The emails I ignored: my assistant and designers. Requests for more patterns. Deposits from successful bidders on the collection from Milan.

None of that mattered—not anymore. The freedom I felt at ignoring the pressure of my career shouldn’t please me so much.

Three messages from my father glowed on the screen.

My heart lurched, but I neglected them. I wasn’t ready to deal with him. The mixture of despair and betrayal had yet to be unbraided and understood. For now, I needed some space.

I clicked on the latest message, sent early last night.

VtheMan: Nila. Fucking call me.

Vaughn’s message reeked of desperation.

My heart hurt to think of him missing me. I couldn’t stomach his loneliness or confusion. I shouldn’t have rejected him. It was unfair, and I couldn’t do it anymore.

Jethro could jump off a bridge, telling me not to contact my twin and best friend. V needed me.

Needle&Thread: V, I’m fine. I’m so sorry I made you worry. I don’t know how much Dad has told you, but I’m alive and doing everything I can to come home. Please know that I love you, and I wouldn’t have gone if I didn’t have reason to.

I pressed send.

A reason like trying to keep you alive.

The melancholy from thinking about my brother threatened to sink my newfound hope. Quickly, I opened the messages I’d been eager to read since my battery died.

Kite007: Had a pretty fantastic daydream about you, Needle. You let me tie you up and spank the living daylights out of you. Tell me…does that make you wet, ‘cause it sure as fuck makes me hard.

The familiar tug in my core was happiness on this bleak day. So much had changed but not this. Not him.

Careful, Nila.

I paused, tracing the keys with worry. Kite was the one constant in this mess. The only one not involved in some way or another. He wasn’t a Hawk. He wasn’t a Weaver. He was neutral territory where I wanted to camp and never leave.

You think he’s not a Hawk.

The sudden thought stopped me, sucking up my oxygen with terror.

What?

My mind skipped back to the luncheon. To the strange connection I’d shared with the brother whose golden eyes weren’t cold or full of malice but playful. My heart raced, recalling the inexplicable kinship we’d shared—no matter how brief.

He looked at me as if he knew me.

Kestrel.

I dropped the phone.

Could it be?

Shaking, I picked up the device and typed a response.

Needle&Thread: I had a similar daydream. You spanked me in the woods with a whip. You kneeled behind me and struck just enough to burn but not bite. I’d never been hit before, but you…you made it seem all right.

Send.

Only, it wasn’t a daydream, and it was with my mortal enemy.

I settled back into the covers, breathing shallowly. I flip-flopped with fear, hope, and anger. If Kite was Kestrel, what did that mean? Why had he been so cruel to me yet considerate in the dining room? Why had he messaged me a month ago?

The text.

It was never a wrong number.

My hands fisted around my phone. Could I have been manipulated?

Angry tears shot up my spine. All my life, everyone I’d ever known had manipulated me behind the scenes, moving me around at their whim, tugging my skirts until I stood in the right place, while I smiled stupidly and so damn naïve.

I wanted to scream.

You’re making something out of nothing.

It could very well be a wrong number and nothing sinister at all.

My anger was too hot—I couldn’t reason with myself.

Kite007: Fuck, that sounds hot. Did you come?

I stared at the message with fire burning in my soul. I wanted to confront him. I needed to know the truth.

Needle&Thread: Did you come after you licked me yesterday? Did you jerk off to the thought of me being tormented by your family, you sick bastard?

My finger hovered on the send key, my breathing harsh in the silent room.

If I asked and I was right—what then? Where did that leave me? Was it better to play them at their own rules? Hide my tentative conclusion and finally learn how to play this secretive, devious game?

I deleted the message.

Needle&Thread: No, but I made you come. You shot your release so deep down my throat, I can still taste you.

I grinned, feeling a little psychotic.

If Kite was an innocent party in all of this, then he could continue to be my escape. Meanwhile, Jethro would give me answers that I hadn’t had before. Such as granting me knowledge to Kite’s previous question. What do I taste like?

If he tasted anything like Jethro, it was an overpowering mix of no taste at all and too much taste all at once. An oyster mixed with caviar infused with the strongest shot of vodka. Not entirely pleasant, but not disgusting either.

I had experience now. Experience garnered by blowing a man who may or may not be related to my tormentor.

You might have it totally wrong. You’re jumping to conclusions.

I paused, fingers stroking the screen. It was entirely possible I was clutching at straws, looking for connections to make sense of this catastrophe. But I couldn’t ignore the tug inside—the sixth sense burning stronger with every second.

My lips twisted at how disgusting all of this was. How the unsaid lies made me endlessly suspicious.

Kite007: Fuck, do you hear yourself? Something’s changed. Again. I can’t believe I’m asking this, but spill. I need to know how you’ve gone from shy little nun to confident tease.

He wanted to know. As if he didn’t know. As if the entire Hawk family weren’t laughing behind my back.

You don’t know it’s him!

I knew I should calm down, seek out clues, and formulate the truth before tearing into the most-likely innocent Kite. But after being through a transformation from meek to fierce, I couldn’t bottle myself up. I refused to corset my emotions any longer.

I would take back control message by message.

Needle&Thread: You want to know? You want to hear personal details of my life? What happened to you, Kite? Someone drop you on your head?

Kite007: Careful. I’m one push away from deletion and walking away from this. You’re the one who begged me to stay in contact. Remember?

Needle&Thread: You have a short temper.

Kind of like someone else I know.

Kite007: Want me to stay a fucking arsehole? Got it. Don’t ever say I never tried to help you.

My heart lurched.