I’ve been letting Camille think she has the freedom to leave, but my phone is set to alert me if any of the perimeter doors or gates are opened, and if any of the motion sensors throughout the grounds are triggered. I feel a little guilty for the deception, but only a little. She knows what this is. Whether we’re civil with each other or not, and whether we dress it up and pretend to be in a relationship, she’s my hostage. That’s the cold truth.

I did let her out of the house to go shopping for clothes today. I think she enjoyed getting to pick out anything she wanted. She hasn’t said as much, but I get the impression she doesn’t come from money, so even the small luxuries are exciting for her. She’s not like some of the women I’ve been with in the past, ones who weren’t happy unless I was willing to spend millions on them. The money was never the problem, it was the type of woman who lusted after it. Nothing ever turned me off faster.

Now that it’s evening, it marks almost twenty-four hours since I took Camille hostage, and I’m starting to lose track of all the dangerous ideas I’m getting about her and the things I’d like to do to her.

My brothers are already starting to get suspicious of the way Camille and I act around each other, though, and it probably won’t be long before Jen picks up on it too. I’m going to have to talk to her and work something out, or else this whole facade will be for nothing.

Jen has wanted a woman in our lives for a long time now, but getting involved in a serious relationship has felt like it would betray my sister’s memory, like I’d be writing over what little bit of memory Jen has of her. Pretending to be involved with someone bought me time, but I knew sooner or later I’d have to either come clean or figure something out. Taking a hostage wasn’t exactly how I imagined figuring it out to go, but now that we’ve come this far, there’s no turning back. Besides, Camille seems to be fitting perfectly into my crazy little family. The only problem is now it almost feels too perfect, like all the time I’ve spent pretending was only paving the mental pathways to let Camille into my heart on a fast track.

I’m lounging in the living room while Jen and Camille are locked away in Jen’s room. I think I hear the faint sounds of music, which doesn’t surprise me. When Jen isn’t at school, she spends the vast majority of her time playing her guitar. She even uploads most of her stuff to YouTube and claims to have a few thousand subscribers. I’d be surprised if she was playing for Camille though, because Jen never lets me hear her music. She won’t even tell me the name of her YouTube channel.

I am surprised to hear the faint sound of Camille’s voice singing back though. I guess I did tell her that Jen thought she was a performer. Maybe she’s trying to sell the idea she’s some kind of singer? Which she actually could be based on what I can hear of her voice.

A few minutes after the two of them come out from Jen’s room laughing about something, there’s a loud, authoritative knock at the door

Cursing, I get up from the couch and grab the poker from the fireplace. “Go to your room,” I say to Jen. My heartbeat quickens and I ready myself for a fight. If Camille’s asshole of a boyfriend managed to find us, he’s going to have to learn a hard lesson. She’s not going back to him. No fucking way.

Jen and Camille ignore my alarm, creeping behind me to see who’s at the door.

I look through the peephole and see a very short woman with hair so bright red it can’t be natural.

I toss the poker aside, feeling the tension bleed out of me in an instant. It must just be the friend Camille was telling me about, though I’m not sure how she managed to get through the front gate without me buzzing her in.

I open the door.

The little woman looks to be in her twenties, like Camille, and she’s relatively pretty, but it’s hard to focus on anything but the blistering scowl she’s aiming up at me.

“You’re the kinda--” she starts, but I move forward, pushing a hand to her mouth and closing the door behind us.

When I remove my hand, she jabs a finger up to my face. Her eyes are bulging and her mouth is frozen in a small, angry “O” of surprise, and for a split second, I feel a real stab of fear toward this little woman. “You touch me again, and I will kill you in your sleep,” she hisses.

“You can’t talk about the kidnapping,” I say. “I don’t know what Camille told you, but she agreed to pretend she’s my fiancée. My daughter and my brother’s don’t know the truth.”

She plants her hands on her hips. “Great. So I can blow your whole creepy game up even more easily than I thought. You want to let me in, or do you want me to ram the fucking door down myself?”

I look her up and down and decide she definitely can’t ram the door down. “I’m not going to let you in, not until you give me your word that you’ll keep the secret.”

“No?” she asks, flashing a crazed smile as she rolls up her sleeves. “Then step aside, you gorgeous asshole, and say goodbye to your door!”

I sigh, moving to give her room.

She lets out a frenzied war cry and runs toward the door, throwing her shoulder forward at the last second. There’s an anticlimactic thump as she collides with the door then crumples in front of the still-intact door like a sack of potatoes. “Fuck,” she groans from the ground. I think she’s thrown in the towel, but one of her stubby legs shoots out like a piston and bangs into the door, which opens slightly a few seconds later, but only because someone inside turned the door handle and pulled it open a hair.

Camille’s face appears in the crack. “Did you want to come in?” she asks.

I motion for Camille to shut the door, and she thankfully obeys.

I kneel beside the little groaning woman. “Do we have a deal?”

“No,” she says. “A deal is when we both get something out of it. What do I get for keeping your secret?”

“You get to leave at some point. Alive.”

She narrows her eyes. “Really? You’re going to try to go the scary kidnapper route?”

I say nothing, only stare at her face that’s now glistening with sweat.

“I’ll keep your stupid secret,” she says. “But if you think you’re going to hurt my friend while I’m around, you just remember what I did to your door,” she says, kicking it one more time in emphasis.

Trying my hardest not to grin, I nod. “Fine. We have a deal, then? As long as I don’t hurt your friend, you won’t hurt yourself trying to ram me, and in exchange you keep my secret.”

She stands, brushes off her pants, and then spits in her palm and extends it toward me. “Deal,” she says.

I look at her glistening palm and then shake it. “This is disgusting. I hope you realize that.”

“I didn’t expect you to touch it, to be honest,” she says, moving through the door, wiping her hand off on the door frame as she passes through. She tackle hugs Camille once she’s inside, wrapping her legs around Camille until they both tip over and fall in a confusion of laughter.

Selene whispers something in Camille’s ear once they’ve regained their feet. Camille’s eyes bulge.

“No,” says Camille.

“You sure?” asks Selene. “I’m pretty sure we could bring him down. I go low, you go high. Don’t be afraid to use teeth, you know, the usual drill.”

Camille gives me an apologetic look. “I did warn you,” she says, as if in explanation.

I wave my hand dismissively. “It’s fine. She seems harmless enough.”

I realize my words were chosen poorly when I see the look on Selene’s face. “They all say that until I make a body out of them,” she says darkly.

“You can’t make a body out of someone,” says Camille. “People already have bodies, that’s just stupid.”

“You could totally make a body out of someone,” adds Jen.

“Right,” says Selene. “Like I turn them into a body. A corpse.”

“The girl who had to call me at 2 A.M. to kill a cockroach is out there making corpses and taking names. Uh-huh.” says Camille sarcastically.

“I take it you’ll be expecting a room?” I ask.

Selene nods, puffing her chest out and holding her head high. “Something with a view will do.”

“Who is this little firecracker?” asks Tanner, who walks out of the kitchen, followed closely by Murph.

“Selene,” she says, looking up at my towering brothers.

Tanner discreetly straightens his eyebrows and gets down on one knee, reaching for Selene’s hand. She lets him take it and watches with amusement as he plants a kiss on the top of her hand.

“I’m Tanner,” he says in a hilarious attempt at making his voice deeper and more sultry. “Tanner Sharp.”

“Selene,” she says, batting her eyelashes.

“Oh barf,” blurts Camille.

I chuckle. “I second that.”

Selene throws a glare at Camille, who still wears an unapologetically grossed out face. “What?” she asks. “Are you the only one who’s allowed to let a hot guy woo her? Maybe I want to be wooed too.”

Murph steps forward with an asymmetrical grin. “In that ca--”

“Not by you,” snaps Selene.

He clears his throat, shrugging at Jen, who is grinning at the scene playing out in front of her.

“I haven’t been--” starts Camille, but she seems to remember she’s supposed to be my fiancée mid-sentence. “I haven’t been wooed in hours, actually,” she says slowly. “I think I’m overdue, Dean.”

Even though I can tell she’s just trying to cover up nearly misspeaking, I can’t let the opportunity pass. I should, but I can’t. So I step forward, slide my hand around the small of her back, and lock eyes with her. Maybe I can get her out of my system. Just a taste. Just enough to get her out of my system so I can focus on helping her and not on my throbbing cock.

So I kiss her. My lips crash against hers and the power of the moment makes my ears ring. Her mouth is hot and sweet against mine. To my surprise, her soft lips lust for more and her teeth pull at my lip, fingers spearing through my hair and clutching on like she never wants to let go. Within seconds, I realize the kiss has had the exact opposite effect from what I intended. It only convinces me further that I might never be able to let her go, and knowing that makes my stomach go cold.

Jen clears her throat, surprising us both and breaking the spell. I look around, almost confused to see everyone standing there, watching us practically maul each other.

“Daddy, I’m going to have to politely ask you to never do that in front of me again. They don’t make bleach for the eyes, you know.”

Murph gives her an approving look. “Nice one, Jen.”

She gives him a quick fist bump.

“Why doesn’t everyone just get some sleep?” I ask a little breathlessly. “It’s late.”

“It’s 9 P.M., grandma,” says Murph.

“Get some rest,” I repeat more firmly. “You can pick a room, Selene. There are dozens of guest bedrooms.” I pause for a second, catching the look that passes between her and Tanner. “Actually, take the room on the West wing. The last room before the hallway ends.”

Tanner narrows his eyes. “The one on the opposite end of the house from mine, you mean?”

“Does it matter where her room is compared to yours, Tanner?” I ask.

“I guess not,” he says. “I’ve got legs.”

Selene’s cheeks redden, but the way she bites her lip shows no sign of embarrassment--or reserve, for that matter.

I watch everyone file out and wonder what I’ve gotten myself into. Just yesterday morning, Jen and I were living a relatively isolated life, and now my home is practically bursting with activity. My deadbeat brothers have a habit of staying for weeks or months without notice if I give them even the slightest excuse, and apparently asking them to watch Jen last night meant they could stay as long as they want. I could almost enjoy this, except I know it can’t last. Whether I want to think about it or not, I ripped this woman away from her boyfriend--her abusive, probably batshit crazy boyfriend.

It’s only a matter of time before he comes knocking, and there’s no telling what will come next.

“I really am sorry about her,” says Camille once everyone has headed to their rooms.

“You probably should be sorry,” I say. “You’re supposed to be my fucking hostage, but you called in backup.”

“I know. I know,” she says. “Selene is all I have, and I didn’t want her to think I was dead or something.”

“She hasn’t really killed anyone before, right?” I ask, only half joking.

Camille gives me a smile that’s not entirely reassuring. “No. I mean, probably not, at least. You’re not afraid of her, are you?” she asks, clearly trying not to smile.

“Only if she’s really planning to murder me in my sleep.”

“Just lock your door,” says Camille. “You saw how effective locks are against her just a few minutes ago.”

I chuckle. “Yeah. She’s going to have bruises after that.”

“So,” says Camille, cheeks flashing bright red. “That kiss was just for show, you know. I was thinking we probably need to make it look like we are into each other if anyone is going to believe us.”

Her meaning takes a moment to sink in, but when it does, my heartbeat quickens. “So you want to do that more often?”

“I don’t want to,” she says quickly. “I just think if you want your brothers and Jen to keep believing we’re engaged, it might be smart.”

“Yeah,” I say, holding back the pleased smile that threatens to split my face. “ I agree, that would be smart.”

Whether I like it or not, I don’t think I’m going to be able to keep Camille at arm’s length. There has never been a fucking challenge in my life I couldn’t overcome--just ask anyone who has tried to test me in the business world--but every man has his limit, and resisting Camille might just be mine.