With a heavy sigh, Elsbeth followed her fellow students into the embrace of summer. To them, it represented freedom, but for Elsbeth, the endless days would be nothing but a stretch of time to endure.

The halls of Carl Sandburg High School were filled with the shouts and raucous cheers of her classmates. A generalized mayhem celebrated the end of another year of school. Students emptied lockers of books, folders, and laptops. Old spiral-bound notebooks, along with mounds of papers no one cared about anymore, filled trash cans lining the halls.

While Elsbeth’s classmates rushed to say their good-byes, she walked in a cocoon of silence, gripping the contents of her locker tight to her chest, as she kept her gaze set three feet forward, avoiding any and all eye contact with her peers.

But she couldn’t avoid all attention.

Mr. Peterson leaned against the doorframe leading into his chemistry lab. He was talking with Scott Masterson, a junior, like Elsbeth. Scott was wildly popular, a jock with a brain, who got straight A’s and was working toward a football scholarship, the ticket to his future. She envied him for his freedom to pursue his goals.

“You’d better behave this summer.” Mr. Peterson’s voice was stern but caring. “We need our star player to make it to State next year.”

“Yes, sir,” Scott said, combing his fingers through the mop of bangs covering his forehead. He noticed her then. “Hey, Elz,” he called out. “Got plans for tonight? A bunch of us are going to the movies. You want to come?”

Scott had been trying to get her to go on a date for the better half of the last semester. She’d always been too busy—not a complete lie, but other things filled her evenings and weekends. It simply wasn’t cheering or band or volleyball team or dating.

With a shake of her head, she declined…again. “Sorry, but I’ve got plans, and my foster father isn’t keen on the whole dating scene.”

“Ah, it doesn’t have to be a date. It’s just a bunch of us hanging out.”

Hugging her books, she stamped down the wave of anxiety building in her chest. “I’m sorry. I’d love to, but…” But she simply couldn’t.

The hopefulness of his expression fell. “Maybe another time?”

She gave a fractional nod. “Sounds good.”

Moving to the center of the crowded hall, she made a move to escape the awkward exchange, but Mr. Peterson stopped her in her tracks.

“Elsbeth.” His words hit her in the chest and stopped the trudge of her feet.

“Yes, Mr. Peterson?”

The softness of his gaze tunneled straight to her heart, destabilizing her shields.

“You weren’t going to leave without saying good-bye to your favorite chemistry teacher, were you?” Mr. Peterson spread his arms out wide, welcoming her into his personal space.

Elsbeth curled her lower lip inward, biting hard. While she adored Mr. Peterson and he was, without a doubt, her favorite teacher, to be that close to a man had her insides churning. But, with his arms outstretched, she couldn’t refuse, not without raising eyebrows—or worse.

“Be safe this summer.” He folded her into the briefest and most platonic of hugs. “Do you have anything special planned? Did you enroll in that summer program at the university I mentioned?”

The observership? No. Definitely not on the allowed list of summer activities.

She loved how he encouraged her and adored him even more for slipping the list of colleges with undergraduate pre-med programs inside her lab notebook. He was the one who’d told her about the highly competitive six-year medical school programs as well.

“Good-bye, Mr. Peterson,” she said.

He finally released her. Perfect timing, too, since her breathing had already accelerated.

She glanced at the clock hanging over the doors leading outside as it counted down her fate. Less than an hour remained. She should stay and linger within the halls to memorize every detail. Those images would serve her well in the months to come, but staying meant risking unwanted conversation.

Although she remained a frustrating mystery to her peers, she didn’t care. She had brushed off the advances of boys and kept those rare girls interested in befriending the geek girl an arm’s length away for years. Friends were liabilities. A pretty girl, Elsbeth made certain she remained too school for cool. Her brain would determine her future, not her standing within the social hierarchy of an average high school.

* * *

The word conjured many images. A home should be a place of light. A place of love. A place of sanctuary and hope. Home was where weary souls rested their heads as day deepened to night and slumber brought peaceful dreams. Home was a place to recharge and recuperate from the toils of a difficult day.

Elsbeth’s home was located at a crossroads where reason fled and insanity took root.

The Tudor monstrosity, which the state foster care system assigned as her place of residence, dominated the middle of a three-lot spread at the end of a long cul-de-sac. The owner had purchased the lots on either side for the privilege of setting his home apart. Not that Clark Preston needed more space. It was the status that came with the message. He had not only wealth, but the power to flaunt it.

Despite everything the house embodied, Elsbeth looked forward to coming home for only one reason.

Her foster brother, Forest, was bouncing a soccer ball from knee to knee, his tall, lanky form a mess of spindly limbs too long for his growing frame. She called him her little Beanpole for good reason, but this last year, he’d truly started to sprout into the nickname. An odd bird, he had a quirky personality that hid a brilliant mind. She wasn’t the only one with too few friends.

Forest glanced up, his shock of blond hair glowing in the afternoon sun. He let the ball drop where he kicked it back and forth in a blinding array of footwork. “Hey, Elz.” He stopped his fancy footwork. The ball rolled a few short feet away until it came to a stop against the azaleas. He turned his gaze upon her, an old soul looking out from behind the palest blue she’d ever seen. “Guess it’s officially summertime.”

With a deep breath, she clutched her schoolbooks against her chest. Yes, it was summer, but she had the classics to keep her company. Melville, Shakespeare, and Austen would smooth out the dark times ahead.

“What are you doing outside?”

Forest was more of a computer geek than a jock. He was happiest with the glow of a Retina display lighting his room and stimulating his mind. Her foster brother didn’t play video games. He made them. Self-taught in the language of code, Forest would tinker and create his escape while she read herself into one.

Forest jerked a thumb toward the house. “He called the maids,” he said with a grimace. “We’re having company.”

Her stomach turned in knots. “Tonight?”

“Yeah, told me to let the maids in and then said to stay out of their way.”

“Did he say who was coming?” Please don’t let it be the slobbery fat judge.

With a shake of his head, Forest retrieved the ball and then drew her into a hug. He was tall enough for her to rest her head against his bony chest. When Forest had first entered her life five years ago, he’d been shorter than her, small and fragile. He was slowly becoming a man.

She leaned into his embrace, shaking.

He kissed the top of her head. “Elz, we’ll get through it. We always do.”

A tear leaked from the corner of her eye. She brushed it away. “But you know what he’s like with company.” She was supposed to be strong for Forest, but the mention of visitors on the first night of summer had her trembling.

Pressing his lips against her forehead, he tugged her in tight. “It’s a moment in time, my sweet Elz, but only a moment, and like everything else, it will pass.”

Clark Preston was a demon she understood. She’d learned how to survive his trials and tests, but when he invited others to share in his appetites, her coping skills would struggle to keep up with the demands he placed upon her. And, while it would be easiest to lose herself within the insanity, she had Forest to protect—and one other.

Still naive, Forest believed in the possibility of a brighter future. He would be eighteen soon, and she would follow a few weeks later. Freedom beckoned, but first, she would have to endure senior year. She worried what would happen when faced with the possibility of graduation and a man who would refuse to let them go.

An accident had stolen her parents and separated her from a baby brother. Clark Preston held the knowledge of what happened to her brother. He used that power to command her obedience. Forest had lost his family to something much worse. Somewhere within their tragedies, they had found each other. Forest’s resilience astounded her because he believed they would be delivered from the evil that filled their lives. Even when she’d held him on that very first night, when he’d been broken, battered, and left bleeding on the basement floor, Forest had believed. She hadn’t had the heart to tell him the truth.

Neither of them would be escaping this hell.

The front door opened, and two cleaning ladies exited.

The older one walked over, her black-and-white maid uniform impressively immaculate after her labors. “We’re all done,” she said. “We couldn’t get into the basement to clean. If your father wants us to clean down there next time, he’ll need to remove the lock.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Forest said with a gulp, his grip around Elsbeth’s shoulders tightening. “I’ll be sure to tell him.”

The women secured their gear in the cleaning van and pulled out of the driveway, waving as they drove off.

With a sigh, Elsbeth walled off her mind from what her body would soon face. That’s the only way she survived. Forest said it all the time. It’s just a body, Elz. It’s not you. And she would believe that. To do otherwise meant facing insanity.

“Come on, Beanpole.”

It was half past four. Clark Preston would be home within the hour.

“We have to prepare.”

Forest followed Elsbeth inside.

The house had been dusted and polished to perfection. The marble floor of the foyer gleamed in the light from the chandelier. To the left, the wooden floor of the library glistened with fresh polish, and the line of Persian rugs leading down the main hall had been vacuumed and aligned to form a straight path.

A grimace pulled at Elsbeth’s face as she stepped around the first rug in line. In less than an hour, she’d be kneeling in that spot.

Forest rushed ahead, heading to his bedroom in the back of the house. “Come, I want to show you a new game.”

Hugging her books tight, Elsbeth picked her way down the hall. “I don’t have time.” Indeed, she would barely make it back to the foyer.

“It’ll only take a second,” Forest urged.

The eagerness in his eyes pulled at her heart, but with company coming over, she couldn’t afford to make a mistake.

“I promise, I’ll check it out tomorrow.”

Forest understood even if he didn’t like the answer. The oddity of his mind would allow him to switch on and off with much greater ease than she’d ever accomplished. For that small gift, she envied him. She would need all of the remaining time to get in the right headspace to make it through the night.

“Okay,” he said.

“And you need to make sure you’re prepared, too.”

His mind might be strong, but of the two of them, his body would break before hers.

“Ugh, okay,” he said with a dejected slump of his shoulders. “I’ll get ready.”

“Good.” Elsbeth headed to her room.

With over six thousand feet of living space, conversations would echo and tumble through the house, bouncing off cathedral ceilings, amplifying whispers. The house was composed of three levels. The main floor held the usual suspects—a marble entry foyer, wood-paneled library, formal dining room, and a modern kitchen that opened up to the great room. There was the basement of course, a place where she and Forest spent far too much time. And of course, there was the second floor.

Her room occupied the left wing—a spacious second master living suite with a sitting room adjoining her bedroom, including a walk-in closet and a bathroom with a jetted tub and steam shower.

Forest’s rooms were on the opposite side of the house. He’d been allowed to take over two bedrooms joined by a Jack and Jill bathroom. He would sleep in one bedroom while the other glowed with light from multiple computer monitors.

Neither of them ventured upstairs. In five years, she’d never set foot on the bottom step of the staircase leading up to Clark Preston’s bedroom.

Quickly, she set about the task of removing unwanted leg, pubic, and underarm hair, using a brand-new razor to ensure the smoothest finish. With plenty of time to spare, she made a pass of her room, straightening up. Then, she returned to the foyer and knelt on the first prayer rug.

Forest joined her a few minutes later, taking position behind and to the right of her. “Hey, Elz, you forgot your collar.”

She grabbed at her neck, a moment of panic overtaking her. A quick glance at the clock had her heart thumping.

“I’ll get it,” he said.

She rose and took off down the hall. “No, I’ll get it.”

Was that the throaty roar of the Porsche?

She sprinted back to her room. And where was the collar? It wasn’t in the tray beside her bed or attached to the chain hanging from the headboard. Shit, where had he left it last night? Her search turned frantic as the seconds ticked by, and that was most definitely the garage door rising on its tracks. The rumbly sound transmitted through her wall. Shit!

Elsbeth gave up the search and raced back down the hall. Her bare foot twisted on the corner of the rug, flipping the woven wool over. Crashing to her knees, she assumed the position of greeting moments before the door leading from the garage opened. Forest widened his stance, clasping his hands behind his back and lowering his head, as required. She pressed her palms to the ground and bowed, touching her forehead to her knuckles.

Clark Preston’s dark force rolled across the gap separating her from him and settled with a heavy presence on her shoulders. A dark gray Armani suit brushed the tops of his Salvatore Ferragamo dress shoes, and the firmness of his steps echoed in the expanse of the foyer.

Eleven steps—that was how many it took. Not ten, not twelve, but eleven. The number was precise and had been ingrained in her mind since she the age of twelve.

One…two…three…

Each thunderous sound snapped with the beating of her heart.

“Congratulations,” he said.

Four…five…six…

Her heart beat against the cage of her chest, pumping adrenaline through her veins.

Elsbeth squeezed her eyes shut, packaging up the fragile pieces of her mind and locking them away. She eased her breathing, not daring to show any signs of fear. He would seize upon her weakness and exploit it, and she didn’t need to give him an advantage, not when he held all the cards. This was a war she could not win. A battle of attrition, however, that she would endure.

Eleven came much too quickly, and the polished leather of his shoe brushed her forehead. “Give your daddy a kiss, little one.”

Lifting her head, she brushed the top of his shoe with her lips. The ritual disgusted her, but as Forest had said, this was nothing but a channel of time. She would have to get from this moment to the next and through the one following that. That was the path they would take until morning came.

Survive. That was the goal.

Eventually, Clark Preston would tire and take to his rooms upstairs, and as he retired for the night, she would unlock those parts of herself she’d jealously guarded. All would be right.

If only she could find a way to make Clark Preston disappear forever and not merely for the span of a day…

Revulsion rippled through Elsbeth’s body with the press of her lips against the fine Italian leather of Clark Preston’s shoes. Everything about the man screamed power, control, domination, and terror, especially when he aimed his sick desires upon her and Forest. A rich man, he was deemed a perfect foster father, and the social workers loved that he preferred fostering older children. They saw his firmness as a strength to help troubled teens find their way through the system and into independent living.

In many ways, Forest’s arrival had been both a blessing and a curse. He took pressure off the demands that had been placed upon her, but Clark Preston’s carefully crafted threats would turn her hesitation to eagerness. Whatever it took to draw attention away from the scrawny little boy with perpetual tears in his eyes, she would manage.

And, with those memories swirling to the forefront of her mind, Clark Preston lowered himself into a crouch. As she suppressed a shiver, Elsbeth’s breathing hitched. This wasn’t the usual sequence of events. His slender but unforgiving index finger dug into the soft tissue beneath her jaw, forcing her head up. She lifted her eyes to meet the steel shimmering in his gaze while willing her body not to tremble at his touch.

“Little one,” he said, “you forgot your collar. Tsk, tsk.” The angle of his gaze cut over her shoulder, latching on to Forest standing at rigid attention. “Did you tell Elsbeth that we were having company?”

“Yes, sir.” There was no hesitation in Forest’s voice.

He couldn’t protect her from the mistake. They both knew this, and to lie to Clark Preston was to invite punishment. Enough pain would come without either of them asking for more.

Clark Preston swept the hair off her nape. The flowing long strands brushed the expensive wool of the carpet. His fingers scraped against her skin, pebbling her flesh. “I am not pleased, little one.”

She gritted her teeth. He was never pleased. Perfection was impossible. And forgetting her collar was a nearly unforgivable sin. Begging forgiveness would excite him, and for that reason, she said nothing, not that he’d granted her the right to speak. Her mouth had only one purpose, as far as he was concerned, and it wasn’t to waste time with unnecessary words.

“It’s a shame,” he said with a sigh.

With her vision glittering behind a veil of unshed tears, the crystal of his watch flashed in her periphery.

“Our guests will be here at any moment. Now, my pets, where do you think we should entertain them?”

“I prepared the basement for you and your guests, sir,” Forest said.

They had assigned tasks. Hers was to turn her body into a flawless tableau for Clark Preston’s amusement. Forest’s preparations weren’t as extensive, but he was charged with setting up the basement each night. They would clean up afterward while Clark Preston stumbled upstairs to retire in his rooms.

The one saving grace in both their lives lay within the sanctuary of their rooms. For some reason, that space was inviolate. Not that Clark Preston couldn’t call her out on a whim, but he never violated that space. When she was in her room, Elsbeth could relax.

He stood, towering over her, the gravity of his gaze suffocating. She couldn’t look away, not until he gave permission.

His fingers tugged at his belt, loosening the buckle. “Well, my dear, I think ten strikes shall suffice, and then you will find your collar. In fact, just so you don’t lose it again, you won’t remove it for the rest of summer.”

A whimper escaped her, and she nearly did beg. Wearing the collar wasn’t an issue. It was a piece of leather, expensive as hell, and despite what it was used for, the collar was comfortable. It had been the words following his pronouncement that were the most damaging. For the rest of summer—those words sealed her fate. If he intended her to never take it off, there was no way she would be allowed outside.

The things that happened inside these walls never left them, and now, she’d be trapped without escape until the school year began again.

She’d tried once to reach out for help. The first week, when her caseworker had come for the obligatory checkup appointment for the newly placed child, Elsbeth had confided in the woman.

But the woman hadn’t believed.

Instead of removing Elsbeth from the house, the social worker had expressed concerns to Clark Preston. The man was a lawyer with a silky tongue that could charm a snake. He’d convinced the woman that Elsbeth had fabricated the story because the new house intimidated her, and he’d asked if he could have another day to help Elsbeth work through her fears. That was the first time Elsbeth had spent a day immobilized in bed. Needless to say, when the social worker had returned, Elsbeth had retracted her wild story. Her voice had been contrite as she sealed her future.

Ten strikes?

He was letting her off easy, which served to heighten her fear.

What was he saving her for? Who was he saving her for?