“She wore her scars as her best attire.
A stunning dress made of hellfire.”
—Daniel Saint
My heart races when I leave Adam’s room. I keep my eyes forward and my steps brisk as I walk through the halls, desperate to find a spot where I can be alone. One of Raife’s secretaries passes, and I manage a small nod but otherwise forge ahead until I’m near the spa and locking the bathroom door behind me.
I let my weight fall against the wall, close my eyes, and I just breathe. My skin tingles everywhere, deliciously sore from the pressure of his strong hands running all over me. I can already feel the bruises forming.
I’ve had rough sex, gentle sex, some unconventional and everything in between. I’ve never considered myself someone who leaned one way or the other, because it was never the act I was after—it was the release. Those blissful moments of pure, blind ignorance an orgasm provides, shutting the world down around me.
But this . . .
With a swallow, I reach for my inner thigh and stroke the raw bite mark. His starving tongue, the tremors rolling through him, the unapologetically depraved look in his eyes—this was so much more.
He was so much more.
Instead of ignorance, I tasted what it might be like to finally be me. I didn’t give a show this time. I had no plan, no calculations. No scolding voice inside my head.
For a little while, I was free.
Adam—he was unhinged. Shameless. Everything wrong and everything right. And he held the key to my cage in his palm.
I jump at a knock on the door.
“Emma? You alive in there?”
It’s almost normal now, hearing Aubrey address me as Emma. “Just a sec.”
Adam’s heat still warms my skin, my sore muscles reminding me of only him. I close my eyes again, letting the sensations sink in for one final moment.
I hope it lasts.
Pulling the door open, I step into the hall and face Aubrey.
Her eyebrows lift as she scans everything from my wild hair to the torn hem of my nighty to the faint marks on my thighs. Stepping closer, she places her hands on my cheeks and stares into my eyes for a few long moments. Soon, she goes from squinting with concern to giving me a satisfied grin.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my cheeks still squished between her palms.
“Just working out if that look in your eyes is you losing yourself or finding yourself.”
My brows knit. “And?”
She drops her hands and steps back with a knowing glint in her eye. Then she spins on her heel and heads toward the spa’s exit. “And I think we need to clean you up because the kitchen isn’t going to service itself.” Just as I start to follow, confused, she looks over her shoulder and winks. “Emmy.”
Is this what you felt, Frankie?
Did you let yourself go to this place? To one of them?
Her question from our last conversation comes as a whisper in my ear: If you had the chance to get away, and I mean really get away—forget Mama, forget it all. Would you take it? If there was a place you could finally just be you. All of you. Would you do it, Emmy?
My chest twists as I place a tray of bread rolls in the oven, then start preparing the rest of them.
Frankie might be good and whole, but everyone is flawed. And in our case, we had a mama who never failed to remind us of it. A mama who saw Frankie’s strengths and treated them like things to be cleansed of. I watched it suffocate Frankie, Mama’s constant punishments and attempts at purifying us.
Sometimes I wondered if I was suffocating her, too. She was all I had growing up, and she knew it. It hurt each time she left, but I never blamed her for needing to get away.
I could have said no that day. I could have lied so she would’ve stayed home. She may not have believed me, but I could have at least tried.
Now—as a cold, absent sensation slowly replaces Adam’s lingering hold on me—I wonder if it was really such a bad thing for her to come here. What if she found whatever she was seeking, and then she really did leave, safe and sound, of her own accord?
The Matthews are not good men. I don’t need more evidence to know that. But none of the secretaries are here against their will. In fact, they seem to enjoy serving the brothers.
After pushing the next tray in the oven, I glance at the clock. Aubrey stepped into the hall for a phone call three minutes ago. Turning around, I wipe the back of a hand over my damp forehead.
Even as I try to understand Frankie’s absence, the nagging in my gut doesn’t relent. It’s a sharp, stabbing feeling, and I know I can’t just assume she’s okay. I need to see it with my own two eyes.
There has to be something more I can do. Something more immediate than my current plan’s turned out to be.
Slipping my shoes from my feet to my hands, I tiptoe toward the door Aubrey took. I press my ear against the cool wood, and listen for her as I work out my next move. The spa is the closest part of the house, and Aubrey’s desk might have something helpful. It’s a slim chance, but it’s also the only thing I might get away with in this slight window of time. After overhearing Aubrey’s voice behind the wall, I’m about to rush toward the other exit when heels click toward me.
Shit.
Aubrey opens the door just as I slip back behind the oven.
My heart races, my eyes focused on the bread rolls baking, as if looking at her will give me away.
“Hey. You okay?”
“Yeah,” I breathe.
“What’s up with the shoes?”
“Huh?” I glance down at the shoes still in my hand, and my grip tightens. “Oh, they were hurting my feet.” Setting them on the floor, I kick the heels out of the way and clear my throat. “I rarely wore heels before I came here.”
She’s typing something into her phone when she approaches me. “You’ll get the hang of it soon.”
“I was wondering,” I mutter, turning on the sink and washing my hands. I wait until Aubrey glances up from the screen to continue. “What is it the Matthews do, exactly?”
She returns her attention to the phone as she answers, “Cryptocurrency.”
I frown. I don’t have much experience with the internet, but that sounds pretty clean. “So, why all the cameras?” I bite back all the other things I could add—why are there two mansions? Why the lack of windows and constantly closed shades? Why the secretiveness?
Aubrey looks up from the screen again. She shrugs, like the answer is obvious. “They have enemies.” After a second, she adds, “And maybe a few trust issues.”
“Just a few?” Adam’s deep voice pulls my attention to the open doorway, and my skin prickles with awareness.
He’s leaning so casually against the doorframe that I might doubt this morning ever happened if it wasn’t for the evidence marking my body. He takes a step forward, his eyes finding mine, and my pulse immediately responds.
“I’ve thought your request over.” He pauses, his gaze sweeping the room before returning to mine. “No deal.”
What? “You said—”
“I said I would consider your request. And I did. I don’t like it.” Aubrey slowly backs away, but Adam’s shoulders stiffen when she almost fades from view. His eyes go dark, and he growls, “Stay.”
I can’t deny a feeling of satisfaction at seeing that maybe he isn’t so unaffected after all. A tiny smile lifts my lips, and his jaw ticks.
When Aubrey rushes back to stand beside me, his muscles relax slightly. “As I was saying, no deal. It takes work to get to where Aubrey and Stella are. It’s not something you can have just by asking. I will, however, make some adjustments.”
I perk up at that, my spine straightening. “Okay . . .”
“You’ll be moving back to the ladies’ quarters. Tonight.”
I bite down on my lip, trying to hide my disappointment.
“And instead of housework, you’ll begin catering to Aubrey, assisting with any duties she wants help with.”
“Really?”
His eyes narrow. “You’ll be sitting some things out, but for the most part, she’s still at your side constantly. Understand?”
I nod, barely refraining from letting a grin stretch across my face. Still not ideal for investigating, but far better than being stuck in the kitchen. “Yes, sir.”