Chapter One: Caleb: Six Years Ago

 

 

Murder. The job that paid enough to buy a semi-professional soccer team.

The only job that paid better? Kidnapping.

While I had zero experience in the latter, I had plenty in the former.

Handing my coat to the coat check attendant, I adjusted my werewolf’s headgear. Tonight should go like clockwork—once I got used to this costume. I pocketed the coat check tag and moseyed into the atrium, where a waiter offered me a champagne.

A few minutes after entering the ballroom, I spotted my target. He flaunted his sleaziness like a ’57 Chevrolet on a Sunday cruise. Even dressed as a colonial soldier, he was channeling Nixon. To judge from his shady record, it was a miracle no one had offed him before this. Taking bribes from opposing parties and then pitting them against each other when they questioned him was a pretty jackass move. Politicians thought they were untouchable. His bulbous nose and beady eyes reminded me of a proboscis monkey I’d seen on the nature channel. Pushing the comparison further would insult the monkey.

Sipping my drink, I moved in for the kill. My costume smothered me in fake fur and Lycra lining from head to waist. At least it was a frigid February in Philadelphia, and the headpiece left the face exposed. I’d grown out my beard a little and painted on heavy brows and a black nose, adding a couple of fangs to make me less recognizable.

I sauntered over, inserting myself into a small circle of ass-kissers and a lull in conversation. I thrust out a hand. “Congressman Hendricks? It’s an honor, sir. Jack Donaldson.”

I drew him into discussion about construction of the new sports complex, posing as one of the investors and praising the location he’d lobbied for. This naturally brought our talk around to his main political rival. Hendricks was clearly jonesing for a read on how much the financial community supported his opponent.

I edged closer to him, lowering my voice. “Before my team found out about that mistake he made ten years ago, we might’ve endorsed him. Now no one can stand him.”

His bushy brows lifted a notch. “Mistake?”

I could smell his hunger.

I darted a nervous glance around the company present. “It’s not general knowledge. I wouldn’t want to broadcast anything here.”

His eyes drilled into me before he bobbed his round chin towards a hallway. “Shall we go somewhere more private?”

I cocked my head, lifting an eyebrow. “As long as you’re not wired.”

He cracked a wry smile, leading us through the corridor to a door far down on the right. He’d obviously been here before. Having zillowed the hell out of this mansion, I applauded his choice of rooms. It was a cross between a library and music room, with bookshelves lining the walls and a piano in one corner. A nice quiet place for my operation.

He cricked the door closed behind us. “Now, Donaldson, do share what you know.”

My foster sister had dabbled in theater in high school and taught me a few things about the stage. Now I decided to upstage Hendricks. Waltzing towards one of the floor-to-ceiling windows along the opposite wall, I garbled some nonsense with my back to him.

“What was that?” I caught his reflection in the dark windowpane as he closed the distance between us in a few strides, craning his neck to hear what I’d said.

Drawing an arm around his shoulder, I pulled him in as if to confide in him. Instead, I covered his mouth in a chloroform-soaked cloth. While waiting for him to lose consciousness, I gripped him tightly, murmuring a few parting messages to him from my client. After several minutes of weakening struggle, he crumpled to the floor. I was already wearing gloves for my costume. I tore off his shoe and sock, pulled out my hypodermic, and injected it between his big and second toes. Then I replaced his footwear, patting him on the cheek.

“Sweet dreams.”

Whoever found him would think it was a heart attack.

Pocketing my equipment, I retrieved my glass of champagne and turned to leave. The perfect murder.

Only one problem.

In the doorway, wide-eyed and pale, stood a young 1920s flapper.

 

* * * *

 

Danya

 

I froze like a rabbit before a snake. Deep down I may have hoped that by not moving I wouldn’t attract the man’s notice.

Did I just see what I think I saw?

The man sprawling on the carpet looked pretty dead.

My throat worked on a swallow, and I twisted the skirt of my dress in both hands.

All I’d wanted was a moment’s peace in the library. For hours now Dad had continually lured Luis away and shoved rich, eligible bachelors in my direction. Since my shoes were pinching my feet after so much dancing, I thought I’d take them off for a few minutes, sink into a couch, and breathe a little.

But the sight in front of me punched all the breath from my lungs.

Then, as adrenaline pumped through my veins, I began to hyperventilate.

I whirled about, intending to flee. But a pair of strong furry arms banded me from behind, whisking me back into the room. My captor toed the door shut, clapping a large hand over my mouth. I wasn’t all that small, but this man’s powerful hold reduced me to a gift shop figurine.

A ridiculous notion entered my mind as he effortlessly carried me to the other end of the room—he smelled incredible. Anise, wine-stained wood, and musky masculine sweat invaded my nostrils.

I didn’t bother to scream, with his hand muffling my mouth. Besides, my throat was too parched and my thoughts too jumbled for me to raise hell. Was he going to kill me too? Surely not in my own house with hundreds of guests present. Then again, he’d made it look pretty easy with his other victim. But my death would only make things messier for him. Or maybe keeping me alive would be the real mess…Please, God, if I make it out of this alive I’ll do everything I can to lead a purposeful life.

He set me down facing the atlases in the geography section of the room. The musty smell of book cloth mingled with his yeasty, licorice-scented breath fanning the crown of my head. His free hand trapped my wrists behind my back, while his hard body pressed me into the bookcase.

A deep, gravelly voice rumbled at my temple, stirring molten magma in my core. Why was this man having this effect on me? “You’re Walter Penwarren’s daughter, aren’t you?”

I froze again. Should I lie? Refuse to answer? I racked my brains trying to decide if I needed to protect Dad.

His hand slid to my nape, gripping it with a suggestion of snapping my neck. “Answer.”

I managed a nod.

“I know a few things about your father that could get him locked up for a while. Do you want that?”

My breath hitched, and my heart skittered to a halt. His not-so-subtle threat made the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, scattering goosebumps down my arms. Shaking my head, I croaked a “no” into his palm.

“The man over there died of a heart attack. Are we clear?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“We were never in here. Understand?”

I nodded vehemently, murmuring my assent. He was going to let me go!

“Good.” When he released me and stepped back, I felt his absence everywhere in my body. But not in the way I expected—not the way I should’ve. My skin tingled with chill after losing his scorching heat. My chest deflated like a balloon, and the lava roiling in my lower belly cooled to a simmer. Shockingly, my body craved his gritty voice vibrating through me and his massive chest encasing me.

That’s why when he spun me around, pressed a hand into my lower back, and herded me out the door at this end of the room, my heart took a leap off the diving board and flipped in the air.

There’s a reason he hasn’t let you go, Danya, a warning voice chimed. You’re not out of the woods yet.

“What are you doing?” I got out breathlessly as he ushered me down the hallway towards the ballroom at a brisk clip.

“We are dancing,” he declared, as if the rest of the guests were busy murdering people.

“But…why?” I sputtered.

We’d reached a corner of the dance floor, where I halted, twisting from him. He molded me into an erect tango position, dragging me onto the parquet as my feet refused to move. One arm girded my back, the other clutching my hand as he plunged us dangerously into the fray of swirling bodies.

“What did you see in there, Danya?” His dark, throaty voice brushed against my ear, making me shiver. My name on his lips was equal parts ominous, tense, and thrilling.

“Nothing.” So as not to draw undue attention to us, I placed my free hand on his shoulder blade, falling into step as he led me around the room.

He thrust us forward, then pulled me back, pivoting us. With our torsos flush, I was sure he could feel my clattering heartbeats. His gold-flecked hazel eyes darkened under my gaze.

“It’s just us now. I want the truth.” Rotating my body in ochos, he brought us around, closing with a corte. Then, holding my waist and stepping parallel to me, he spun me about and turned us till we faced each other again.

The surrounding music, talking, and laughter covered my words as I ventured to speak in shaky tones. “You were holding something to his mouth…”

He twisted us in opposite directions, then spun me into a low side dip, holding me there a moment before pulling me up. One hand held my waist from behind, and I tingled all over from his breath on my neck and his body at my back. Raising one of my arms, he slid his fingers along the underside, catching my hand at the end and whirling me back so our chests were inches apart. His eyes flared as they held my gaze. “Continue.”

 Who was this man who killed someone so calmly and then tangoed with such sultry passion?

“I—he sank, and then you…” I was too nervous and overcome by the memory to finish.

He pivoted me so we were both stepping forward, my back at his chest, his right arm on my belly. Then he twirled me twice and dipped me backwards low, his intense gaze boring into me. Giddy, my heart thudding, I anchored myself in the golden depths of his green-rimmed eyes. With a strength and assurance that sent shockwaves through my center, he pulled me up slowly, his hand sliding from my nape to my upper back.

He pressed his warm lips to my ear. “Remember what I said.”

Tremors stole down my spine, replacing my knees with jello.

With that he turned and vanished into the crowd.

I only realized I’d been holding my breath when I exhaled again. I felt as if a supernova had occurred and a black hole had formed from the remnants of a dead star. The star was the Werewolf, and his departure the explosion. The resulting gravitational field pulled me towards him with a force I’d never experienced.

Remember what I said. How could I forget anything about the last thirty minutes?

Dad appeared at my elbow. “Who was that, Dani?”

Heat crawled up my neck to my ears. “I, um, didn’t catch his name.”

I’d be scared to know any more about him. And yet, a name would’ve made him more real, as if I hadn’t just dreamed the last half-hour. Maybe it’d be better if I had.

“There are a few young men I’d like you to meet.” Dad turned to introduce three twenty-somethings to me, all of them in finance.

This had been the refrain of the evening—of a number of evenings over the last few months.

One of the men asked me to dance. Though I was exhausted, hungry, and confused by my encounter with the Werewolf, I caught the steely glint in Dad’s eye and his curt nod. I dutifully accepted, and we started to waltz.

Dad wanted me to marry soon and marry well—meaning, to a rich, successful man. I had insisted on going to college and pursuing a career. I didn’t know just what yet, but I couldn’t imagine leading the life of a socialite that Dad intended for me. Come the fall, I’d no longer live with him and my stepmom, Eve. After turning 18 a month ago, I’d bought an apartment in Rittenhouse Square with my inheritance from Mom. Dad didn’t know about it yet. Something told me when he found out, all hell would break loose. And Luis, my stepbrother and closest friend in the world, was soon heading off to the Singapore branch of Dad’s company. A lot would change in the next six months. Part of me was anxious, part of me excited by the imminent upheavals.

As I waltzed with my partner, half a dozen paparazzi snapped photos of me. Over the last two years, photographers had increasingly sought me out, not just at charity dos and balls like this, but while I went about my normal life in public. I knew it went with the territory of being Dad’s daughter. Yet it still unsettled me because it fed into my image as a socialite. 

Suddenly, a murmur arose at the back of the room. It spread to a buzz that energized the dance crowd. After a few minutes, my dance partner asked the couple next to us what was going on.

“Someone died,” the woman gasped. “They think it was a heart attack.”

Another wave of whispers followed, and her partner added, “It was that congressman—Hendricks.”

Dad had already set aside his drink, his lips thinning into a line, as he stalked towards the source of the commotion.

The Werewolf’s lips flashed before my mind’s eye. They were full, shapely, and expressive. His nose had been painted black, so I hadn’t caught its contours very well. But I could still feel the way he’d moved me across the floor—forcefully, smoothly, always in control. Power radiated from him like heat from the sun.

Who was he, and would he think of me at all again?

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two: Caleb: Present

 

 

The blonde currently lapping the slit of my dick was taking her sweet time about it. I’d give her another minute before I started fucking her mouth. I’d bought her a drink in the hotel bar solely because I’d wondered whether her wide smile indicated her ability to deep-throat. I didn’t have time for more than a quickie tonight, since I was on call for the family.

She began to moan, sliding her tongue along the underside of my cock. While it felt great, it also felt like teasing, which I wasn’t in the mood for.

Just as Sheila—Shirley?—set her mouth to work in earnest, my phone vibrated on the bed.

“Keep going,” I directed, reaching for it and swiping up. “Yeah.”

The kneeling blonde seemed to see my distraction as a challenge, taking me in deep while massaging my balls. Fine. I could multi-task. While talking, I knotted her hair in my fist and pulled hard. She whimpered, fighting to keep stroking me.

Benny sounded frantic. “Carlo and Sal are stalled at the point of interception. You need to go out there.”

“How long?” Hitting the back of Blondie’s throat, I stifled a groan. Not that Benny would’ve minded, but I didn’t like to advertise my hobbies.

“Ten minutes. They were supposed to be in and out in two.” I could picture Benny raking a hand through his salt-and-pepper pompadour.

“No word from Franco?”

“He’s busy with the other job. You gotta handle this.”

“Will do.” I killed the call, just as Blondie suctioned my shaft to the point of no return. My balls tightened, and I slammed into the back of her throat, holding her head firmly in place. “Taste me for a few seconds, then swallow every drop.”

She hummed, her eyes swimming with tears from her gagging. My hot cum spurted into her mouth, and I watched as her throat bobbed to swallow my spunk. It took a while.

I pulled out, tucking myself into my boxer briefs as she rose to her feet, her eyes full of hunger. “I’d love to take care of you, but I’ve got to go deal with something work-related. If you want to wait…”

Disappointment leached across her face. “It’s okay. You have my number, right?”

“Mmm.” I wouldn’t be using it, however gifted Shelley’s lips were. Grabbing my car keys, I nodded towards the mini-fridge. “Help yourself to anything you want. Or room service.”

Since I didn’t know what to expect at the scene, I called our doctor and two of the cops we had on payroll, giving them the GPS location of Carlo’s and Sal’s phones.

Half an hour later, I pulled over at the sight of lights from a patrol car. We were about ten miles from the interception point. The panel truck was parked behind the cops, two of its left-side tires blown out. Doc Amos’s Mercedes was parked behind the truck. Amos himself was inside its cab.

I strolled over to where our officers were questioning a mustached man and a greasy-haired woman. “Listen, Edgardo, Shariq, can your powwow wait? We need to get the truck to South Philly by one.”

“Problem is the truck, Cal,” said Shariq. “It’ll take time to fix the tire.”

“I’ll drive it to Merryen’s. If one of you can drive my car there.” I figured if the truck could get ten miles to this point, it could go another twenty, however slowly I needed to drive.

Edgardo nodded. “I’ll take it.”

Shariq led the handcuffed man and woman towards the patrol car. “I got these guys.”

Tossing Edgardo my keys, I ambled over to the truck, hopping up into the cab. “What’s the verdict, Doc?”

Amos was busy dressing Sal’s shoulder. It looked like a bullet had lodged in deep. White as a sheet, Carlo gripped his bloody right arm in the passenger’s seat.

“They’ll survive,” Amos clipped.

“Can you keep working while I drive?”

Amos shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me whether we’re moving or not. I have everything I need.”

After disabling the truck’s GPS tracking, I put it in gear.

Tens of millions of dollars’ worth of opioids were in the back of this truck. No one was innocent in this scenario. Not the driver, not the holder he was delivering to, not the family, and certainly not me. But a job was a job. And this one paid extremely well.

On the way to the Passyunk depot, Carlo told me the whole story. They’d followed my intel and hijacked the truck, but a rival gang had apparently had their sights on the same delivery. After a shoot-out, in which Sal had been badly wounded, Carlo had let the driver handle the truck, but another member of the rival gang had showed up and blown out two of the tires. While Carlo dealt with him, the trucker’s unseen girlfriend had materialized from behind the passenger seats and grabbed Sal’s gun, shooting Carlo in the arm. Her boyfriend had driven the truck on wobbly wheels for ten miles, till the cops I’d called had pulled them over. Then Amos had arrived and begun to treat their wounds. No doubt a payoff and a warning from our officers would keep the trucker and his girlfriend quiet. I’d let the family deal with retribution from the distributors.

We crawled along at 30 miles per hour, our police escort shunting other cars away. Finally, just after 1 in the morning, we reached the depot, where Shariq, Edgardo, and their prisoners parted ways with us. For an hour I helped Benny and two others unload the truck, even though this was below my paygrade. After the earlier snafu, I wanted to make sure nothing within our power to go right went wrong.

Just as we were finishing, I got a call from the capo, Mario. “Everything good, Cal?”

“Yeah. We just finished unloading.”

“Nice work tonight. I heard you saved the goods.”

I swiped a few beads of sweat from my forehead. “Everybody had a part to play.”

“Listen, I recommended you to somebody today. Said he has a job that requires a lot of finesse, if you know what I mean. I told him you’re the best in the biz. He’s gonna call you.”

“Who is he?”

Mario chuckled. “The less said, the better.”

That sounded promising. “Is he rolling in it?”

“Absolutely.”

While I wasn’t doing too badly as an independent strategist, I could always use more wealth. I was on retainer with the family and had about a dozen other regular clients, but I welcomed a chance to fill my coffers as insurance. Insurance against the evils my family had endured. Provision for my revenge against the man who’d caused those evils. Guarantee that Mom and Faye would be taken care of for life.

Money and revenge. The two goals that had driven me for the last twelve years. While steadily piling up the first, I had to bide my time for the second.

When I’d rung off with Mario, I nodded goodbye to the others, heading back to my house in Ardmore. Besides me, only Jeremy, my sometime driver, caretaker, and gardener, and his wife Marisa, my cook and housekeeper, lived here. Every time I entered it, I thought how wrong it was that Mom and Faye refused to move in. For seventeen years they’d stubbornly stuck to the same apartment in Germantown that Dad had last occupied. As if living there could bring him back. No amount of persuasion could get them to budge, even when I said they could still keep the apartment if they stayed here. The three-bedroom place had become a shrine to Dad and our family life before he died.

Settling into an armchair in my study, I pulled out a tin of the licorice mints I always carried and popped one in my mouth. Tomorrow I’d go see my mom and sister. Maybe I could come up with an argument that would finally convince them to leave Germantown.

Unlikely.

 

* * * *

 

Danya

 

My gaze darted skittishly around the floor. My relentless, never-satisfied boss, Kari, didn’t seem to be anywhere near. She was always prodding everyone to be present on the job. But for some inexplicable reason she especially picked on me. Gladys, the associate editor who worked in the cubicle next to mine, said it was because I came from extreme privilege. The chance to lord it over me, in my lowly position of editorial assistant, was too great a temptation for Kari to resist. But I thought she singled me out because she suspected the job was just a joke to me. Which made me try all the harder to prove how much it mattered.

 I ventured to open up the personal email that had caught my attention. It announced that Anne Selznick, the famous travel vlogger and blogger, would be doing a book reading at a large downtown bookstore three and a half weeks from now. A thrill rolled through me, robbing me of breath. She was everything I wanted to be—had wanted to be for three years now. Having read, watched, and reacted to everything she’d produced, I was one of her biggest fans. I clicked on the link to buy a few tickets. Maybe my cubicle mates would go with me. I’d have a dozen questions ready for Anne, in case she’d entertain them.

A brittle cough sounded behind me, and I jumped in my chair. “Danya, I’d like to see you in my office please.”

Shoot. Kari must be on the warpath if she wasn’t chewing me out at my cubicle but in the privacy of her office.

Scooting my chair back, I followed her there, hunching my shoulders.

She indicated the chair in front of the desk and folded her small frame into the one opposite. “Danya, you’ve no doubt heard the expression time is money.”

“Er, yes.” I opened and closed my clammy palms. I was in for it. She’d caught me spending work time to plan a social event using my personal email.

“I’ll save us time and money by cutting to the chase.” Kari leaned forward, folding her arms over her desk. “Perhaps you’ve heard that Ehsan is going on paternity leave starting next week.”

That I didn’t expect. “Yes, I had heard.”

She regarded me over her glasses. “He was set to cover affordable Miami-area hotels and restaurants in two weeks’ time.”

“Ah, yes?” I prompted.

“Now he can’t.”

Where was she going with this? “Hmm.”

She clasped her hands. “We have a tight schedule on our Southeast edition. So I’d like you to go down there.”

Had I heard her right? “You mean write reviews?”

“Well, yes, that would be the main part of the assignment. Apart from the traveling.”

I felt like leaping out of my seat and pirouetting around the room. As it was, I tried not to sound like a demented idiot. “Oh, that’s—that’s amazing. Thank you!”

She offered a curt nod. “Ehsan will brief you on all the notes he’s made so far and give you the itinerary.” She pursed her lips, her tone growing somber. “Danya, this is rather important. It’s not just some fun excursion.”

“No! No, I know.” All eloquence had flown out the window. “It won’t be fun. I mean, I’ll give you really good pages.”

She perused me a long moment. “Fine. That’s all then.”

I stumbled back to my desk in a daze. I’d just landed my first travel writing assignment! Just like that.

Blazing Trails operated differently from most presses, and its unique system was the main reason I’d jumped at the chance to work here a year ago. It staffed its own travel writers, grooming them through all phases of production, from research to copy editing. Before now, I’d never much cared about my slow progress. I was just happy to be working towards doing what I loved—traveling and writing about it.

Innes popped his head over the divider between our cubicles. “Good news?”

The grin splitting my face must’ve been louder than a bugle. “Yes! I’m taking Ehsan’s assignment in Florida.”

“Congrats. You deserve it.” He high-fived me. “Drinks later?”

“Count me in,” Gladys chimed.

Remembering that Kari could see everything from her office behind me, I completed my ticket purchase, closed out my personal email, and continued copy editing the piece from Kamau on Savannah.

At 5:30 PM, the four of us, including Kamau, headed around the corner to Mellow Yellow, our favorite bar. It was the sort of place Dad would’ve had conniptions over if he’d known I frequented it. Drink-stained wood everywhere, a popcorn maker in the corner, beer pong, pool, and bocce ball, with indie pop from all nations blaring over the sound system. The stuffy, reeking restrooms always had more toilet paper on the floor than on the rolls.

Our group loved it here.

Among other reasons, I loved it because it was the least likely place any paparazzi would find me. Ever since I was 16, Dad had pushed the paps on me at high-profile functions like charity galas, balls, and ceremonies. Whenever possible, he posed with me, calling me Daddy’s girl and feeding people the line that I depended on him for everything. When in truth I’d used Mom’s money to buy my own apartment and go to college, and now I supported myself on my salary. Dad jokingly told everyone my school phase and now my work phase were just ways to fill the time till I met the right man.

If this kind of press was the price of pleasing him, I was willing to go along with it to keep the peace. For he’d been livid when he’d found out I’d bought the apartment, pressuring me all through college to attend his high-society events at the expense of my studies.

But I didn’t like stumbling upon articles that depicted me as an airheaded socialite with no purpose in life other than to look pretty and entertain people. I never recognized myself in those pieces. And I hated the gnawing loneliness I’d increasingly felt around Dad since high school, as if he had no clue who I was and didn’t care to find out. Nor did I like my suspicion, whenever he set me up with men, that they were just trying to please him and marry into his money.

After carrying our beers to a table, the four of us toasted my windfall.

“To the next Elizabeth Gilbert!” Innes nudged my arm, a warm smile dimpling his cheeks.

“Where would you travel to next?” I twisted towards him.

“Australia. Hands down.”

“I’d go to Venezuela.” I sipped my beer. “I love the music, the food, and the beaches.”

“We’ll go together. The press is putting out a revised version of Latin America next year.”

I sighed. “That sounds heavenly.”

“Hablas español?”

My thumb met my index finger. “Un poquito. Quiero aprender. My stepbrother’s half Mexican. I learned a little from him over the years.”

His brows lifted. “Te enseño. Repeat after me. ¿Quieres salir conmigo este fin de semana?”

I repeated the words.

He grinned. “Sure, Danya, I’ll go out with you this weekend.”

Blushing, I laughed. “How do you say cheater?”

“Ah, you’ll never have cause to say that to me—in English or en español.” He leaned in. “So how about it? Dinner, or a concert? Both?”

“Isn’t there a no-fraternizing policy or something at work?”

He shook his head. “Nope. All good there.”

I couldn’t think of an excuse to say no. Innes was witty, charming, and good-looking, and he’d been flirting with me all year. “Just so long as things won’t be funny between us afterwards.”

His eyes twinkled. “So that’s a yes?”

“Sí.”

 

*

 

Later, Kamau and Gladys headed off to their cars, while Innes walked me the mile or so back to my apartment. Spring buds studded the branches of the magnolias, dogwoods, and cherry trees lining the streets. Crocuses and hyacinths bloomed inside the iron grates on the boulevards. Though dark and moonless, the clear sky promised another biting, sunny day tomorrow.

Halfway home, I stopped and turned around slowly, scanning our surroundings. A prickly sensation coated the surface of my neck and arms. “Do you get the feeling we’re being followed?”

His eyes widened. “No. Do you have any enemies?”

I knew he meant to lighten the mood a little, but I considered his question seriously. “Not that I know of. I guess my dad might.”

As we continued silently walking, I strained my ears for unusual footfalls, sudden movements, or the brush of an unseen presence. I still sensed one lurking somewhere not far away, and I shivered.

Innes saw me into my foyer, where our doorman, Lev, stood reading a newspaper behind the desk. “Would you like me to come up with you?”

“No. Thank you for walking me back.”

His lips kicked up at the corners. “So tomorrow night?”

I smiled. “Sure.” I really hoped I wasn’t about to lose a good friend by going on a date with him.

He wrapped me in a warm hug, kissing my cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

I watched as his long legs carried him out the door. Maybe this time I’d feel some chemistry and sizzle. Since that night at the ball six years ago, I’d held every man up to a certain standard—and no one came near the mark. The Werewolf had ruined me for any other man.

Unbidden, my recurring fantasy played out in my mind—the Werewolf pulled up my skirts in the library as I faced the bookcase, fingered my soaking slit, and rammed into me from behind. Once he’d buried himself up to the hilt, he murmured in my ear, “Never forget.”

It was like a promise and a curse. I never would.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Three: Caleb

 

 

I swallowed the last licorice mint, tossing the tin in a garbage can as I approached the square. Faye had simultaneously laughed and wrinkled her nose at me for my obsession with all things anise-flavored. She said it could easily repel clients and women, since it was such an acquired taste. I shrugged and said they could take me as I was or leave me. Right after, we’d quarreled about Mom’s continuing therapy appointments. Faye never wanted her to leave the apartment, regardless of the reason. But that was the thing about my sister—she could be so mature and wise one moment and stubborn and irritable the next.

I glanced at my watch. Time to act.

Passing the swanky pre-war building, I switched on all four channels of my jammer. After a minute, I turned around and passed again.

I saw the doorman going into his office, no doubt to investigate what had disabled the security cameras. Entering the lobby, I prowled behind his desk and chopped a hand into the base of his head. After he’d slumped to the floor, I fastened zip ties around his wrists and ankles, stuffing his mouth with a sock and covering his head with a dark sack. I hadn’t put enough force into my blow that he’d be out any length of time. All I needed was twenty minutes. I left the jammer behind the front desk, covering it with a black cloth.

Finding the right apartment key on his office board, I took the stairs to the sixth floor. These days, I rarely accepted violent jobs like this. As a consultant, I knew enough rough types to refer clients to that I could usually remain in the wings, directing things. But this job came with the provision that I perform it all myself. It paid well enough that I didn’t mind.

And far more than the money, it meant the beginning of my revenge.

I quietly let myself into the apartment, listening for movement. All was dark and still. I pulled the ski mask over my head. The subtle scent of jasmine lurked in pockets I passed through. There hadn’t been time to prepare for this operation as much as I usually preferred. But I’d gambled that at 2 in the morning my victim would be asleep. Using a small LED flashlight, I found her bedroom and eased the door open, switching off the flashlight.

Now I knew where the jasmine came from. It must be her soap, or a body lotion.

Gentle breaths floated from the bed, where she lay on her back, her arms folded alongside her head like a saguaro cactus. I padded over, standing beside her to take her in. My heart might’ve skipped a beat or two. In the light of the streetlamps streaming through the large windows, thick, wavy locks of copper cascaded past her shoulders. She had a narrow, straight nose with an attractive knob at the bottom, naturally arched auburn brows, and apple cheekbones. Her jawline was a cross between a square and a diamond. Creamy skin and a long neck made me want to sink my teeth into her flesh. But most of all her lips made me stall. Like a full, pink crescent moon they curved upwards in a smile, as if she were dreaming of something pleasant.

So innocent, so naïve, and so vulnerable.

So fuckable.

The image whooshed before me—I woke her up with a few caresses, stroked her glistening pussy, and made her scream for my cock. Then I straddled and impaled her till I shattered her sweet body into a million tiny pieces.

Scenes from the night at her father’s ball flashed through my head. That was before I knew about Walter Penwarren or the extent of his crimes. The thought sobered me.

Ignoring my half-mast dick, I focused on business.

I slid my gloved hand under the covers, pulling her ankles together and tying them with a rope. Then I bound her wrists, securing them to a slat of the headboard. As she began to stir, I fastened a cloth around her head over her mouth. Her eyes flipped open, wide, ocean-blue, and full of fear. Her chest rose and fell like a stormy sea. A muffled scream tore at her throat, getting clogged behind the gag.

 

* * * *

 

Danya

 

I’m being murdered in my own bed! Or raped, or tortured.

Lurid images stampeded through my brain, and my heart rocketed out of my chest. Panic squeezed my lungs in a death grip.

Wearing a black ski mask, he towered above me like the Dark Knight. I writhed and tried to escape across the bed. But my hands were fastened to the headboard. Trembling seized me, my teeth chattering into the gag.

This was how everything would end.

If he’d been able to get this far—past the cameras, past Lev, into my apartment—he could do anything he wanted with me.

What is he doing?

He was riffling through my dresser drawers, pulling out shirts, pants, underwear, and bras and stuffing them into a duffel bag. Does he need my clothes to commit his crime—or did he tie me up to steal them? Both seemed equally psychopathic. He ripped dresses and skirts from the hangers in my closet, adding them to the bag, which he slung across his chest.

Then he calmly advanced. Oh, God. What now?

Is a calm murderer better than an angry one?

I couldn’t move. My muscles had seized up. But the hammering of my heart was deafening.

He cut the rope binding me to the bed and scooped me up, tossing me over one shoulder. Now was my chance to break free! His strong arm held my legs firm, but I flopped and wriggled my trunk. Until his free hand pressed my lower back into his shoulder blade, immobilizing me.

What’s he doing now? Where are we going?

How long before he chops me up? Will he knock me out first?

“Shh,” he hushed, as if my frantic thoughts were blaring from the rooftops. “Danya, you’re going to be okay.”

He knew my name. Was that scarier or not? The words could be reassuring or the signs of a very sick mind. But his tone didn’t sound sick. It was gruff but warm. Okay was vague. But surely you wouldn’t use it to describe a dead person?

Before long we were in the stairwell, his rapid footfalls echoing against the stone walls and steps. We passed through the foyer, where he collected something on the floor behind the desk, and then we were out the front door. He strode rapidly, as if he had a sack of potatoes draped over his shoulder. His back was constructed of granite, and his legs were like metal girders.

When we emerged onto the pavement, I raised my muted yell as much as I could, wearing out my vocal cords. But the streets were empty, and no one was near to hear my futile cries. All too soon we’d stopped beside a black BMW SUV. After dumping the duffel in the trunk, he opened the rear door and laid me along the seat, fastening my ankles to the drive-side door grip. As he bent over me, I caught whiffs of fennel and plum. Something pleasant—a memory?—stirred within me.

The fleeting sensation vanished. Despair coursed through my veins as he closed the door. The rear windows were tinted, so I couldn’t see out, nor could anyone see in. Trussed up like a rotisserie chicken, I could only rotate from side to side. My situation was hopeless.

Crazy thoughts whirled and slammed into each other in my head. He’s taking me to a remote area to kill me. No—he said I’d be okay. He needs me alive and well in order to get his money. He lied. He’s going to dress me up in my clothes, torture, and rape me. Then he’ll bury me alive in the forest. Anxiety pumped through my blood vessels.

Please let it be over quickly.

He removed his balaclava and gloves as he slid behind the wheel. Now I could see his profile. A trim dark brown sculpted beard framed his square jaw. A fade on the sides of his head led to a thick, long mass of hair at the top. His prominent ridged nose separated broadly spaced eyes under low brows. Permanent laugh lines bracketed his mouth, even when his lips didn’t smile. But those lips…I thought I’d seen such lips before—shapely, plump, and bottom-heavy.

“I’m taking you somewhere nice, Diva.” Examining the rearview mirror, he pulled out and drove slowly along the street. “You won’t be uncomfortable.” His lips twitched. “Unless you ask for it.”

That’s code for torture.

He turned on a country music station. The gesture and the choice of music humanized him—for better or for worse. I still couldn’t tell what would reassure me most about a…rapist? Kidnapper? Murderer? But I wanted to hear more of his voice. There was something familiar about it.

I made incoherent sounds behind my gag.

“I realize this isn’t what you planned on doing with your Thursday night.” He sped up as if we were on a highway. “But I assure you, you’ll sleep well where we’re going.”

Oh God, is “sleep well” a euphemism for something horrible?

He chuckled as if he’d read my thoughts. “No forced sex, no death, and no drugs, I assure you.”

Not rape, not murder, not trafficking…or so he claimed. Kidnapping, then.

“No, this is about money.” He signaled a lane change. “And history.”

His grim tone told me this was personal. Did that mean he wasn’t just hired by someone to kidnap me? Or did his interests align with his client’s?

With all the questions bombarding me, it was torture not to be able to voice them. He had to be some kind of desperado—or a total nutcase—to abduct the daughter of one of America’s biggest biotech moguls, not to mention show his face to her. Short of murdering me, how did he see this playing out?

A spasm of fear racked my body. A large, warm hand steadied my waist, and the next thing I knew, my captor was laying a coat over me.

“Danya, I have a mother and sister.” His rough voice contrasted with his tender words.

Or was I reading them too charitably? Maybe he was reassuring himself. Maybe this was the mantra he used every time he abducted a woman. He hadn’t said he loved his mother and sister, or that he treated them well.

Though it was implied in his action.

I studied the fine contours of his face in the glancing lights of the highway. Who was this man? What did he want?

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Four: Caleb

 

 

Now began the hard part of my assignment. The rough work was usually a piece of cake. It was the politics that always did me in.

The farmhouse near Dushore had a few lights on when I pulled the car up to the front door after our three-hour drive. Jeremy and Marisa had driven up yesterday and prepared everything. I left Danya in the car while I unloaded the duffel and my own bags, bringing them upstairs. When I returned, Marisa hovered anxiously by the front door in her robe, peering out through the glass, while Jeremy stood at attention behind her.

“It’s pretty cold out,” Jeremy husked. “Should I lay a fire?”

“I’ve put the kettle on.” Marisa tipped her head towards the kitchen. “Bring her in there. The embers aren’t yet dead from earlier. We can stir them up.”

“You shouldn’t have stayed up,” I said in a gruff voice.

“Nonsense. Anyway, we only just woke when you pulled up.” She opened the door for me, letting in a gust of 25-degree air.

In a few strides I was at the car, popping open the door and leaning over Danya to cut the rope binding her ankles to the opposite door. She didn’t bother to fight this time—maybe because she knew she didn’t stand a chance out here in the middle of nowhere in her t-shirt and short-shorts with her hands and feet bound.

“Now, Diva, I’m going to remove your gag. You can scream to your heart’s content out here.” No one will hear except the screech owls, and they’ll probably join you.

She gasped as I freed her mouth, noting the red chafing marks the cloth had made on her porcelain cheeks. She really was delicate. After gulping in a few lungfuls of air, she let out a loud scream that lasted a good thirty seconds. Taking a long breath, she yowled again, this time with a rattle to her voice. She had a set of pipes on her.

While she auditioned for the opera, I picked her up and carried her inside. Even wrapped in my coat, her curves made me itch to grope her. My hands would perfectly fit her hips, ass, tits, and narrow waist.

Though she stopped screaming once she saw Marisa and Jeremy, she tried to spring out of my arms. In an impressive display of core strength, she nearly succeeded. I threw her over my shoulder, pushed up the coat, and gave her a hard swat on her round springy ass. Damn, that felt good. After crying out, she kept silent till we reached the airy high-raftered kitchen, where I set her down on the vinyl couch in front of the fire.

She trembled violently, from fear, cold, or both.

I pulled a chair in front of her, caging her legs between my knees. Holding her chin in my hand, I pinned her with a firm gaze. “Let’s get a few rules straight, Diva. First, as long as you’re in my care, you obey me without question. If you fight me, expect consequences. I will punish you however I see fit. Understood?”

She tried to shake her head free of my grip, her cobalt eyes flaring. “In your care?”

My hand slid down the column of her slender throat, squeezing it. That, too, felt good. “The person who hired me could’ve hired someone far worse—far rougher—to handle this job. You wouldn’t have fared so well with another man.”

Her mouth slackened. “So I should be grateful to you? And what is this job? Enlighten me.”

So she was feisty. Living up to the reputation of a redhead.

I quirked an eyebrow. “You’ve been kidnapped.”

My thumb brushed along the artery of her neck, registering her fluttering pulse. I imagined playing with her airways while making her come. What would those lips look like forming a perfect O?

“Then why are you talking about my being in your care? I’ll be gone from here by tomorrow.” She jutted her chin up.

I smiled, enjoying her fight. “I’m afraid not, Diva.”

Her eyes flashed. “Yes. I will. You’ll demand a ransom from my father, and he’ll pay it.”

Ah, she was so confident.

“We’re on my client’s timeline. Not yours. Not mine. Not your father’s.”

“What does that mean?” she choked.

“That for the next month you’re mine.” My dick twitched.

Enjoying Danya hadn’t been part of anyone’s plan, least of all mine. But plans changed. As of the moment I’d laid eyes on her tonight. And having her worked perfectly into the bigger scheme. I’d had a three-hour drive to decide on the matter. Never mind that my client had specified “no touching.” Needs must.

In every sense of the phrase.

“No.” She shook her head vehemently. “That’s impossible. My father will pay you better than what your client is paying you, I’m sure!”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

Her brow crinkled. “But why?”

“I have reasons for going along with my client’s plan. Reasons more important than money.” Revenge. On your father.

“Whatever you need or want, my father will give it to you.”

Poor little rich girl. She had no idea. “Oh, I’ll be taking plenty from your father.”

Including you.

 

* * * *

 

Danya

 

“I want to call him.” I extended my hands, as a reminder that he should unbind me.

A wicked spark lit his eyes, and his lips tugged up at the corners. “Two demands at once, Diva?” He tsked. “That’s the second rule you’ll follow while in my care. You don’t make demands.” He leaned in, pebbling my neck with goosebumps as he breathed in my ear. “You beg me.”

My teeth and my thighs clenched. “I never beg.”

As he moved his lips over my earlobe, I could hear the smirk in his voice. “You will.”

A shiver of pure pleasure shot to my core from where his breath fanned my skin. Since it couldn’t be from his words, which infuriated me, it must be from the vibrations of his voice.

I could’ve sworn I’d been in this situation before. What was so familiar about it? It must’ve been too long since I’d had sex. Definitely too long since I’d had pleasure.

The kindly dark-haired woman with snapping eyes who’d followed us into the kitchen brought over two steaming cups of tea and placed them on the table beside me.

“Marisa, this is Danya.” His eyes never left mine.

She nodded. “Danya, you get yourself nice and warm. There’s a thick duvet on your bed upstairs.”

I reminded myself that she was on his side.

“Thank you, but I won’t be sleeping,” I clipped. Or eating or drinking.

To cave to any of my body’s needs felt like capitulating. It would’ve been accepting that I was trapped here. If I could fast and go on a sleep strike, maybe I wouldn’t be worth anything to anyone, and they’d have to release me.

Marisa smiled sweetly. “Well, in case you get the urge, everything’s ready.”

When she’d left, the man who’d upended my life reached for one of the mugs and held it to my lips. The fragrant aromas of jasmine white tea—my favorite—assailed my senses. Without thinking, I took a sip. Then another. Oh, that tasted so good.

Between sips, I challenged, “What’s wrong, you don’t trust me enough to free my wrists? Afraid I’ll toss my tea in your face?”

“I don’t take any chances, Diva.” His gravelly voice was sinfully, decadently sexy.

Focus, Danya.

“Why do you call me Diva?”

His gaze dropped to my lips, lingering there. I felt heat seep into my face. “Because of who you are. Your ways.”

“You mean because of my father. You don’t know my ways yet.”

He crooked a half-smile. “Your reputation precedes you.”

He must be referring to the tabloids. Fine. If he wanted to think of me as a stuck-up, spoiled princess, he could go right ahead. I was all too glad to keep my true life and nature hidden from him. He already had too much power over me as it was. He didn’t need to know who I really was. “What’s your name?”

“Caleb.” His ready answer startled me.

“Real name or assumed?”

“Assumed.”

“What do you get out of this kidnapping?” I put bluntly.

His wicked grin turned feral. “Satisfaction.”

My breath caught. “I thought you said no forced sex.”

Cupping my chin, he thumbed my lower lip. His intimate touch and searing gaze mesmerized me. Flames flickered in his now-amber eyes. “No force necessary.”

I gulped, feeling a steady drumbeat thud between my thighs. All my blood rushed to my crotch. What was happening to me? I needed to quell my raging hormones and quick. This man had ripped me from my life. From work, my date with Innes, my first travel writing assignment, the chance to see my travel blogging idol. He was causing worry and grief among those who loved me—Dad, Eve, and Luis. And he’d tied me up like Houdini, minus a few locks. He also seemed to have some crazy idea that I’d submit to him without a fight. A month of captivity! I might not have a job to come back to.

No. There was no way I’d accept this situation. And not a chance I’d sleep with the enemy.

Tomorrow I’d plot how to get out of here. I already had some ideas. But now, as if my body taunted me, I suddenly felt the desperate need to crash. I stifled a yawn.

“We’ll discuss rule number three tomorrow.” My captor stood, gathering me in his arms.

I wanted to lash out again, make him work at getting me wherever we were going. But I was physically, emotionally, and mentally drained. As he carried me through the hall and up the stairs, to my embarrassment, I longed to nestle into his chest and fall asleep. He was so solid, warm, and masculine-smelling…

But my pride kept me awake. Just barely.

We entered a tidy room with a dark hardwood floor, a queen-sized bed, and two large double-paned windows. A dresser and desk lined the wall opposite the bed, and a door at the far end of that wall stood ajar, as though it led to a bathroom. A closed door beyond the bed suggested a closet.

“Need to use the bathroom?” Caleb bobbed his head towards the open door.

“Yes.” I definitely wasn’t passing up the opportunity to have my hands—and possibly my feet—freed.

“You haven’t earned the right for that yet, Diva.” As if he’d read my mind, he smirked, carrying me into a tile-floored bathroom with a clawfoot tub. “I’m going to loosen the ropes on your ankles so you can spread your legs.” His salacious smile told me he’d chosen this turn of phrase. “But I’ll wipe you. If you try anything, expect to be punished.”

My thoughts raced. What could I do? The man was a Titan with endless shoulders, an iron-clad chest, and the glutes of an elite cyclist. The veins in his forearms had more tributaries than the Amazon River. If I used my wrists to strike a sensitive part of his head, I might knock him out briefly. But how would I untie myself before he came to? Maybe, once I had my ankle restraints loosened, I could shuffle out the door, down the stairs, and outside.

I decided to try it.

He set me on my feet in front of the toilet, pulling my shorts to my calves. Easing me down onto the seat, he untied the rope around my ankles. Then he nudged my legs apart. It was now or never. My heart sprinted, and my breath grew labored as I raised my hands to deliver a hard blow to the crown of his head.

Without looking up, he grabbed my right forearm, using it to twist my torso so I was pretzeled over the side of the toilet, and cracked his palm against one of my bare buttocks. I jerked and screamed, wriggling to break free of his hold. But he effortlessly pinned me face down so I sprawled sideways across the toilet. In another moment he was above and behind me, his scorching body cocooning me. Pressing a hand into my upper back to hold me in place, he rained a series of wallops over first one cheek then the other. Each one stung like a mother, and I hollered at the top of my lungs. Since his legs hemmed in my hips, there was no hope of escape.

With each spank, heat bloomed through my center. Every nerve, every cell of my body zeroed in on where his palm crashed down and the pain radiating from there. It was the most humiliating thing I’d ever been subjected to. I was utterly at his mercy, my ass exposed to him till such time as he deemed fit to cover it. And as the controller of my body and my pain, he controlled my mind. All I was aware of was his total power. He owned me right now.

The sensation of being completely subdued should’ve been unpleasant. But it wasn’t. Instead, my core vibrated with need. My clit began to throb, and arousal welled from my pussy. The pain from the smacks was turning into want. I hungered for something only my punisher could give.

“Please,” I whimpered.

I didn’t know what I was asking for, apart from relief from this burning desire.

The flurry of slaps ceased.

He pulled me to a standing position, holding me up with one muscular arm. I would’ve flopped to the floor otherwise. His gritty voice rumbled into my temple. “What was that?”

“Please.” Tears pricked at my eyes. Suddenly my emotions overwhelmed me, and I couldn’t keep the tears in check. They spilled down my cheeks in rivulets, splatting on the tile floor. A sob racked me, and my chin dropped to my chest, my shoulders heaving.

He held me so close, we might as well have been one body. Now his soft tones were like the purr of a cougar. “What are you asking for, Diva?”

I was a mess of snot, hot tears, and saliva. “Release.”

“There’s only one kind of release I can give you.” His lips fluttered against my cheek, making me tremble with yearning. “The others are off limits.”

He meant he couldn’t release me—from my bonds or from his custody.

“Yes, please. The first then.” The gaping hollow that the Werewolf had left unsatisfied six years ago echoed my words. I’d only ever had pleasure thinking of him.

My captor spun me around, his eyes like twilit ponds. “That sounds a lot like begging, Danya.”

I gulped, swallowing my pride, my eyes sliding sideways. “Yes.”

He gripped my chin. “It takes courage to beg, you know. You’re brave.”

My brows crumpled together. “No, I’m not.” I’m a coward.

He shook his head. “Asking for what you want when it’s hard to do so. That’s courage.”

He pulled a sheet of toilet paper off the roll and used it to clean my face. Now shame covered me. Of course he didn’t want me. I must be blotchy, tear-stained, and red-eyed. Totally undesirable. But still the pulsing in my groin craved attention. His attention. Never mind who he was or what he’d done to me. I was desperate for his touch.

“Diva, we’re going to get some sleep.” He kissed my forehead. “There’ll be plenty of time for release.”

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Five: Caleb

 

 

She had to be strong, on top of beautiful, sexy, and smart.

She’d taken my punishment like a soldier and turned it into something redeeming. With one word she’d bared her soul to me.

Fully aroused as I’d been, I couldn’t take advantage of her in her emotional state. But seeing her ass cheeks tattooed with my handprints had nearly done me in. From her clit to her crack had been drenched. It was all I could do to keep from slurping up every last drop of her nectar. The air had been thick with the scent of her desire, and the tremor in her voice as she’d begged me to take her had shot straight to my cock and set it thrumming.

But this was a punishment for her trying to rebel. Rewarding her with sex would only encourage her to defy me again. And I had other reasons for keeping her hungry and on edge, notably her father.

After helping her use the toilet, I undid the rope around her wrists and replaced it with a thin scarf that didn’t cut into her skin as much. Then I carried her to the bed, pulling down the covers and tucking her in.

Switching off the lamp, I climbed in beside her, brushing a lock of russet hair off her cheek. “Sweet dreams.”

 

* * * *

 

Danya

 

My eyes flew open, and I stifled a gasp in the darkness. Those words! That voice. My God. No way. Had I been that blind? Like rain that turns from sprinkles to a torrential downpour in seconds, dozens of details from the last few hours pelted through my brain, leaving no room for doubt. His honey-flecked hazel eyes. His arms around me from behind. His low, gritty voice that reverberated through my sex. His aromas of licorice and wine. His Olympian stature and mammoth presence. The way he handled me like a paper version of myself.

I’d been so dense.

But just as suddenly I saw why I hadn’t figured out his identity before. I’d wanted to preserve my memory of the Werewolf as the man who’d inspired my first sexual fantasies—and all my sexual fantasies since. He’d always represented power, suavity, and daring. The way he’d electrified me then had kept me dreaming that he’d possess me for years after. I’d had a mental block tonight because I was dead set on not tarnishing that open-ended, hopeful dream with the harsh realities of the present.

Fury coursed through me. Caleb had ruined the Werewolf for me. In my dreams, the Werewolf protected me, cherished me, saw me for who I really was. Sure, I’d known he was a murderer, but the man he’d killed apparently had it coming to him. All the news sources stated that he’d had a number of enemies and his hand in many corrupt pots. In any event, in my fantasy, the Werewolf’s cause had been just. I’d thought we were both on the same team. Our conspiracy had always tasted delicious. Now that he’d merged with my kidnapper, I’d become just another one of his jobs. A victim like that politician. Someone to coerce, threaten, and use. He saw me the way much of the public liked to see me—a rich, entitled brat. Didn’t bother to dig beneath the surface. He was an insensitive brute who in one night had destroyed my whole narrative. I’d kept his secret that night and forever since—and this was how he rewarded me. By robbing me not only of my present and future, but my equally precious past.

I’d always hoped that just as the Werewolf was everything to me, I was special to him. Now it appeared I wasn’t.

A tear trickled down my cheek as I lay on my side facing away from my captor. I stifled a sob, so he wouldn’t wake and find me crying.

Even as it made more sense why I’d been lusting for him in the bathroom, I cringed from the shame of my undisguised, desperate need. Knowing that Caleb was the Werewolf, I recognized I was in more danger than ever. His nearness and aura acted like a lightning strike on my system, stimulating every nerve and neuron. Especially the bundles of nerves in my groin. And my entire spinal column. I melted in his presence. Nothing had changed in six years. If anything my susceptibility to him had intensified.

But he’s disrupted your whole life, Danya! my conscience chided.

My lips set in a thin line as I stared across the dark room.

Don’t worry, my stark resolve soothed my soul. I have plans for escape…and payback.

 

 *

 

Blinding light lasered through my eyelid to my retina, jolting me awake. My eyes snapped open.

Holy mother of God in a birthday suit. My totally naked captor faced away from me while collecting his clothes from the dresser.

Shit. Two perfect, powerful globes stared straight at me like full moons. A broad, deeply sculpted V-back, tapering to a narrow waist, was Michelangelo’s wet dream. Those bronzed thighs and calves were as edible as Kentucky barbecue. His tousled bedhead made my lady bits leak. I ogled freely, hoping he hadn’t heard me waken.

“You can exhale now, Diva. Holding your breath isn’t advisable, except when swimming.” His gruff morning voice made my nipples pebble, even as his mocking tone jerked me out of my X-rated reverie.

How in hell did he know I was holding my breath?!

How had he known I was awake?

I swallowed a few much-needed gulps of oxygen, my mental cogs whirring. “If I can’t breathe, it’s because I’m in a living nightmare.”

Pulling on a pair of navy boxer briefs, he swiveled slowly. Oh. My. God. The grid of his chest was like an oblong waffle iron with ten squares. A smattering of dark brown hair dusted the top of his sternum and funneled in a line down the center of his abs to a happy trail that disappeared beneath his waist. He was like one of those naked athletes on ancient Greek vases.

My first thought was no fair. He couldn’t ruin my life and be this sexy. My second thought was what’s below the midriff? My eyes scrolled down to his bulging package, and I found myself licking my lips.

A smirk nudged his lips sideways as he ambled over to me. He snapped his fingers. “My eyes are up here, Diva.”

Blushing with the heat of a thousand fiery furnaces, I blinked, my gaze swinging to his taunting eyes.

The back of his knuckle grazed my jaw as he fisted my hair in his other hand and extended my neck. He leaned over me, mirth infusing his voice. “Maybe, if you earn it, I’ll let you have some.” He tugged hard, making my whole scalp tingle. “After some begging.” His thumb pushed past the seam of my lips to my teeth, delving inside as he watched me intently, his eyes a blazing mahogany. “Suck, Danya.”

Desire flooded my sheath, and the same desperate need for relief hammered at my core. I hollowed my cheeks and sucked his thumb while he pumped it in and out. My heart pounded as I imagined I was taking something else in my mouth. A moan escaped my throat, and I began to grind my hips. He popped his thumb out and pulled the covers down to expose my tightly peaked nipples through my shirt.

He pushed the t-shirt up above my breasts, his eyes darkening with lust.

His thumb lightly circled the areola of one breast, tracing lazy arcs this way and that. He kneaded and squeezed, all the while teasing me with his wicked smirk. If only he’d touch my nipple! He released my scalp and focused his other thumb on the other areola, playing with it and driving me insane. As his thumbs grazed my nipples at last, a zap of pleasure zinged to my sex. My whole body convulsed.

“Now, Diva,” he gritted, “if you promise to follow my third rule, I’ll let you come.”

In my haze of arousal I struggled to decipher his words. “Third?”

A devious grin slunk up his face as he cupped my breasts, continuing to massage them. “The third is, I alone control your pleasure. Repeat that so I know you understand.”

“But how would I—”

He pinched both nipples, pulling them hard. The pain was exquisite, and I bit back a scream. The gesture served to remind me that he did indeed control all my pain and pleasure. “We have a whole month ahead. I’m going to enjoy you in many ways. But you will never come without my permission. Repeat.”

“You alone control my pleasure,” I gasped, praying he’d pluck my nipples again. Anything to ease this torturous need building inside me.

He turned each nipple lightly like a radio dial. “In a few seconds, you’re going to come. When I say you can.”

My head lolled back from the hint of relief. “Please.”

He bent down and bit one of my nipples while twisting the other, hard. I cried out, feeling waves of bliss roll over me. His head lifted, his fingers taking over where his teeth had left off. “You may come.”

My pussy contracted, and my entire frame shuddered as I gave in to the tidal wave that rocked me. It was euphoria, deliverance, and promise all rolled into one. And like last night, I was overcome by the power and skill of the man who could provide this. When he released my nipples, another spasm hit me, filling the room with my heedless groans. Panting, I slowly came down from my high, unable to believe I’d just come that way.

Amusement danced in his eyes. “We’re going to have fun this next month, Diva.”

I flushed, thinking of how I’d already begged twice in the last few hours alone. And I’d momentarily forgotten how angry I was at him. Things were not going as I’d planned. I needed to put my escape in motion.

 

* * * *

 

Caleb

 

I turned away so my fully erect dick wouldn’t be the elephant in the room, even if it literally was. Watching her come undone had been like shooting down the steep side of a roller coaster, where thrill and intoxication drown out all other feelings. Maybe I was drunk on my own power over her. My first kidnapping in a twelve-year career as a fixer, and I’d hit the jackpot. She was open, receptive, and sensual as fuck. Just now had been about exploring her, awakening her hunger, and getting her addicted to the pleasure only I could give.

The wide-eyed eighteen-year-old I’d danced with six years ago had grown into a highly sexual being.

I pulled on a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt. For Danya I selected hot pink lace panties and matching bra, black jeans, and a long-sleeved wine-red top. By the time I’d laid everything out on a chair, my raging hard-on was under control.

“Do you want a bath or shower, Diva?”

She seemed preoccupied. “No, that’s all right.”

“Come here, and I’ll dress you.”

“I think I’ll just stay in bed.” She wriggled to her opposite side, facing the window.

“That wasn’t a request. It was a command.”

She eyed me nervously, chewing her bottom lip. “All the same, I prefer to sleep. Seeing as how I’m not allowed to go to my job.” Her emphasis lacked conviction, since there was a tremble in her voice.

My nostrils flared. “Your job, for the next month, is to obey and please me. In five seconds, you’ll see what happens when I’m displeased.”

She shivered, but stayed put as I counted down. At the end, she ventured an anxious glance at me, waiting.

I flashed the malicious grin I reserved for victims I was about to put through their paces. “You had your chance to be dressed in here, Diva. That chance has now expired.”

Collecting her clothes on the chair, I stopped by the bed just long enough to scoop her up and throw her over my shoulder. She protested loudly as I passed through the door and descended the stairs, heading to the kitchen.

Marisa was kneading dough at the counter, and Jeremy was repairing a broken light fixture in the corner.

“Marisa, Jeremy, I’d like your help.”

My long-faithful domestic workers dropped what they were doing and came to stand by the fire. Since they’d been happily married for forty-some years, I had no doubt they could handle what I was about to ask them to do.

“Our guest needs to be taught a lesson.” My eyes telegraphed to them that I intended to discipline her. “She’ll be dressed here, in front of you.”

“No!” Danya bleated.

“No?” I set her down, holding her by the throat as I pulled out my pocketknife and flicked it open. “So you prefer to be naked in front of Marisa and Jeremy? That can be arranged.” Her eyes rounded with fear.

I sliced the scarf that bound her wrists, pocketed the knife, and pulled her arms above her head, wrenching her shirt off. Her arms flew to cover her breasts while I dragged her shorts down, cut the rope around her ankles, and rid first one leg then the other of the shorts. She tried to flee, but I flipped her around, trapped her wrists behind her back, and forced her to face Marisa and Jeremy completely naked. They stood calmly looking on, as if this were an everyday occurrence, training captives to obey.

“Marisa, don’t you think she should stand up nice and tall? She has a body to be proud of.”

“She does,” Marisa agreed. “She’d look good in a gunnysack.”

Danya tensed and fought to break free. “I hate you!” Her voice cracked with rage and humiliation.

My cock jerked at her lower back as I held her snugly against me. Her naked body and feistiness were acting like amphetamines on my junk. “Jeremy, what color would suit her flaming hair, blue eyes, and milk-white skin?”

He tilted his head, scratching his stubbly chin. “I’d say red, or blue. Maybe black.”

“I thought so too.”

“Let. Me. Go.” Danya seethed.

“What did I say about making demands, Danya?” I breathed hotly in her ear. A tremor passed from her head to her feet. “Marisa, Jeremy, I put the question to both of you—doesn’t she look more attractive when she’s furious?”

They chuffed a laugh, exchanging knowing glances.

“Brings color to her cheeks,” said Jeremy.

“She’s got gumption,” Marisa pronounced. “Suits her well.”

“Marisa, would you bring her bra over?” I nodded towards the pile I’d tossed on the couch.

Danya thrust out her chin, twisting her face away from her audience. “You can’t do this to me. You’ll rot in prison for the rest of your life.”

I chuckled, enjoying her spirit. “You’re the one committing indecent exposure, Diva.” As Marisa held up the bra, I fed Danya’s arms through the straps. “Jeremy, can you lend a hand with the clasps?”

“I’m not a child!” Danya spat.

I gathered her hair in my hand as Jeremy fastened the hooks. “Then stop acting like one,” I advised in her ear.

“Please, let me dress myself.” Her eyes jumped between mine, desperation swimming in their depths.

I smiled. “Too late for that. You’ll submit to the rest of your punishment. Marisa, the panties.”

Not surprisingly, Danya tried to kick me as I knelt down. Blocking her, I grabbed both her ankles and threw her back onto the couch, pulling her legs up so her ass was exposed to Marisa and Jeremy. “Ladies and gentlemen, the other end.”