so turned on. If I look down, I know I'll see him getting hard again, ready for a second round.

“So we're going casual then? Making this all about the sex? Good. No need to talk to Maxwell.”

“Idiot!” I play-punch him in the shoulder.

Bad joke. It makes me laugh because I know he'll talk to dad soon. I'm so incredibly lucky to have him. To have this.

He grabs my little wrist, a rich dark chuckle in his throat, and pulls me into another divine kiss.

We thought we'd found paradise that night, and nothing could ever ruin us. If we'd had the faintest hint of the evil waiting the very next day, I wouldn't have been so naïve.

Or so defenseless.

The world would make me pay dearly for ever thinking a Happily Ever After was in our cards.

* * *

Dreams. Nightmares. Memories.

They blur together restlessly in my afternoon sleep. I pull the sheets tighter, hating how I wake up with my heart pounding, and slightly wet.

Dreaming about our first time does that.

Then I remember I hate him, and the new Trent Usher I met downtown is a far bigger asshole than the boy I left behind.

I crash back down into the pillows, hands over my face, hating the pale gray Seattle sun seeping through a crack in the curtains. The sandman easily chases me down a second time and works his magic.

Hate, confusion, frustration, and lost love form a strange geography in my sleeping mind. I hear voices. Remember the morning after our first time.

I woke up to an empty bed, our sex sheets still wrapped around me. Trent was gone.

But the house wasn't empty. I crept out of my room, following the voices, ears pricked up and heart doing nosedives for no good reason. I couldn't miss the edge, the anger in their words, right away.

“Fuck you, Usher. I don't need your brains to bail me out of this one. It's too damn late for second thoughts. You were the one who said we needed to raise capital, remember? Hell, if this money isn't good enough for you, maybe I'll just throw the whole wad at something else. I'm doing this for you, like a good friend and business partner. I listened to what you said. I –”

“Jace? Shut the fuck up. You're doing this for yourself, and you know it. No other reason why you'd even be this stupid, putting yourself and everybody else in danger. We need to get rid of this shit.”

There's a brutal pause. They're somewhere near the main door. Whatever touched the fight off, it's serious.

Last time I heard Jace use that wounded tiger tone, he wound up punching poor Michael Bowens. It was after the kid tried to come between him and his fling with Georgia Whats-her-face a couple years ago. I stop by the stairs, just out of sight, too afraid to see their faces.

Too afraid because, Jesus, what is this?

“No one's getting caught, Trent. No one. A fucking pit behind the boathouse is the last place in the world anybody'd ever look.”

“They don't need to be looking, asshole. Somebody just needs to find it. All it takes is a nosy person passing by on a boat, or one of your gardeners, or fuck, maybe a rich kid flying a drone. You'll wish it were Amy Kay or your folks. Anybody else will nail your dick to the floor. Same with my folks, and I sure as hell won't blame them after the bullshit you pulled on our property.”

Jace stops, snorts, bile in his voice. “You're forgetting one thing: it's my house, fucknut. My money. My deal. I'll be by later to get my crap out of your ma's garden. You don't want a piece of this, fine. Here's the fucking door.”

“Nice, asshole. Giving me the same courtesy you extended to ma after she put you up, did your laundry, cooked us food all summer.” More fury explodes in Trent's voice.

I hear one of the heavy double French doors out front spring open, slapping its safety stopper against the wall. “Shut up. Take your perfect angel act the hell out of here. Don't come back. I'll send somebody by your place for my stuff later. You rat me out, you mess with my shit, I will kick your ass, Usher. Hard.”

“Hilarious.” He draws in a ragged breath, and then whispers in a low growl, like he's right in my brother's face. “To think, I wasted five fucking years trying to tell everybody who insisted that you weren't an impulsive idiot, Jace. Stood by you like a brother. Good luck living under house arrest with Maxwell. If I can't stop you from fucking up your life, dear old dad will before you crash his campaign with no survivors.”

I lean forward, straining to hear more, but I can't make out the next few muffled words.

“Stay the fuck away!” Jace roars. “This was your idea, your scheme, your business. I promise, if you go digging any of that shit up and dumping it without my permission, we'll have problems. Don't take matters into your own hands, cock.” I wince, hear sneakers screech on tile, like he's lunging for Trent's throat. “You're not family, asshole. Never were. My parents. My house. My sister. You want to keep that perfect goddamn grin of yours intact, you'll keep away from everything. I'll pick up the pieces and we'll be done.”

Back in the present, I wake up with Jace's furious words stuck in my head. Ringing.

All these years later, I wish I'd heard Trent give a parting shot, tell my idiot brother he loved me, how he wouldn't walk away for anything.

Oh, but he did. He showed me how little.

We learned the entire truth the next day from a crying, shaken Jace. He showed us who the real wolf was all along, how foolish I'd been to ever trust him.

Speaking of Jace...I look down because the ringing hasn't stopped. It's not just in my head. My phone vibrates, nearly shaking itself off the nightstand.

“What?” I hit the accept call button, pressing the cool screen to my ear.

“Building will be out of commission for at least a week, sis. Christ, can't believe the mess there, I'm glad you weren't hurt.” Is he? He says it like a footnote, and not the whole reason I'm flat on my back exhausted, every bone in my body aching. “I know you're only out here for a couple weeks. Won't be practical to do much with showing you the floor in person, but if you'll let me send over some pics, I'd love to get your thoughts. We can still hash it out ”

“Hmmm.” I pretend I'm deep in thought. “Actually, bro, I've got a better idea: find yourself a real interior designer. First chance I get, I'm hopping on the first flight to Spokane, away from this shit show.”

“You can't!” He realizes how stupid that sounds as soon as it's out of his mouth. His next words are cold, but calmer. “Hell, sis, I wish you wouldn't, I mean. My hands are real busy here putting out fires. Clients have to meet with our boys and girls at noisy coffee shops and they don't like it. It's hell on confidentiality. We need a place to hang our hats again. Restore trust. Something worthy of a patent firm dad built. I need your help.”

He sounds so small, so crushed, almost on the brink of the same suffering I saw that week our lives changed forever. Heat stings my cheeks, angry, unable to shake off the dreams.

“Just send the stupid pictures, Jace. Schematics, too. I'll look them over. But I'm still planning to skip town the second I have a chance.”

“Really? Without even a visit to see me, or mom and dad?” He knows my guilt triggers and he pushes them deep. “Seriously a shame, sis. Where are you staying? I'd come down there, convince you stay myself, but I'm in the thick of it. Some really nasty surprises this morning. Not just the stuff with the firm...”

I blink, searching his words, wondering what he's hiding. Nasty surprises, he said. Trent's doing?

It isn't like him to back down so easily. Or hold his cards tight. The Jace I know should be pitching a non-stop fit until I agree to work my butt off fixing up the office, and tell him I'll stay in Seattle.

“What's going on?” I whisper, wondering if I can handle more bad news.

“Nothing, nothing, just Linds jumping down my throat. She's under the weather lately, that's all.” He's so tight-lipped every time he mentions my ex-best friend.

The one he married.

“Whatever, you're right, I don't want to know” I tell him, pinching my eyes shut. My temples begin throbbing all over again. “Good luck.”

“Yeah. Do me a favor and stay another day, Amy Kay. I'll be out there the second I get a chance to chat over drinks. Sorry, I know I haven't been real sympathetic to the crap that happened. Heard you got stuck in the elevator and all.”

“It crashed, Jace. Slid right down the shaft and smashed into flames. Less than a minute after I crawled off it. It would've killed me if –” I stop. Just short of praising Trent Usher, who saved my life, and now seems hellbent on ruining my brother's.

“Shit. Didn't know. That's gotta shake a soul up.”

He has no freaking clue. None whatsoever.

It's left me in pieces. “No promises. I'll think it over, Jace. I need some time,” I tell him, wishing for sweet silence. I almost hang up, but my conscience won't let me. “Oh, yeah, Trent's in town, by the way. Says he's gunning for you. We had a...run-in at the office yesterday. Same elevator.” There are no words for what really happened.

“Usher? Fuck me. That explains a whole hell of a lot. It must be him. I've gotta go.”

He hangs up first. Another surprise. Usually, he'll kill to have the last word.

Whatever he says, I see where his priorities are.

I'm once again stuck helping a man who doesn't want to help himself. I pull up the airline app on my phone, eyes lazily drifting over flight schedules.

I'll think about it, like I told him, but not much.

I'm so done. So ready to get the hell out of here and have a normal night's sleep in my own bed.

Lindsey keeps invading my head with her snake-like smile, too. I can't believe we were ever inseparable, once upon a time.

Things were never the same after the hell that started after the best night of my life.

Lindsey never saw my brother's flaws like I expected. She ran.

Or did she? She was there at the right time, right place, to lend him a shoulder to cry on. She saw money, power, an opening to worm her way in at my family's weakest hour. What started as a hookup became a way to sink her claws in.

Two years later, my frenemy was Mrs. Jace Chenocott. It's just a miracle they haven't had a kid yet. Then there'd be no avoiding the awkward family gatherings, where I try to talk to Linds like a normal human being, without my eyes betraying me. They want to tear her in two for stepping where she never belonged.

I push the uncomfortable thought away and listen to my rowdy stomach. I rummage through the stack of papers on the dresser for a room service menu. A simple burger, medium well, with garlic fries and a giant Butterfinger shake sounds delish. I stop just short of booking flights while I'm waiting for my food.

I decide to clean up instead. A nice hot shower strips the melancholy grease off my heart and the exhaustion from my bones. After, I pad into the room, digging through the messy pile I've left in front of my half-open suitcase, searching for a change of clothes.

There's a scrap of paper tucked into my pocket. It's the stuff from my purse I pulled out and stuffed inside this morning, before I crashed out. An envelope.

I don't remember what's inside until I lift it up, hold it under the lamp, and see the opening sentence.

I hope you go to hell, Trent Usher...

Fitting. And incredibly frustrating.

My hate letter was with me the whole time on that hellish ride. I never showed it to him once.

Crumpling the paper in my hands, I whip it into the waste bin with a snarl. My stomach growls something fierce as I'm pulling my pants up, waiting for the knock at the door a few seconds later.

Dinner. I tip the man wheeling the cart, waiting for him to leave.

Five bites in, I regret my order. My stomach is slowly eating itself alive and I've still got no appetite.

Awesome.

Somehow, I can't get my mind off the stowaway letter I just trashed. Or the insufferable bastard it's addressed to.

It was written years ago. More for my mental health than anything I'd ever seriously mail.

Now, that's different. My feelings haven't changed. Seeing him, hating him, kissing him all over again left bruises on my soul.

He can't get away with it so easy. Especially not while he's trying to ruin Jace!

My eyes drift over to the nightstand where I've tossed my purse. Inside, the small slip of paper he gave me before I gave him hell. It hasn't gone anywhere.

I have his room number.

It wouldn't be hard to fish the letter out, drop it at the front desk, pay the postage, and give Mr. Asshole Usher a parting shot he'll never forget. You can't buy therapy this cheap.

No. Don't be stupid, I tell myself.

I think the same thing again in every sullen bite, trying to enjoy my food. The shake goes down easier, thankfully. I need the sugar rush.

If I'm ever too sick at heart to feed my shameless sweet tooth, then I know for sure it's time to see a doctor. Or a mortician to check my pulse, I guess.

For the moment, I'm safe. I'll wait to book my flight, and ignore the stupid documents I'm expecting Jace to fill my inbox with anytime now. I'm in control, half a city away from Trent, I hope, though it hardly feels like enough distance.

If only I could ignore that damn letter.

Another minute passes, wrestling myself the whole time. Then I drag myself across the room, stoop next to the trash, and rescue the crumpled mess from oblivion. Familiar, shameful outrage storms my blood while I iron the letter smooth again with my elbow.

God, do I hate this.

Hate how I can't get him out of my head.

Hate how he's managed to turn my life upside down. Again.

Probably in ways I don't even notice yet, depending on what's happening to Jace this second.

Hate, hate, hate how he makes me feel small and scorned and iced all over. Turning me into a heart-stung, swindled little girl without a clue about the world must be his superpower. And if the kryptonite exists somewhere on this earth to make it stop, I haven't found it.

It took years to find my way back from his desolation.

My twenties are more than half over, the best decade of my life, or so everybody says. What have I done? Except for dropping out of Stanford my first year and running east of the Cascades, where I used my trust fund to jump start a chain of inns that's a hollow shadow of every business triumph my family ever had.

Some years still aren't breaking a healthy profit. I'm throwing my own money into the upkeep.

Trying like hell to forget the man who won't stay forgotten.

If I wasn't so used to disappointment by now, so numb to it, I might've sold the chain off a long time ago. Learned to walk away. I could take my failures as a learning lesson like a normal person, lick my wounds, and move on.

But he doesn't let that happen.

Trent fucking Usher condensed a lifetime of killing let downs into a few hazy weeks. He stole my heart and dropped me on my head with no apology, no explanation, and no remorse. He made his smirking memory impossible to bury.

You're not family, asshole. You never were. Jace's furious words echo in my head from the dream, clear as day, like an angry phantom materializing after six dire years.

I wish Trent were family. It would've been easier.

I never would've fallen so deep, so hard, so soon.

He never would've trampled my heart in the muck of his lies. All the crap I swallowed. Experienced. Believed.

It wasn't long after the morning that still hurts like hell, when he destroyed my shiny new convertible outside Olympia. But hijacking my car and leaving it a shattered wreck wasn't even the worst part.

Not even when the casualty was us.

It was what they found inside.