“You get lost out of a desire to be lost.
But in the place called lost
strange things are found.”
—Rebecca Solnit
“That went well.” Aubrey slinks into a chair beside me as I stare at my plate of food. Food I haven’t touched. My stomach is still on fire from the hot breath on my cheek and the dark words in my ear just twenty minutes ago.
I blink, easing out of my trance and angling my head toward the beautiful redhead. “Well?” I repeat. We must have different definitions of the word.
She reaches for a bread roll in the center of the otherwise empty dining table. Not the dining table; the one in the ladies’ quarters is for secretaries only. Thankfully. “You gained the attention of Adam Matthews. Not that he’s going to claim you, but still, impressive.”
“He’s not—I thought—”
“What?” The roll halts just before reaching her lips. “You thought that was him claiming you?”
My eyes dart to my untouched plate of pasta as I only internally admit that, yes, that’s exactly what I thought. I grab the fork and twirl the linguine around it, stuffing the food in my mouth if only for a distraction.
“Adam is . . .” Aubrey takes a small bite of the roll, chewing as she contemplates. “Selective, you could say. I’ve been here four years and have only seen him claim one girl.”
One girl.
“Who was she?” The question is out of my mouth before I can stop it. I didn’t intend on asking questions about Frankie right away, but I have to jump at the window of opportunity. If there was any doubt these men could have harmed my sister before, it’s completely vanished now.
Aubrey snorts but doesn’t answer. When I continue to stare at her, she tilts her head. “You’re serious? It’s forbidden to name or discuss girls who have been here previously. Confidentiality and all that.”
I let out a breath and dig into the dish once more. Of course it wouldn’t be so easy. Throwing a sideways glance her way as I chew, I try a less direct approach. “Was it recent?”
“No. Not even close.”
My muscles relax for a split second. It couldn’t have been Frankie then. But that still leaves the other three brothers. “Do they all like the same type of women?”
She pulls a loose red tendril behind her ear. “Not always,” she says with a wink. “They usually share a specific physical type, yeah, but I assume you’ve already figured that out.” I nod and take another bite, trying to appear less interested than I am. “Griff can be kinda picky. He’s rough, you know, so he usually likes girls who can take it. Felix is more laid-back, and Raife, he claims almost everyone at some point. Even if it’s just for their first month, before one of the other brothers takes over.”
I stop mid-chew. “Everyone?”
“Pretty much. There are some exceptions, but it’s rare. He likes to get to know each of the girls personally, and claiming someone is really as personal as you can get here.”
I lift the glass of water to my lips and inhale a few large gulps. Setting the drink down, I turn to her. “And Adam?”
She squints and taps her lip. “I haven’t gotten him figured out. I doubt anyone has.” When I don’t respond, she adds, “Listen. Don’t worry about Adam Matthews. Even without him, it’s clear that you’re wanted. You’ll have your master by eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”
Though a tinge of alarm runs through me at knowing the exact time I’m to be claimed, I can’t fully process it while that particular brother’s name still lingers in the air. Just like that, his soft lips are back on my ear. It’s going to be interesting watching you break, Emmy.
I try to keep my expression neutral when I meet Aubrey’s cool, green gaze. “Adam, he said something to me before he left the room.”
She waits patiently for me to continue.
“Something about watching me break.” When I realize I’m twirling the pasta again, I set down my fork. “What did he mean by that?”
She cocks an eyebrow and pulls back. “He wants to watch?”
“Watch what? What does that mean?”
“He’s talking about phase three, Emma.” I open my mouth to correct her again but then bite my tongue. She knows my name. “But you know, he normally sits those out. Not like the others.” Her lips twitch, and her eyes sparkle. “They always watch—”
“Phase three?”
Aubrey turns to me with a frown. “Did Stella tell you nothing? Yes, you have exactly”—she eyes a clock hanging on the wall across from us—“six minutes to finish eating, and I have orders to make sure you finish all of it. Then it’s on to the final phase before claiming.”
When I say nothing, her frown deepens.
“You didn’t really expect men like the Matthews brothers to make a year-long commitment after ten minutes of formal introductions, did you?” I stare at her blankly. Guess I hadn’t really considered that. “Look, you’ll be taken through a series of tests, that’s it. Everyone’s tests are different, so I can’t tell you what to expect, but they want to see what you can handle, what you can’t. If you pass, you’ll go to your room and get your beauty sleep for tomorrow.”
“And if I fail?”
She shrugs. “It happens. Not everyone’s cut out for this, and there’s no shame in that. You’ll be sent home on a first-class flight to return to your life as normal.”
I close my eyes and take a breath. I can’t go home. Not when I’m so close. Not when Frankie might be out there somewhere, hurt or in danger. Or worse. No thanks to me. My exhale comes out shaky as I open my eyes again.
“Everything will work itself out.” Aubrey leans closer, lowering her voice even though we’re completely alone. “Trust me, phase three is all the Matthews will need to make their decision on whom you will serve.”
I’ve never been afraid of the dark.
When we were little, Frankie would sneak into my corner of the trailer so we could fall asleep together. Later, when Mama took away my designated spot completely, Frankie let me share hers. She would leave a lamp on all night long. It was the only way she could sleep. For me, though, something about the brightness irked me. As though blinding me wasn’t enough, it got greedy and snuck under my skin, gnawing at me like an itch I could never scratch.
The dark, however, has always been there to comfort me. I love that fleeting moment of pure power that pumps through my veins right before I cloak myself in its shadow. The world is quickly shut out with a simple flick of a switch. Just like that. It’s the only shield no one questions or expects you to justify.
But tonight—with the cold, steel chair sending goose bumps down the backs of my bare thighs, my wrists tied behind me—it’s quickly lost its appeal.
I can handle a small, windowless room cloaked in darkness. Confinement is another thing entirely.
Tingles spread through my legs when I shift in the chair, my muscles begging to be stretched. I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here, but the skin around my wrists is sore, and strange shapes are beginning to blend in the dark.
After a while, my shoulders slump.
My head whips to my right at the grating sound of a steel door opening, and a woozy sensation rushes from my chest to my scalp at the movement.
Jesus.
How long have I been in here?
Shaking the feeling away, I squint at the door. Any hope of glimpsing more than a shadowed figure entering the room vanishes as the door closes. Footfalls glide toward me until clothing crinkles right in front of me and a light stroke of air flutters across my skin as the figure kneels.
I narrow my eyes but can’t make out anything more than a broad, masculine outline.
“Welcome to the Dark Room, Emmy.” I recognize the amused, almost taunting tone immediately. Raife. I’m not surprised he finds entertainment in my obvious discomfort. “How are you feeling?”
“I’ve been better,” I manage smoothly.
He lets out a chuckle. It’s low, throaty, and sexy even to my ears, despite my lack of attraction. There’s no question all four of the Matthews brothers are genetically gifted. The fact only makes me wonder why they’d need to hire anyone for sexual favors. “Tell me, lovely. Is it the darkness that bothers you so, or is it the wrist ties?”
I open my mouth to answer honestly but lick my lips instead as I recall Aubrey’s words. They want to see what you can handle . . . He wants to watch? . . . The others, they always watch.
Are they watching me this very second? Even Adam? Can he see me clearly even while I’m practically blind? His dark eyes flash in my mind, secretive and scrutinizing as he looks down on me.
Heat warms my flesh.
It’s going to be interesting watching you break.
Not tonight, Adam Matthews.
I force my wrists to relax against the binding, then bat my lashes in case Raife, too, can somehow see me clearly. “Maybe I’m just not used to being alone when I’m tied down.”
That earns me a groan as he leans closer, the deep shadow of his face hovering in front of mine. “I knew you had some bite under those soft lips,” he whispers, just as I feel his thumb brush over my bottom lip. “Shame they’re not for me.”
I frown, then mumble through the next wave of dizziness that rolls through me, “What do you—”
“No questions.” He snaps upright, voice sharp as a whip. I shrink back into the chair at the sudden shift, then inwardly scold myself for the reaction. “Tonight we’re going to get to know each other intimately. If at any point you find yourself too uncomfortable to proceed, you’ll let me know, and I’ll release you.”
A thick swallow passes through my throat. “Meaning . . .”
“Meaning you’ll be sent home.” He lowers and leans closer, his arms dark shadows that cage me in as he grips the chair’s armrests. “Because if you can’t stomach tonight, you won’t last a week. Fun fact: my brothers don’t seem to think you’ll last ten minutes. However”—he bends his head until his nose is on my neck, and I shiver when he inhales deeply against my skin—“something tells me you’ll surprise them. Something tells me you’ll surprise us all.”
When he kneels before me and slides his large hands up my bare thighs, my knees snap together automatically. He lets out a dark chuckle. “Relax. All you need to do is relax. Can you do that for me?”
Relax?
His grip tightens, and my back stiffens. I don’t want to relax. Not while my wrists are bound, my surroundings are blind, and I have no idea what the Matthews have in store for me.
And yet, I do feel oddly . . . warm? My eyes close as the new feeling sinks in. His cold palms are a strange contrast to the warm caress soothing my limbs.
Alarm bells ring in the back of my mind.
Taking a deep breath, I open my eyes again and target the figure before me. Focus, Emmy. The only thing I need to be thinking about is getting some semblance of control while in this toxic room. Except something tells me Raife won’t have that at all.
A man like him needs to be the one in control at all times. Or maybe . . . maybe he just needs to feel like he is.
I slowly let out the breath I was holding, then soften my voice for him. “I can do that for you.”
“Excellent.” His thumbs brush small, circular strokes along the insides of my thighs, as though rewarding me for my response.
The subtle movement is so skillful I’m sure it’s had other women sighing, but I have to make a conscious effort to keep my body from tensing up.
The door opens again with a loud groan, and we both look to see Stella entering the room. Light seeps in from the hallway, illuminating her like a beautiful, blonde angel. She’s quiet, even demure, as she lowers a tray carrying two lit candles to the ground, just beside the wall.
When she stands, she sneaks a glance at Raife and holds it for a moment. I turn back to him, thankful I can finally see his sharp features even if we’re still shadowed, and I’m surprised to find him watching her just as closely. I don’t think I’ve seen this look in his eyes when they’re aimed at me. Twisted amusement, yes. A challenge, curiosity, and even raw hunger, yes. But never the pure possessiveness darkening his brown eyes now.
“Will this be all, Master?”
Master? A glint pulls my eyes to his right wrist, to a shiny watch I hadn’t noticed before. It’s gold, just like Stella’s scarf.
“For now,” he murmurs, his tone full of suggestion.
Ruby-red rises up her cheeks, and she flashes me a small but friendly smile before turning and closing the door behind her.
His thumbs continue their caress as he pulls his gaze back to mine. Just like that, the heated expression’s wiped away, replaced with the strange, devious curiosity I recognize. I’m not sure if I should be grateful or regretful for the candles’ subtle lighting.
I lift my chin, and he cocks an eyebrow. “Tell me something, lovely.” His tone is still. Deadly serious. “Have you ever wondered what it feels like to burn?”
Goose bumps race along the skin he continues to caress.
“No. I can’t say I have.” I clear my throat at the odd sound of my voice bouncing back in my eardrums. It’s muffled, like I’m speaking from under a blanket.
Raife removes both hands from my legs to loosen his tie. His movements are quick, almost rushed, yanking the material down and popping open the top buttons of his shirt.
I open my mouth to ask what he’s doing when he turns away. He takes a few steps toward the candles and raises the tray.
An orange glow dances along the sharp lines of his face as he returns to stand in front of me. The trick of the light makes his pale skin look almost olive, and it makes me think of Adam.
After pushing the uninvited image away, my eyes dart down to the flames. A spike of fear uncurls in my stomach. Raife wouldn’t really burn me, would he? When I slide my gaze back to his face, the fear tightens into knots. A crazed spark that feels somehow personal blooms in his eyes, and it’s fixed right on me. The look cuts straight past my skin, ripe with a desire I can’t comprehend, and it’s eerily similar to the way Griff stared me down earlier.
I suppress a flinch. It’s impossible, but it feels as though I’ve wronged him, and he’s out to get revenge. The thick material keeping my wrists captive feels tighter than ever, curling around me like a snake determined to suffocate.
“Shh,” he coos, lowering until he’s kneeling again. Setting the tray to rest on his knee, he keeps it steady with one hand and, with the other, runs a finger along the corner of my jaw. His touch is cold, and I shiver. “Don’t look so afraid, lovely. It’s just a little fire.”
His cool finger slips from my face as he lowers his lips toward the candles. With a single puff, darkness drenches us once again. Thin tendrils of smoke hit my nostrils, sweet currents of vanilla laced with a bitter spice.
Heat prickles along my skin, from the apex of my thighs to my toes, and the feeling makes my legs press together. There’s no way a candle could cause such a physical reaction.
A low, knowing chuckle vibrates right in front of me, and it pounds in my ears before trailing off with an echo. I squeeze my eyes shut, noticing that the rhythm matches the sensation suddenly brewing in my chest. What the hell’s happening to me?
Get a grip, Emmy.
When something hot and thick oozes over the top of my thigh, a yelp spills from my lips and into the darkness. The syrupy liquid slides down the inside of my leg, hot enough to make me squirm. It takes a second to place the sensation—candle wax.
My breathing turns shallow, my pulse racing. The tingles only intensify; the softest needle points running from my fingertips to my toes, and my skin is flushed with an awareness I don’t understand.
I want to give in to the feeling. Everything in me screams to submit to it entirely. Like I’ve been drugged, it’s a thick, black tar wrapping around my skin, hot and heavy beneath the surface.
A rush of sensitivity flows over me like an electric current, making each rub of the ties around my wrists burn enough to sting. Black and grey shadows meet my eyes no matter where I look, flashing danger in my mind like a glowing sign.
I twist and writhe against the binding, but it just digs and digs. I swear the walls are caving in on me, crushing my chest until I have to open my mouth to suck in a lungful of air.
What has he done to me? Could he have drugged me without my knowledge? Oh god, was it in my freaking food? With nothing to compare the feeling to, I have no idea.
I need to get these things off me.
I need to gain control before my chest collapses in on itself.
Squinting, palms sweating, I angle my head toward the outline that is Raife. I can’t make out his expression as he saunters behind me. Cool fingers brush my neck as he gathers my hair and wrenches it over my left shoulder.
“Just let go,” he continues, his voice ringing in my ears even when the words stop. “Show me who you are, Emmy Highland.”
Show him who I am? I don’t know about all that. I don’t know if even I’ve seen who I really am.
But maybe I can show him who he wants to see.