I hated dreams. They were almost always insubstantial bits of nothing, laced with fear like a bad acid trip and leaving me filled with uneasiness that twisted in my belly.

It was bad enough that I had to live with that kind of shit in me anyway, but at least when I was aware, I could shove it down somewhere and lock it away—the locks I had in me, nothing could escape.

But when I was asleep? The dreams broke through the chains then and attacked and all but overwhelmed me at times.

That’s some dirty shit there.

He’s been dead for more than twenty years, but the fucker still haunts me. Him, the shit he’d done, the bruises he left on me…the look in my mother’s eyes when she walked in that day.

And the look in her eyes when I found her the next day, lying dead in the bathtub, her blood a red stream on the floor.

After that, it was me, alone with him…and her.

At least the dreams weren’t about her this time, her and those pitiful cries.

Blood washed across my vision as awareness slowly came back on me, the dregs of the dream clinging like old, slime-covered chains, dragging me down into the darkness.

He’d kicked me.

It had been his favorite thing to do if I was in the mood to fight him, and sometimes I was. The older I got, the more I fought him; the harder I fought, the dirtier I fought.

He’d wanted to hurt me again and I’d tried to run so he’d grabbed me and thrown me down and kicked me.

“Let it go, Sly,” I told myself, trying to shove the fading echo further away. It was just a dream and I knew it.

Darkness spread like a blanket around me and I lay there, forcing myself to accept it, forcing myself to tolerate it. I wanted the lights on but I didn't get up to throw back the curtains and I didn't hit the lamp on the table next to my bed. Not until I counted out a full five minutes in my mind.

Here I am, twenty-nine years old, world famous magician, the infamous O'Malley, and I'm afraid of the fucking dark.

Just one more scar left over from a childhood so fucked up, I couldn’t even bring myself to think about it; not if I want to stay remotely sane.

Once the five minutes was up, I sat, well aware that my heart was still racing but it wasn’t going to pass until there was some light on. I hit the switch for the lamp on the table and blew out a slow, controlled breath.

Golden light fell on the floor, a small pool of it that was so welcome, I felt like a baby just sitting there and staring at it.

The relief I felt at having light was so welcome, I almost made myself turn it off. But I didn't. It was okay to find comfort in simple things. Okay to find respite now. Hell, I'd taken a lot of respite over the past few years, all but gorged on some of the finest shit money could buy. The suite I’d chosen for myself in the hotel was a salute to the almighty dollar and a reminder to myself that I wasn’t the scared little boy who used to get thrown outside the trailer if that old bastard thought I was being too loud.

Left alone, out in the dark, hearing coyotes howl and wondering if I’d be their next meal.

I still hated that fucking sound.

I stared at the light for a few more seconds, then slowly clenched all the muscles in my body, held them tight before letting the tension drain away. With it, the rest of the dream fell away and finally looked out the window.

It was early yet, dawn not quite a kiss on the horizon.

Since I’d performed last night, it had been late when I got in and I’d been too wired to sleep. I probably hadn’t shut down until three. And the clock told me it was just a little after six in the morning.

Three fucking hours of sleep.

* * *

The text from LeVan had me rolling my eyes.

Mac’s running late. He’s held up at the baby doctor. Nothing serious so don’t panic.

I’d forgotten there was one of those appointments today and almost texted back asking why there was another one—hadn’t she just been like two weeks ago?

But the memory of Angel’s basketball belly rose up in my mind and I decided maybe women went to the baby doctor more often as they got closer. Made sense, I guessed. I wasn’t about to ask. I was scared to death of all this stuff anyway and doing my best to hide it.

My phone chimed again as I stepped inside the elevator, eyes gritty. I was so tired, my lids kept drifting down and lingering for longer periods each time. I was going to have to get some sleep tonight if it was the last thing I did.

The message from LeVan had me scowling, and I hurriedly hit the button that would take me to Mac’s floor. I’d almost missed it.

Stop by Mac’s apartment and see if you can find his notes for the new act he’s thinking about. He mentioned he wanted to run it by us. Said the notes were on his desk, but I’m already down here.

Two more minutes and I would’ve been down in the lobby, but LeVan was already in the practice area, which meant even if I was in the lobby, I was still closer to Mac’s than he was.

Sighing, I dug into my wallet for the keycard that would let me into his place.

Music blasted over me the second I stepped inside.

Loud, in your face music.

Frowning, I looked around, but couldn’t see much of anything past the plywood and plastic obscuring the entryway. That sure as hell wasn’t Mac’s kind of music. I had no idea what Angel listened to, but for some reason, I hadn’t pictured her being into the bump and grind beat I heard coming from Mac’s excellent sound system.

Taking one slow step after another, I eased deeper into the apartment. I couldn’t see Angel just leaving the music blasting like this—Mac, maybe, if he was really…

“Son of a bitch,” I muttered.

Reaching up, I rubbed at my eyes, certain that what I saw in front of me wasn’t really there.

But when I lowered my hands, sure enough, the naked woman locked in some sort of weird yoga pose was still there…yoga-ing.

Naked.

Completely naked.

Her seriously tight ass was thrust up in the air at me and tired as I was, confused as I was by the entire thing playing out in front of me, my dick stood up and took notice. I could see the folds of her pussy and dark blonde hair.

I was about two seconds away from having to adjust myself when she straightened in a slow, fluid movement and thrust her arms high overhead, her slim back arching.

She had pale blonde hair, thick streaks of pink and blue—

Shit.

The hot little not-caterer I’d seen at Angel’s baby shower almost two weeks ago.

Just as recognition hit, she shifted her pose again, turning.

Our eyes locked, my green with her blue-green, and her mouth dropped open.

The music deafened me to anything she might say, but I didn’t need to hear her to know what she’d just said.

Her mouth—a very perfect mouth—formed the words What the fuck?

Me, I’ve never been one to show much shame for anything and she was the one doing yoga naked in my best friend’s apartment. I lowered my gaze to her tits and stared.

They were damn near perfect tits, too. Apple-sized, topped with dark, pert nipples that made me want to bite them. Under my gaze, those nipples stiffened, although I didn’t immediately assume it was because she was feeling the same punch of heat I felt.

No, all sorts of things caused that reaction and judging by the way she snapped to rigid attention, her small fists falling to her sides as she straightened, anger was behind that telltale reaction.

Idly, I decided it was a good thing that men didn’t get hard-ons when they got pissed, the way a woman’s body might cause her nipples to tighten like this pretty lady’s were doing. I’d end up spending half my life fighting down an erection if that were the case.

She glared at me as she strode over to the couch and grabbed something. Sadly, it was a shirt. As she jerked it on over her head, I got another look at the curls between her thighs—a front view this time—and I had no doubt that pale blonde hair on her head was natural.

A split-second after I decided that, the music cut out and I looked up to see her holding a remote in her hand.

“Thanks for that,” I said. “I was about ready to drill a hole in my head to make it stop.”

She pursed her lips, a prissy, uptight look that was entirely too appealing. But hell, I’d just seen her naked. She could tell me to kiss her ass and I’d be intrigued.

“You frequently go around ogling strangers?” she demanded.

“Nah, only when they’re naked and doing yoga in my best friend’s home.” I paused, then added, “I assume Mac knows you’re naked and doing yoga in his home.”

She didn’t strike me as crazy, but one never knew.

She sniffed, that prissy look settling back on her face. “Considering the fact that I’m currently staying here, I don’t think he minds if I’m doing yoga.”

“Naked yoga?” I fired back. She was staying here? Who the fuck was she to be staying with Mac? “You a friend of Angel’s?”

“No. I’m her cousin.” She fluffed her hair and I noticed that the pink still hadn’t faded from her cheeks.

Well, shit.

My dick slowly started to deflate.

I had few rules when it came to sex, but I didn’t fuck women who were connected to my friends.

“I need to get something from Mac’s office,” I said, turning away and heading in the opposite direction. “Some advice… If you don’t want people ogling you? Naked yoga might not be the best form of exercise unless you know one hundred percent you’ll be alone the entire time you’re doing it.”