I wake to sunlight pouring in from the bedroom window. I’m sweating and I want to say it’s because the windows were closed all night long, but I know that’s not it. I’m amazed I got any sleep at all after what happened, and even after all of that, all my mind goes back to is him cuffing me to the bed. Him on top of me. Kissing me. Touching me.

I squeeze my eyes shut because I know what I should feel is hate. Anger. Fear at his final words. But all I can do is remember his touch. How gentle he’d been, at least at first. Before his memories took hold of him. Made him remember why he was here.

But it’s the part before that moment my mind keeps going to.

The bedroom door is open. He didn’t sleep in the bed with me. I don’t know what he did after he walked out of here. All I know is his behavior only confirms one thing: he’s on a suicide mission. And this thing—his need for vengeance—it owns him.

I get out of the bed. My dress falls to my knees, reminding me I’m naked underneath. Reminding me he took my panties.

Barefoot, I silently creep down the hallway, but he’s not here. Not in the living room, kitchen or bathroom. I peek out the windows and don’t see his truck, but I’m not sure that means anything. My cell phone rings and I realize he left it on the kitchen table. I run to pick it up. It’s Devon.

“Hi Devon,” I say. I haven’t checked in with him since yesterday.

“Eve, good morning. I’m glad I caught you. I tried calling last night. Left several messages.”

“I’m sorry, I…” I run a hand through my hair. “Just had a long day with Michael.”

“A productive day, it sounds like. He’s meeting you at noon to see the McKinney house again?”

What?

“Think he’ll make an offer today?” Devon asks before I can get my thoughts straight.

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Zach’s been in touch with Devon? “I’ll let you know as soon as I do, though.”

“Well listen, it’s a shorter drive from your place so I figure you’ll head straight there rather than coming into the office first.”

“Devon, when did you talk to him?”

“Michael?”

“Yes.”

“This morning. He got here a few minutes after I did. Seems excited about the property and was very positive about you.”

I’m confused, not sure what to make of this.

“Anyhow, I’ll let you go. Just wanted to tell you good job and if you need anything, I’m here.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you this afternoon, I guess.”

“Oh, you had a couriered package arrive by the way. I signed for it. Remind me to give it to you when you get here.”

“Couriered?”

“It’s on my desk, but you know how my memory is.”

“I’ll remind you.”

“Good luck today.”

“Thanks, Devon.”

We hang up and I sink down into one of the kitchen chairs. I’m not sure what the hell is going on. Zach wants me back at the McKinney property? Why? He can come and go as he pleases here, that’s clear. So why have me meet him out there?

My phone buzzes with a text message. I look down at it. It’s from a number I don’t recognize. I swipe and enter my code to read it.

Don’t keep me waiting and don’t do anything stupid.

It’s him.

He’s set this up for me to meet him at that house. Is it because it’s so remote he wants to meet there? What does he plan to do to me?

I get up and walk back into my bedroom. He won’t hurt me. Not yet. If that was what he wanted, he would have done it last night. He wouldn’t have told Devon he’d be with me today if he had any intention of hurting me. He wants to make sure I come.

Choosing a suit, I quickly get dressed, pull my hair into a messy bun at the back of my head, dab on mascara and lip gloss, and head out of the house. I’m not going to run. I can’t. He still has my passport. And besides, I won’t run. I’m as involved as he is in this, whether I like it or not. Something is going on, it’s almost like someone expected him to be alive. Knew it. Because hadn’t I asked the same question he did last night?

Why had I survived that massacre when no one else had?

Why was I alive?

I drive the thirty minutes to the McKinney property and park behind his truck on the driveway. He knows the lockbox code so he’s already in the house. My heart is racing as I walk up the porch steps, and I don’t bother to knock. Instead, I walk inside.

As I pass the kitchen, I see two empty beer bottles and a bag of takeout food, and realize this is where he’d come after he left my house.

“Zach?”

He doesn’t answer. I walk into the dining room and come to a stop. All I can do is look at all the walls, the photos he’s posted along them. He has one of two men, well, of their backs, and he’s drawn a red question mark over top one of the men. Next to it are several shots of my brother, Armen. I walk toward them and goosebumps cover my flesh as sadness fills me up. There are photos of him before he began to work with Malik, but only a few of those, and then there are the ones after. I’m shocked to see the differences in his appearance. Had I seen it back then too? Or maybe it never registered since living together in our family home, we saw each other almost daily.

My other brothers are here too. These look almost like mugshots. I reach out and touch those, Rafi and Seth. Younger than Armen, but older than me. I don’t have any photos of them. It’s been years since I’ve seen them, and I miss them so much. If I knew what happened to them, even if that meant finding out they were dead, would it make it easier?

“Closure doesn’t help.”

I jump and spin around to find Zach watching me. It’s like he read my mind.

He’s wearing dress pants and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I look at his hands and remember them touching me. Remember them wrapping around my throat and strangling me.

I shake off those thoughts. “You can’t just stay here,” I say, forcing myself to meet his eyes. “It’s not a hotel.”

He shrugs. He eyes me once before he walks into the dining room. “You’d rather I stay with you?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He goes directly to the six images along the back wall. I watch him stop before each one. I wonder what I’d see if I could see his face right now.

“You also can’t call Devon and give him the impression you’re buying this place just to get me up here.”

He turns to face me. “You think I need to do that to get you here?”

My heart is thundering against my chest but I refuse to show fear.

He steps toward me, and it takes all I have not to take two steps back. But when he reaches out to touch me, I flinch. One side of his mouth rises as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

“If I want you somewhere, you’ll be there.”

His voice is so deep, so low, it sends chills through me. His gaze wanders to my mouth and I catch myself licking my lips. My body is betraying me. It thinks it wants him. Wants to be close to him.

Dropping my head, I take that step back.

“What is this?” I ask, stepping toward the back wall. “Another graveyard?”

The instant the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. Zach corners me against the wall, trapping me with his body to my front and his hands pressed to the wall at either side of my head.

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I didn’t—”

A moment hangs between us and I’m not sure what he’s going to do, how he’ll react, but when he smashes his mouth against mine, all I can think about is him, his hardness, the contrast between it and the softness of his lips, even as he takes the kiss without my permission. My hands are pressing up against his chest but I’m not sure if I’m pushing against him, even as my brain screams for me to. For me to get the hell away from him.

When he breaks the kiss, he takes my jaw in one hand and turns my face away, just a little. His forehead is against the wall and he’s breathing hard against my ear.

“I don’t understand why every fucking time I see you, every time I’m close to you, all I can think about is this.”

When he releases me, I remain as I am. He’s rubbing the scruff of his jaw against my cheek. I don’t move. I stand utterly, completely still, my heart racing, every breath drawing him in. And I don’t know what I should do, what I’m supposed to do, what I want.

I can run. Right now, I can run. Slip under his arm. I don’t think he’ll stop me. But I don’t want to.

He moves a little so we’re facing each other. His head is bent low and our foreheads are almost touching. Without breaking eye contact, he takes my hand and presses it to his chest. His heart. His skin is warm through the thin barrier of his shirt and his heart is beating frantically. He doesn’t blink as he slides my hand down, down over the ridges of muscle over his belly, down to the thick hardness of his cock.

I swallow. I don’t pull back. He rubs his length with my hand and all I feel is want. Need. Heat.

Heat between my legs.

“Take it out,” he says, releasing my hand, placing both of his on either side of my head.

He watches me as my fingers fumble with his belt, undoing it, then the button, then the zipper of his pants. I push them down and I can feel him through the cotton boxer briefs. I look down. I want to see him, see him naked. Touch him. Hold his hardness in my hands.

Swallowing, I shift my eyes up to his.

He nods.

I slide one hand inside and he sucks in a breath when I grip him, sliding his boxer briefs and pants down.

Fingers intertwine with the hair on my head and he’s pushing me to my knees.

I kneel and his cock is at my face, brushing against my cheek, my lips. I lick the tip, lick the moisture there, and his hand becomes a fist as he turns my face up. Looking at him, I open my mouth and I take him in and watch his face, watch his eyes close as he bites his lip and flexes his fingers in my hair. He’s hurting me, but I don’t care. I want this. I want him.

I want him.

When he opens his eyes, the pupils have dilated so they appear almost black. Holding me, he moves his length deeper, in and out slowly, and I can hear him breathe. It’s a moan of pleasure as I take him in, tasting him, his salty sweetness, breathe in his scent.

But when he moves too deep, too fast, he cuts off my breath and panic has me pressing my hands against his thick thighs. He draws out a little, but he’s still got my hair and his cock is still inside my mouth.

“Easy,” he says in a low growl. “I won’t hurt you.”

I’ve never done this before. I’ve never even seen a man like this.

“Just a little more.” He’s moving again, pumping in and out, deeper, then more shallow, then deeper yet, and all I can do take him. All I want to do is take him.

My vision blurs from tears. He moans and I look up to find him watching me.

“I’m going to come down your throat,” he says, pumping faster.

I make a sound. I don’t know why—don’t know if it’s panic or arousal or what.

“Shh. Just relax. All you have to do is swallow.”

He’s thrusting harder, faster and I’m not sure how long I can take this, but just then, his grip in my hair tightens. He settles himself deep inside me and I feel the first spurts of cum, feel them hit the back of my throat, slide down, feel him shudder, hear him let out a moan and hold still as he empties, and I feel like I can’t take any more, I’m so full, too full. But then he releases my hair and he’s pulling out of my mouth and when I open my eyes, he’s looking down at me, coming to a crouch so he’s almost at eye level.

My mouth is closed. I’m holding his cum inside it. He leans close, wipes the corner of my lips.

“Swallow,” he says, sliding his hand down between my legs, pushing the crotch of my panties aside to tickle my clit, rub it. “Swallow my cum, Eve.”

He doesn’t release me from his gaze until I do, then nods his approval.

“Your cunt is dripping.”

He’s manipulating my clit but his eyes are locked on mine. With his thumb on the hard nub, he presses a finger inside me and I gasp. He smiles, then closes his mouth over mine and kisses me deeply.

“I like my taste on you,” he mumbles against me, and when I gasp, he draws back to watch me.

He adds a second finger and there’s a moment of discomfort, but then pleasure again. When he pushes deeper, I make a sound and he pauses. His eyes narrow a little. He tests the barrier again. It doesn’t give and he draws his fingers out, concentrating on my clit. When he touches me there, it’s like I can’t think. Can’t speak. Can’t do anything but feel.

“Look at me,” he says. “I want to see your eyes when you come.”

I’m so close, all I can do is grip his shoulders. He likes it, likes me like this. I can see it on his face.

“Come, habibi.”

I do.

I do, despite his use of that word, despite the wicked grin on his face. I come hard, so hard that I fall into his chest with a moan, my fingernails digging into his arms as I climax, my breathing ragged, my body too hot, too sweaty. And when it’s over, when the wave passes and I’m left limp, he pulls his hand away, watching my face as he does, smearing his fingers along my thigh.

He rises to his feet while I’m left kneeling. When I look up at him, he’s still looking down at me. He pulls his boxer briefs and pants back up, zips and buttons them then buckles his belt.

“Still a virgin,” he says.

I feel my face heat up. Why aren’t I getting up off the floor?

“First time sucking cock too, wasn’t it?”

Is he making fun of me? I can’t tell, but I feel ashamed. Humiliated.

But it’s when he lifts his fingers to his nose, those fingers that were just inside me, before licking them, that I’m vanquished.

“Get cleaned up. We have work to do,” he says and walks out of the room.