OBSESSION

A DARK ROMANTIC SUSPENSE

NOVEL

JANE HENRY

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Obsession: A Dark Romantic Suspense Novel⁠*
Copyright © 2024 by Jane Henry
All rights reserved.
This is a literary work of fiction. Any names, places or incidents are the product of the author’s
imagination. Similarities or resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments,
are solely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission
from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
The unauthorized reproduction, transmission, distribution of, or use of the copyrighted work in the
training of Artificial Intelligences (AI) is illegal and a violation of US copyright law.
Cover photography by Wander Aguilar
Cover art by Popkitty
ISBN: 978-1-961866-12-6

* Originally published as the Master’s Protegé duet in 2021. Revised and updated 2024.

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 CONTENTS

Synopsis
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
Preview
Meet Jane
OceanofPDF.com
 SYNOPSIS

They call him the executioner.

Some say monster.
Dishonorably discharged from the military, he runs a highly secret,
clandestine operation, and has everything I need to find the justice I crave.
Power players at his disposal.
An insatiable hunger for justice.
A reckless disregard for the law.
I offer him my skills, but that's not what he wants.
He wants me.
And Cain Master always gets what he wants.

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 CHAPTER ONE

Violet
THE DRIVER PULLS OVER by the side of the road. “Here you go. Pay
on the app.”
I look at the GPS and note we’re still a mile away. We drove by the wooden
placard that read Welcome to Salem, complete with the obligatory golden
witch on a broom, half a mile ago.
“Uh, this isn’t it. Still a mile up ahead.”
The kid driving the car’s about twenty years old, clean-shaven, and he
wears glasses perched on the end of his nose. He looks over the wire rims
and frowns. “This is as far as I go, lady. Do you know who lives up that
hill?”
“I do.” I barely control my temper. “It was the address I gave you when you
agreed to drive me, remember?”
He blinks. “I didn’t recognize the address. Would’ve turned down the job if
I had.”
Lovely. Does everyone know the man I’m going to see, and I’ve somehow
lived in ignorance all this time until yesterday?
“Soooo?”
“I won’t go up there. I don’t have a death wish, lady. I won’t charge you for
the rest of the trip, only this far,” he says, as if somehow that makes it all
better.
“How kind of you.” I can’t hide my disgust.
“Out,” he snaps.
“Fine.” I grab my bag, a beat up black leather crossbody I picked up at a
thrift store, and sling it over my shoulder. I really should maybe find
something a bit nicer for times such as these. “Thanks.”
I slam the door harder than I need to and frown at my choice of footwear. I
have exactly one pair of heels in my closet, and it figures today’s the day
I’d decide to wear them. I could call for another ride but that risks another
rejection, and the truth is, I don’t have time. I’ve got to be at work in two
hours, and I have no idea how long this—interview?—will take.
So, I do what I must. I take a deep breath and begin walking toward the
house.
I fume the whole way. If Mr. Master’s asshole employee hadn’t totaled my
car, I wouldn’t be walking alone to the ridiculously huge mansion a mile
away on the hill. I wouldn’t have this massive headache or bruises either.
I also never would’ve discovered Cain Master or have an excuse to visit
him.
The summer heat’s cooler by the seaside, yet it’s still nearly eighty degrees
with no breeze. I’ll show up sweaty and disheveled, no matter how slowly
or carefully I walk.
My head hurts from the injuries of the night before, but I’m otherwise
alright. I used a little bit of makeup to cover the bruises, and even ran a
mascara brush through my lashes. But the makeup was old and dried up,
and I’m afraid I look like a little kid playing with her mom’s lipstick.
Normally, I prefer to mask my eyes—they’re a vivid violet that
unfortunately is hard to hide—but today I decided it couldn’t hurt to accent
them a little. Or… whatever. I don’t know what else people who know
about these things would call it. Shades of purple make my eyes stand out.
The dress I chose is one of the few I own. A pale lavender number in a
cotton blend, it dips in the front while still being professional, the hem
hitting mid-thigh. Combined with a nude pair of pumps, the dress is
professional and simple, suitable for a job like today.
It’s odd that while I was able to find out Cain Master’s history, including
the cases brought and accusations made against him, I wasn’t able to find a
birth date or a single picture anywhere. It’s disconcerting, honestly.
Cain Master is insignificant in the eyes of the American public… but it’s a
lie.
A part of me wonders if hiding damn near everything about him online was
intentional. Or did he have an identity before this one? Another name? Is
this one given to him by the government, or one he chose for anonymity?
I bet he isn’t as quick as he once was, his wits dulled over the years. He’s
wealthy enough, that I know from just a cursory glance at his home. But
does he even own that? I spent my time researching his history and
background and haven’t looked into his personal assets.
I’ll get there.
He has no family to speak of, not even so much as an ex-wife.
I know enough. Sometimes it’s better not to know more than what’s directly
in front of you.
I twist my foot on a rock and stumble but throw my arms out wide and
catch myself before I fall. If I hurt myself now, I’ll have to head home and
cancel this mission altogether.
I carefully take off my heels and begin to walk along the side of the road.
It’s cooler here, under the shadows of the large, stately maples that offer
shade and shelter. I’m physically fit, but panting from the heat. I blame last
night’s accident.
The call of a seagull over the water catches my attention. Even from here, I
can see the blue-green depths of the ocean bordering his house. What would
it be like to live in a place like this? I’d hazard a guess the view isn’t the
only reason he lives here, though.
His house is far enough off the beaten path to deter strangers from visiting
—at least, most of them. No little girls in uniforms would make this walk to
peddle their Girl Scout cookies, no Jehovah’s Witnesses would come
knocking to save his besmirched soul. It’s almost a fortress of sorts, set far
from the main roads, but not so far that a twenty-minute ride wouldn’t bring
you into the city to get food or gas.
The closest Air Force base is in Hanscom, only thirty-two minutes by car. I
checked.
Here, in the light of day, when I’m not compromised and as badly injured as
I was when I first arrived last night, I note things I didn’t see before—a
large, sunny porch that overlooks the private beach, immaculately well-kept
and homey, and a pathway lined with brilliant white rocks that leads to the
front door. It’s like a trail to the gingerbread house, set just far enough back
to beckon unsuspecting victims.
I always did have an overactive imagination.
The last time I came here, he wasn’t home, and I was injured. I missed lots
of details.
Here in Salem and the surrounding cities, it’s unusual for a home this close
to the water to be much bigger than three or four bedrooms. Small colonial
homes are the bedrock of the North Shore. Much larger homes are rare and
cost a small fortune.
As I draw nearer, I note a four-car garage, a large, paved, circular driveway,
and two main entrances, both bedecked with large but simple wreaths. The
landscaping’s immaculate, well-groomed and maintained, and if I peek a bit
to the right of the main entrance, I can see into a rock-lined garden that
overlooks the sea. Is that a barn or a shed out back? I also catch glimpses of
a heavy gate and fence and another glimmer of water. A pool?
The owner of this home favors privacy.
A brisk wind kicks up as I near the main entrance. Here, right by the water,
the temperature’s dropped by at least ten degrees.
I’m not alone. There’s someone in the side yard tending the garden,
humming as they pull weeds. A small pile of drying dandelions sits beside
him. Someone else is rummaging around in the garage. I’m guessing the
people I met last night aren’t the only staff he employs.
At least I should be able to get someone’s attention.
I walk up to the closest entrance, draw in a deep breath, and square my
shoulders. The front entryway’s swept neatly, and a large potted plant stands
to the right. Everything’s masculine and utilitarian, no welcome mat by the
door, nothing flowery or bright. I ring the doorbell.
The clanging of the bell reverberates inside, a deep, musical baritone.
Footsteps sound on the other side of the door, and I see a tall, thin man
through the rectangular windows that flank each side of the double doors.
I let my breath out, then draw in another to steady my nerves. From here, I
can see the kitchen entrance where I went in last night and the sitting room
where I saw the doctor. No sign of the master of this house.
He’s in there, though. I know it.
Will he see me?
When the door opens, I notice a uniformed guard standing in the shadows
to the right of the doorway, armed and ready. His face is set in stone, his
eyes staring at me unblinking from the shadows. Now that’s a sight you
don’t see every day.
My pulse staggers.
I wonder if the guy at the door’s a daytime butler, or housekeeper or
something. He’s older than I am, pale, with a receding hairline, but he’s
wiry and strong. When he looks at me, only one eye is seeing, the other is
dull and lifeless.
He gently bows his head in greeting, and when he speaks, he has a gentle
southern accent. “May I help you?”
I clear my throat. It’s make-or-break time. I give him what I hope is a
disarming smile, but I’m rusty with such formalities and only manage to
bare my teeth at him. Cringy.
Step one. Confirm the name of the owner of the house. Say it with
confidence.
My voice rings loud and clear. “I’m here to see Mr. Master, please.”
He nods. Check.
“Do you have an appointment?”
I briefly consider lying just to get inside, but quickly dismiss that idea. It
could backfire too quickly.
I shake my head. “I don’t. Is he in?”
He holds my gaze for a moment before he responds. Is he sizing me up? He
quickly schools his features and gestures for me to come in.
“I’m not sure if he is in or not, but please, have a seat and I’ll find out. Your
name?”
I don’t believe him. He knows exactly whether or not he’s in, he just
doesn’t want to tell me until he knows if Mr. Master’s entertaining visitors.
“Violet.”
“Last name as well, please, miss.”
“Violet Price.” The name I adopted when I turned eighteen.
He nods. “I’ll be right back, Miss Price.” As he walks away, he takes a
phone out of his pocket and begins to type. Texting.
The guard looks at me, immovable and serious.
“Hey.” I give him a little side-wave.
He doesn’t even blink.
“You come here often?” Funny, Vi. Real funny. He just stares at me without
responding, a real-life stoic. I sigh and turn away.
I take the opportunity to observe more details. The interior of Cain Master’s
home is simple yet elegant and updated, coupling the charm of an earlier
time with the technological advancements of the twenty-first century.
Hardwood floors line the entire house. The walls and trim are clean and off-
white, the furniture both sturdy and understated. A large, wide-screen TV
adorns a wall along with what looks like state-of-the-art intercom and alarm
systems. In the kitchen, light blue and white tiles line the backsplash,
setting off large stainless-steel appliances, while a massive digital calendar
occupies one wall of the uber masculine room.
Fancy.
Every detail speaks of wealth and comfort. It’s exquisite.
But the truth is, I’m more interested in the titles of the books on the shelves
I see when I wander into the sitting room, little clues into the character of
Cain Master. Most of these are in English, though I catch a few foreign
titles. Many are the types of books you’d expect a well-read retired army
general to read.
The Art of War.
Elemental Strategy.
The classics, some titles a bit surprising.
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.
Cold Mountain.
Pride and Prejudice.
I’ve seen libraries like this before, outfitted with popular titles for show. But
if you take a book off the shelf, you’ll find the spine’s never been cracked,
the poor books left to collect dust. Not these, though. They’re well-worn
and clearly loved, every one of them bearing marks of repeated use.
Interesting. No e-book readers for Cain Master. Does he occasionally
eschew modern technology, then? Or is there another reason for the volume
of print books?
Footsteps sound in the foyer outside this sitting room, and I pause in my
perusal. Is it him? But the footsteps retreat, along with the sound of a deep,
masculine voice.
My pulse races. I don’t recognize the voices as being from the night before,
and for some reason, my intuition tells me they aren’t the man I’ve come to
see.
I twiddle my thumbs, read every title I can see in front of me on the lined
shelves, then sit down and begin counting to twenty in every language I
know. I’m at number ten in Hindi when footsteps approach, heading this
way. I get to my feet. I know who it is.
A shadow precedes him. I still at his breadth and height just before he
enters.
I know before he speaks, by the way the air seems thinner and the furniture
somehow smaller… this is the master of the house.
He’s taller than I am, by a full foot or more. Thick, dark brown hair just a
touch longer than acceptable military length frames a ruggedly masculine
face, his square jaw lined with stubble that underscores harsh, brutal beauty.
If not for the cut of his jaw and the harsh lines of his face, he’d be too
pretty.
He’s younger than I expected. At least… physically.
His eyes tell another story.
They spark with latent energy and power. His posture commands respect,
and swift, blind obedience, like the kings of old. I can’t decide if I expect
him to pull a sword out of a stone or bare his teeth with a show of fangs.
I meet his gaze, which is harder than it sounds, as it takes an act of sheer
will not to look away. Stark, naked cruelty lies in the savage sapphire
depths. Barely civil. He holds me in the power of that gaze for one wild,
terrifying moment. A mere glimpse of the ferocious honesty in his eyes
shows a world of barely contained fury and power, as if the blood of an
unnamed god thrums in his veins, demanding homage and obedience before
he snaps his fingers and orders destruction.
A shiver skates down my spine.
Heavy, dark brows slant over his eyes, and his mouth is a harsh slash
softened by full lips. He stares at me, unblinking, his hands on his hips.
“May I help you?” I nearly startle at the rumble of his voice, as the polite
words he’s chosen bely a savage intensity I feel from across the room. He
wears faded jeans and a black Henley, but the simple clothing doesn’t hide
the resilient cords of muscle that outline the column of his large neck and
run down the nearly graceful slope of his powerful shoulders to the sleeves
stretched tight across the carved biceps of his arms. His is a body perfected
and honed for the sole purpose of harnessing a human’s full potential.
I realize I’m not breathing, but it’s his fault. He took all the air out of the
room when he entered and barely left any for me. No fair.
He clears his throat, the polite veneer quickly vanishing, and I suddenly feel
as if I’ve done something wrong. Have I? I suppose coming into his
presence unbidden may qualify as unacceptable. Perhaps I was supposed to
wait for a summons.
I brace myself, but he pauses, leaning casually against the side of an
armchair. His voice drops an octave in warning. I haven’t replied to him yet.
Oops.
“Who are you?” His tone is accusatory, as if he only talks when necessary,
and it’s my fault I made him do it.
“Violet.” I blink in surprise at myself. No one unnerves me. Why does he?
With a deep breath, I stand taller and remember who I am. I square my
shoulders and steady my voice. “Violet Price.”
He doesn’t respond. Normal people would say something forced but polite,
like, “Pleased to meet you, Miss Price.” But it seems he’s already used up
all his politeness for today.
“And?” His gaze no longer polite, his eyes scour the length of my body,
lingering at the show of cleavage at my chest, moving quickly down my
bare legs, then back to my face. He doesn’t even pretend he didn’t sneer at
the dust on my shoes or my worn bag, or even bother to hide the fact that he
just undressed me with his eyes, like it’s his right because I’m standing on
his property.
I should be offended. I should be angry that he just… stares like that. But
I’m not. Instead, the deep, dark recesses of my mind beckon with a whisper.
God, what a man like him could do to a woman like me.
What I could do to bring him to his knees.
I don’t like sex and never have, and yet…
Something tells me, he’d teach me how to enjoy it.
My cheeks feel hot. I clear my throat. It’s time for me to take back control
of this situation.
“Are you Mr. Cain Master?”
He nods, one brief jerk of his head. “I am.” The sound of his voice feels like
a liquid, sensual caress that skates across my naked skin, gently barbed with
a prickle of heat.
I take in a deep breath. If he can skip the formalities, I can, too.
“Last night, my car was hit by someone I believe works with you. He
totaled my car.”
No show of surprise or reaction. No apology. He knows, then.
“Right,” he says with a bored sigh. “You’ll be fully compensated for any
damages to your car or medical bills.” He pushes off the side of the
armchair and turns away from me. “Please leave your contact information
before you leave.”
I’m… dismissed?
He’s given me the small amount of time he’s reserved for interruptions, and
now he has to go do manly, important, adult things.
How dare he?
“While I thank you for that, Mr. Master, covering damages caused by the
guilty party is a given, and certainly not worth my time in coming to see
you. Clearly, you’re a man who values his time, so I won’t waste it. That’s
not why I’m here.”
He turns back to me, that fiery anger stoked in the depth of his eyes again
with a warning I should heed. But there’s something else I see that keeps
my feet locked in place, holding me back from sprinting right out that door
and leaving the way I came before he skins me alive.
He’s curious.
Danger, my mind warns me. The man probably has enough room right here
on this property to bury my body, and no one would ever even know.
Yeah, my mind went there, but after reading what I have about him, I can’t
help it.
His voice is a low rumble that borders on a drawl, challenging me.
“Then why are you here, Miss Price?”
The better question is, why does the way he says my name, drawing each
syllable out like it’s an act of foreplay, make liquid heat pool at my core?
My skin shouldn’t feel this tight. My breath shouldn’t be this ragged.
“I looked you up when I got home. It started because I wanted more
information about the man who hit my car, and what I found out about him
led me straight to you.”
Is that a glimmer of amusement in his eyes? No… it leaves so quickly, I
wonder if I imagined it.
I clear my throat. I have his attention, so it’s time I stop circling around
him. It’s time I go in for the kill. “And you’re the man who could help me.”
As he turns more fully to me, I watch the way his muscles bunch with
tension. He raises his brows, a physical admission that I’ve interested him.
When he crosses his arms over his chest, I realize he has muscles in places I
didn’t know even had them.
“Could I?” A low, lazy drawl.
This could be my only chance. I say it all in one breath, unblinking as I
speak to him.
“I need your help to find the people I’m after.”
God, I could’ve done better than that. They make it look so easy in the
movies.
He cocks his head to the side, all traces of humor gone from his face. “And
who are you after, Miss Price?”
I lower my voice as I stay my course. I’ve never been in the military, but
something about his presence makes me speak to him as if I were. “That’s a
conversation for a much more private audience, sir.” Though we’re alone
here, we both know anyone could walk in on us at any moment.
I want to bite the little nail of my pinkie on my left hand or tug a lock of my
hair and fiddle my worry away, but I force myself to stand still and wait.
Several beats pass before he responds. Outside the window, his gardener
walks by with a trowel and a rake. Far in the distance, the tide goes out
behind him. I can almost hear the waves lapping at the shore.
“Let’s take a walk.” My heart flutters in anticipation. I’m a drowning
woman, and he’s thrown me a length of rope.
This is what I wanted, privacy with him, but a little warning voice in the
back of my head tells me I should tell him no. I should talk him into
speaking with me in his office or someplace neutral.
I came here for a reason, and I don’t take no for an answer.
I go against my every instinct and follow him.

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 CHAPTER TWO

Violet
IT ISN’T until we walk into the kitchen that I notice there are a lot more
people here than I initially thought. Somehow, it helps me draw in a breath.
They’re just quiet, their presence and work seamless in the background.
Two more of his staff are in the garden, and only paces away from them,
four strong men dressed in military attire look like they’re doing… drills?
It’s hard to tell from here, but it’s clear they’re training.
The guard at the door inclines his head at us as we pass, and Cain holds his
palm up when he begins to follow us. Either he has guards outside as well,
or he trusts that I’m not here to ambush him.
Maybe he shouldn’t be so trusting.
The side door leading to the garage opens, and a portly, middle-aged Latina
woman with pretty brown eyes and short brown hair enters, her arms
heavily laden with brown grocery bags. Cain pauses, his hand on the door
to exit, when he sees her coming in.
“You know better than to carry those in yourself,” he scolds, clucking his
tongue at her as he walks over to her. “Alma, why didn’t you call me?”
Reaching her, he plucks the bags out of her hands before sliding them onto
the countertop.
She smiles at him. “Eh, thought you’d be busy, and it’s good for me to still
do things sometimes, señor,” she says.
“And you’re no good to me laid up in bed because you threw your back out
again,” he mutters, rebuking her. I nearly cringe at the sharp edge in his
tone, but she only winks at me.
The door shuts behind us. The warm summer air tickles my skin.
“Mr. Master⁠—”
“Call me Cain.”
Skipping the formalities so soon. Interesting. “Cain. That’s a unique name.
I’ve only known one other man with a name like that, but he spelled it
differently.” The son of one of my foster parents.
“You’ve looked up my name.”
“Of course.” I am not going to lie to him unless I have to.
A shadow crosses his features for a split second before he grows serious.
“You don’t hear the name Violet every day either.”
“My name was supposed to be Angela, but when my mother saw my eyes,
she changed her mind.”
“You were born with eyes that color, then?”
A curious question. It shouldn’t please me that he’s noted the color of my
eyes. Everyone notices them, but he seems the type that only notices you if
it matters.
“Yes.”
We walk in silence down a path made of stones that leads past the garden to
the barn or shed or whatever it is.
“I’m not going to waste your time, Mister—Cain. You own a private
investigation agency.”
He walks with his hands in his pockets, which might look casual but really
only serves to make the muscles along his arms and neck bulge that much
more. God.
“Depends on who you ask.”
I have to walk faster to keep up with his long strides. I’m falling behind
him. For one brief, crazy moment, I’m tempted to smack his back and tell
him to slow down. “What do you mean?”
He shrugs a large shoulder and scowls at the path in front of him. “I don’t
advertise.”
“And yet, I’d hazard a guess you’re booked through next year.”
“And then some.”
We walk in silence for another moment while I try to formulate a plan to
tell him what I need.
“I don’t have the kind of money you’d ask for, but… I could barter.”
Why did it sound so much better in my head?
He stops walking long enough to give me an amused smirk. “I don’t need
homemade soap or homegrown tomatoes.” Another rude glance down at
me. “And you’re right. You can’t afford my company.” I know he means I
can’t afford to hire him, but the way he says it makes it sound like I’m not
worthy of being in his presence. I bite the inside of my cheek so I don’t tell
him off, grounding myself in the stab of pain.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
My cheeks heat. I decide the best course of action is to ignore the taunt.
“We could help each other. A mutually beneficial situation. I mean, I—I
have talents and skills that could benefit your organization, and I could
benefit from what you have to offer as well.”
He sighs. “Don’t waste my time. To be honest, I’m not even sure this
consultation is something you could afford, but it’s warm out and I needed
some fresh air. I’d be charging most people by the hour for this discussion
alone, but I’m taking pity on you.” He looks down at my crumpled dress
and faded purse. My skin prickles uncomfortably, but before I can respond
he continues. “You’re already talking about collaboration, and I don’t even
know why you’re here.”
I won’t rise to take his bait, I won’t. But God, my temper’s a beast, and it’s
hard to keep it on a leash sometimes.
“I—I need help finding a few people, and I believe you could help me.”
Still scowling, he doesn’t respond, so naturally I feel the need to keep
talking, because that always helps.
“I’m skilled in martial arts. I’m reigning champion on the East Coast⁠—”
“In the women’s division,” he interrupts with an impatient sigh.
Does he know that? Does he know anything else about me, or was it just a
guess about an obvious fact?
My blood begins to go from a simmer to a boil, and I slow my pace.
“Excuse me?”
“In the women’s division,” he repeats with a casual shrug, hands still in his
pockets. “Means nothing when you’re up against a man.”
“Oh, is that right?” Chauvinistic prick, I mentally tack on.
I imagine drop-kicking him right here. A swift kick between his legs would
incapacitate him enough for me to move quickly.
He doesn’t bother to hide the disdain in his tone. “Of course. I’m sure you
could drop a pussy on his ass, but it means jack shit unless you’re fighting a
real man.”
He’s dropping all semblance of professionalism, and another warning bell
chimes in my mind.
We’ve made it to the edge of the garden. A brisk wind carries warm air from
over the sea, white-capped waves crashing in the distance behind him. A
gull caws overhead, but I hardly hear it. The blood pounds in my ears with
my rising temper. A corner of his beautiful, perfect lips quirks upward.
Mocking me. “Got under your skin. Want to prove me wrong?”
I’m already in a fighting stance, my shoes kicked to the side like so much
baggage. My hands clench into fists at my sides. I don’t care who he is, he
just tossed the gauntlet down and I do not back down.
“Of course I do.”
Stop, the little inner voice of reason warns.
I never did like that voice.
And suddenly, it doesn’t matter that I’m wearing a dress, that he’s a
hundred pounds heavier than I am, and I’m trying to convince him to hire
me. All I see is a brawny sexist who needs to learn a lesson.
I’ve spent years perfecting the double-leg takedown, a move that works in
the ring or on the street. If he was unaware, I might be able to take him
down. He’s prepared though, and way too big.
All I want to do is level him. I could drop him to the ground, without
actually causing injury. I’ve done the move a thousand times. Though he’s
bigger than I am—by a lot—I’m smaller and more agile, giving me a
decided advantage. But while it might be satisfying to drop a man of his
size to the ground, that’s just the problem—he’s fucking huge, and I’m not,
and that really fucking matters.
“No.” With effort, I drop the fighting stance, and shrug my shoulders. I
walk casually over to him. “You’re too big for a girl like me,” I say with
mock humility. I wait until he resumes his casual walking. “I couldn’t
possibly—” He looks away from me, a strategic error and my only chance.
Thwack. I kick my leg out so fast I register surprise in his eyes, but he’s
even faster than I am. Instinctively, he deflects, and instead of striking back,
ducks. When he’s bent over, I shove, pushing him off-kilter.
For one second, one glorious second, I’ve got him as he’s taken by surprise
and falls. I quickly pin him down. Victory courses through me, and I can’t
stop the grin that sweeps over my face at the surprise in his eyes. But the
moment’s short-lived.
Fuck.
His eyes darkening to gray blue, he coils his body, and the next thing I
know, I’m soaring through the air. There’s an audible sound of a tear, and
then… he’s immobilized me.
No.
He’s on top of me, and I’m pinned beneath him.
“You think you need to show me who you are?” he asks. Just to show off,
the bastard’s got both my wrists in one huge hand, and I can’t move.
I realize three things at once.
First, my dress is torn. The ripping sound was the neckline. A flap of fabric
moves in the breeze, baring my bra-clad boobs to him. Great.
Second, his… body is on top of me.
And he’s… large, and strong, and masculine, and really smells a lot better
than any man ever should. Images of the two of us naked flit through my
mind because I’m not a corpse, and other than us not knowing each other,
being outdoors where anyone could see us, and fully clothed… what’s to
stop me from mentally going there?
Third… he’s furious. A vein throbs in his temple, and his nostrils flare. I can
tell he’s holding himself back from really hurting me.
My throat tightens with the sudden knowledge that once again, I’ve let my
temper get the best of me and probably just ruined everything.
Again.
He won’t let me stay now. I know he won’t. Only a fool would.
“You were saying?” His eyes spark at me like flashes of flint.
“I can fight,” I say through gritted teeth, my voice shaking.
“Of course you can.” He spits out the words like venom. I feel momentarily
vindicated. He doesn’t wonder if I can fight. “That was never in question.”
Wasn’t it? Did he bait me? If he did, I leapt to it like a goddamn fish to a
worm-covered hook. His admission that I can fight takes a bit of the wind
out of my sails.
If I wasn’t fully restrained under him, I could reach out and touch that
rugged stubble along his jaw. There’s a silvery scar near his left eye I didn’t
notice before, weirdly similar to mine. Huh.
“You listen.” His voice is a deadly purr, like the growl of a mountain lion
warning its prey. He lowers his face to mine so we’re only inches apart. I
can’t believe I thought he had an ounce of softness in him just moments
ago. He’s nothing but hard lines and angles, as flexible as steel. A bead of
sweat runs down the side of his face, but his eyes are cold as ice. “Do not
ever do that again.”
“Do what?” My voice is barely a whisper.
He leans in closer, the muscles along his neck taut. He bares his teeth, his
voice no more than a growl. “Try to fight me.”
He doesn’t even say fight me, but try.
Ouch.
Okay, so I’m getting off with a warning? If he wanted to throw me off his
property, he wouldn’t use the word “again.”
Would he?
He’s got me in an expert submission hold, more skilled than most I’ve
fought before.
I came here to suggest a business proposal and he’s served me humble pie.
Good one, Vi. I stifle a sigh.
“Tell me you won’t ever even think about fighting me again, Miss Price.”
“I won’t fight you.” My voice is clogged with emotion. I don’t concede
often, and when I do, it’s under duress, just like this. I don’t make any
promises beyond that, though.
There are many, many things I could do that don’t fall under the umbrella of
“fighting.”
“Why are you here?”
“You’re still on top of me.”
“I’m aware.” He doesn’t budge.
I won’t sugarcoat things. I won’t pretend I’m here for any reason other than
my true purpose. I draw in a breath and hold his gaze, unblinking, my tone
of voice firm and confident despite my compromised position.
“I need you to help me find the people who killed my parents.”
Still holding me beneath him, he gives me one short nod before he releases
me. I get to my feet, shaking a little, and fruitlessly try to hold the flapping
fabric against my breasts. My hands shake.
He reaches for the hem of his tee and yanks it up over his head before he
tosses it in my direction.
Numbly, I catch it mid-air. It’s soft and warm and smells like him, spicy and
virile and all male.
I look at him and blink.
“Put it on.”
I look down at my bare chest and ripped dress, then back like an idiot to the
bunched-up fabric in my hand before I realize he’s standing bare from the
waist up in front of me. As he turns away from me, I tug the tee on quickly,
to block my view of his perfect, chiseled back, crossed with the same
silvery scars as my own.
For some reason, that makes me want to cry. No one has scars like that
without a story. No one.
His tee swims on me, and I feel like an utter fool, the edge of my dress
peeking out underneath the hem of his shirt. But I came here with a
purpose, and I’m not leaving until I tell him more. So, I ignore the burning
in my throat. I ignore the way his tee feels on me, too soft for a man like
him, so warm it’s a comfort. I ignore the way my body responds to his.
And I take back an ounce of control. I can either walk around here like a
little kid wearing her brother’s oversized tee, or I can own this.
I reach to the back of the dress, ignore the pain in my arm from the
awkward position, and tug the zipper down. I shimmy out of it, and the
ripped fabric pools around my ankles. I bend and lift it, so I’m wearing
nothing but his tee like a dress.
If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it, only crooks his finger at me. I follow.
I read once that in the animal kingdom, a female can’t control the innate
biological desire to mate with an alpha male. Instinctively, she knows he
would protect her and their offspring
I comfort myself with the knowledge. Visceral attraction to an alpha male is
an instinct, not a choice. It isn’t my fault.
“Come with me.” He jerks his chin forward and begins to walk. I’m not
really a fan of being bossed around, but I think I’ve pushed my luck
enough.
With his shirt flapping around my body, I follow him to the fence at the
edge of his property. From here I can see he has a pretty, curved pool with a
small waterfall cascading into it from the left. Adirondack chairs line the
sunny perimeter, a perfect retreat.
“Sit.”
He folds his bulk into a large chair by the poolside and jerks his chin at a
chair opposite him. I choose a chair as far away from him as I can get. Here,
I’m in direct sunlight and blinded, unable to stare at his muscled shoulders,
the dog tags that swing around his neck, or those washboard abs I would
drink shots off of and not regret. Even while staring at his eyes, I’m aware
of a faint smattering of dark hair across his chest, the way his waist tapers
to faded jeans that hug his waist right where… I swallow. And block out
everything I can to focus on him.
I’ve studied neurolinguistic programming, among other brain tricks. If you
train yourself hard enough, you can erase bad memories, traumatic events,
and replace them instead with a flash of white or a happy thought. It takes
practice, but it can be done. In a split second, I mentally block out his
masculinity and focus on his eyes, the rest of him bathed in imaginary
bright white.
“Tell me everything.”
“About what?”
“About what you need from me.”
I take a risk and push him a little.
“You’ve already decided I can’t afford your services and you’ve already
decided I’m of no use to you. So why tell you?”
A slight narrowing of his eyes tells me he isn’t used to being questioned.
“Did I say I have no use for you?”
Did I—does he mean—no. God, no. Again, I want to run, and again, I make
myself stay before my mind thinks of the very many ways he can use me.
“No, sir. You didn’t.”
“Then tell me. Let’s just say I’m curious.”
I know without explanation that the only way I’ll ever get his cooperation
and help is to do exactly what he’s asking.
So, I do. I give him the bald, honest, painful truth. I tell him quickly and
succinctly, so I don’t waste his time or mine.
“When I was four years old, my father worked as an assassin. My mother
did not know this, and it took me a full decade after I put my mind to it to
find out the truth. One night, they were pulled from their beds and
executed.”
Anyone else would be surprised by this. It’s not exactly a story you tell
when you first meet someone. It’s not a story I tell anyone.
I register no surprise in his eyes. He’s heard accounts like mine before.
It’s why I’m here.
“Whoever it was never came after me. We lived in a cramped apartment,
and my makeshift room was a closet. My mother must’ve shut the door
when she heard intruders.”
“Sloppy work.”
“At the very least, hasty. I spent the rest of my childhood in foster care until
the moment I turned eighteen. I’ve been piecing things together about their
death since my earliest memories, and I’ve reached an impasse.”
“How old are you now?”
“Twenty-four.”
He holds everything I’ve said for a moment and doesn’t respond.
I watch as he crosses his ankle over his knee and leans back, lacing his
fingers behind his head. I make my eyes look away from the rippling
muscle he effortlessly flaunts when he leans back.
“And what will you do when you find them?”
“The same thing you would.”
It’s a bold move, to assume I know how he’d behave.
I brace myself for his anger, or outrage, or a command to leave. Maybe he’ll
even call someone to come and escort me off his property. How far is too
far to push a man like him?
He does none of those things.
“And what is it I would do?”
I squirm but don’t look away. “You’d kill them.”
He doesn’t deny it.
“I don’t think you’re capable of murder, Miss Price.”
So, we’re back to formalities. I can play that game, too.
“That’s only because you don’t know me, sir.”
“And if I did?”
I swallow before I draw in a deep breath. “You’d know that there’s nothing
I won’t do for the people I’m loyal to.”
He slowly nods. The hint of approval fills me with pride.
Run, my instinct warns. It's dangerous to value the opinion of someone like
him.
“That’s closer.”
“Closer to what?”
“Convincing me to hire you.”

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER THREE

Cain
SHE’S HERE. I’ve waited for this. I’ve planned this. And everything I’ve
orchestrated led her here, but she can’t ever know that.
I’ll kill Armand for the way he did this. Fucking hit her car to get her
attention, planted bits and pieces of information for her to find us. But it
was too damn risky, the son of a bitch.
I look at the way she sits, her back ramrod straight in one of the pool chairs,
my tee melting against her curves like a seductive tease.
It’s a mistake to hire her.
I don’t hire impulsive, headstrong people for my team.
Ever.
But that’s not why I wanted her here.
She can’t know why I’ll hire her. Not now. Not ever.
I want Violet Price so close to me I could touch her. I know every goddamn
thing about her. If she knew who I am and why she’s really here, she’d run.
Maybe even change her name again.
I’ve been obsessed with her for six months.
Who was the woman with the mesmerizing eyes? The first time I saw her, I
wanted her. I had to have her. And I haven’t gotten her out of my mind
since.
I saw her in one of our surveillance videos. We were monitoring a local
shopping mall, and her studio was doing a demonstration. Then there she
was. Violet eyes staring at our camera as if she knew who we were, that we
were watching her. We were trailing one of the parents in her youngest
class, not her, and later found him guilty of cheating on his wife. The man
was dumb enough to bring his girlfriend to a jewelry store at the mall. We
pocketed half a million for that one.
We got what we needed the first two minutes into the surveillance footage.
It was crystal clear. Yet I played that video over, and over, and over again
until I could recite every line she said, make every move she made.
And I was obsessed.
I spent the next week learning everything I could about her, and finally had
Armand put up video surveillance where she worked out. We stayed out of
her home until last night.
I noted the way she held herself. When she wasn’t throwing punches or
kicks, she assumed a fighter’s stance, light on her feet, knees slightly bent.
The only move she made with more effort than the rest was blocking. No
one hit her. Ever. She was a master at self-protection.
It wasn’t until after my initial… obsession… that I unearthed her skillset.
Small and lithe, she’s a fighter to the core. She can hold her own when she
needs to, and she fucking will. Skilled in multiple languages, indefatigable,
her only real flaw is disrespect for authority. It only draws me to her more,
because I’ll teach her that skill. On my terms.
With the exceptions of our doctor and on-site chef, every member of my
team is ex-military. Dishonorably discharged. I like it that way, and I have
my reasons. I, of all people, should know what it’s like to have to defend
your honor and fight for respect. I give my team that chance, and because I
have, they’re loyal to me.
Violet isn’t.
How would I keep her loyal to me? She tells me she is, and I believe her.
But talk is cheap. She’ll have to show me with her actions that she means
what she says.
I’ve never hired anyone like her, someone ruled by emotions instead of
intellect.
But I’ll make an exception for Violet.
It’s her fire that fuels her, and that’s what she’ll learn to harness. To use. To
finely tune into a weapon.
I planned it this way, her coming to me for help. I need what she has to
offer, but on my terms and my terms only.
I push myself to standing from the chair, and I don’t miss the way her eyes
go a bit wider with fear, a sort of desperation surfacing that I know too well.
She knows I’m about to dismiss her. That our meeting is over.
I have to. It’s the only way to get her buy-in, to make sure she’s as
committed to our team as everyone else. If her place here is hard-won, I’ve
got one more chance at ensuring her loyalty.
“Go home, Miss Price. Send a formal resumé to the address I’ll give you. I
have your contact information because of the accident. Now if you’ll
excuse me⁠—”
The T-shirt of mine she’s wearing billows in a gentle breeze from the water.
She’s a woman cut from marble and tough as nails, somehow made
vulnerable in borrowed clothing. A gust of wind whips her hair around her
face, the windswept look nearly shaking my resolve to dismiss her.
I don’t want her to leave. She belongs here.
She shakes her head at me.
I blink in surprise.
“No?”
I don’t realize I’m clenching my fists until I see her eyes quickly dart to
where my hands curl by my sides.
“No, sir.”
I’m so surprised I don’t respond at first.
No?
I fully expected her to push back, to fight for what she wants. Hell, it’s
exactly why I’m giving her shit. But I didn’t expect flat-out defiance. My
voice sharpens.
“I don’t hire people for my team who don’t know how to respect authority,
Miss Price.”
I take a step toward her, and to her credit, she stands her ground.
“I know how to respect authority.”
The waves behind her whip in a frenzy, whitecaps rising and crashing
against rocks. Clouds roll in, the sky quickly darkening. A storm’s brewing.
I don’t have the time or patience for this.
“Bullshit. Words are cheap, Miss Price. You don’t know the meaning of the
word respect.”
Her lips thin, as a wispy piece of hair crosses her vision. She pushes it
impatiently out of the way. “I respect the authority of the people who earn
it, Mr. Master.”
Ah, so we’re playing that game.
“If you think this is how a job interview is conducted, I’d suggest you go
back to school.”
“Job interview?” She shakes her head and actually laughs. “That was never
in question. I’m no one’s employee, Mr. Master. I’m suggesting I work for
you as a paid contractor. Barter and trade, the very building blocks of
modern-day free enterprise.”
Well played.
She wears her defiance well, and it makes me goddamned hard.
What I wouldn’t give to strip that all away from her, one stroke at a time.
I will.
“No.”
She shakes her head from side to side. “No, what? No, bartering isn’t a
cornerstone of free enterprise? No, you won’t work with me?”
When I was her age, I’d kill a man for less than this. I was paid to. I built
my business on the back of those early days.
“Come here, Miss Price.”
I don’t forget the way it felt with her wrists trapped between my fingers, her
pulse racing. I loved the feel of her beneath me, pinned under my weight
and heaving for breath. She thought she’d best me, and she did catch me off
guard, but not for long.
The first time I saw her, I knew that she was the one we’re after—no, the
one we need. I need. It was written in the way she held herself, in the
rigidity of her spine, the tightness in her jaw.
I watched her fight.
Her hair caught back in a tight, merciless bun, she wore little to no makeup.
It didn’t matter. I knew I was looking at a goddamn masterpiece.
There’s a slight scar across her left eyebrow, the only imperfection on her
otherwise flawless face, the type of scar one gets from a street fight. There’s
a story behind that scar. I mean to find it out.
Violet Price is five foot even and one hundred ten solid pounds of muscle.
Petite, but powerful, like tightly packed dynamite.
My T-shirt blows about her slight frame. The cool breeze from the ocean
warns us a storm is coming, and fast, but she ignores her hair whipping
around her with wild abandon. Her stunning eyes, a deep, mesmerizing hue,
are like nothing I’ve ever seen before, so much more brilliant when I see
her up close.
I want her closer.
Violet.
Amethyst caught in light. The color of magic.
It’s both her name and her most distinguishing characteristic.
One of the few colors labeled by Newton when cataloging the spectrum of
visible light, violet’s the rarest of any eye color, so rare many believe violet
eyes to be mythological. But no. Her violet eyes, those singular gems of
beauty, are no myth, and they’re staring straight at me. “Yes?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to offer half my kingdom for one night with her.
One blessed, glorious night, and she’d be mine. All mine.
“You have a look on your face I’d pay good money to decipher,” she says in
a voice so low it’s as if she’s talking to herself.
Words spoken before a storm like this feel stealthy and classified, like the
first brisk wind will sweep them away.
“Not sure you’d want to hear what I’m thinking right now.”
“I definitely do, Mr. Master.” She takes a step closer to me, her voice low.
“Try me, sir.”
“I’m thinking of the terms of our contract, the types of terms that
professionals would never consider.”
A beat passes. I watch as her tongue darts out and runs across her chapped
lips. “Perhaps professionalism is overrated.”
A whistle blows three times in succession. The spell is broken. My
breathing stills. Even the breeze over the water seems to cease. I whip my
head around to look at the house.
“It’s an alarm,” she says. “Isn’t it?”
I don’t respond.
The heavy sound of feet running toward the house comes from the training
area. I listen, braced for the second alarm as I do a mental tally of all staff
on hand. My men in training. Joe, Claude, Henri.
Violet.
The back door’s yanked open, and Joe stands, barely visible under the
shadow of the awning.
“What is it? Who sounded the alarm?”
“I did. When you didn’t answer your phone, sir. It’s Skylar.”
Skylar? I can’t be hearing him right. Skylar?
I know the answer to my question before I ask it. I’m not sure why I do. “Is
it urgent?”
He winces, as if recoiling from an invisible blow. “She’s missing, sir.”
Storm clouds break open, and a torrent of rain sweeps down. I run for cover
and barely catch myself from grabbing Violet’s hand to tug her along with
me. She doesn’t need my help, but it’s tempting. The only woman in my life
who means something to me is in danger, and the frantic need to control
something consumes me.
Violet isn’t mine.
We’re soaked before we get to the door.
I turn to Violet and note the desperation in her eyes. She wants this so
badly, she’s trembling.
I grab a fistful of dish towels from the kitchen drawer and toss them at her.
Not missing a beat, she wipes her eyes and pushes wet hair out of her face.
The straps of her heels are slung around one finger, and as we walk through
the kitchen, she shoves her torn dress in the trash bin.
Change of fucking plans. If my sister’s at risk, I need Violet’s help, and I
need it now. I wanted to recruit her for a purpose just like this, because I
needed a woman on my team who could get shit done, and her list of
qualifications outnumbers everything else.
“When can you start?”
She blinks. Her reaction will be telling. I note a flash of alarm that quickly
fades to eager excitement. “Immediately.”
“We negotiate terms of your contract with me today.”
She nods eagerly. “Yes, sir.”
“You start now, Miss Price.”

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER FOUR

Violet
SKYLAR. I know enough about body language to know Skylar is someone
who matters to him. He moves like he’s at war, preparing for an ambush,
and whoever’s responsible for hurting Skylar’s going down.
Yikes.
Who is it? An ex? I doubt she’s a current girlfriend or significant other. He’s
the type that would want a woman who mattered to him nearby, under his
protection and watchful eye. I haven’t missed the way his team trains right
here on his property.
I go through a myriad of feelings at once.
Elation—he hired me!
Fear—will this go the way I planned?
Panic—what does this mean? What’s happened to Skylar?
He walks at a clip I have to run to keep up with, either oblivious or
unconcerned with my trailing behind him. I don’t mind it, though. Moving
fast burns the adrenaline that courses through me like fire.
When we reach the house, a tall, lanky man with a shaved head comes out.
Two meaty pit bulls circle Lanky Man’s legs, prowling as if they smell the
blood of someone new in their territory.
My heart swells. God, I love pit bulls. What most people don’t know about
them is that they used to be nanny dogs, hired to watch over and protect
babies and small children. A cross between terriers and bulldogs, pit bulls
were once used as symbols of American strength during the First World
War.
They’re fiercely loyal and protective to a fault, though. And once trained to
guard illegal activity, drug dealers and the like used them for their own
benefit. When they attack, they don’t let go. They’ll bite to kill. And while
that might’ve once kept children safe, pit bulls have gotten a bad rap in
recent years.
I love them. I want to kneel in front of them and nuzzle their chocolate-
brown necks and scratch their perky ears.
I’ve always been attracted to powerful, lethal creatures.

“JUST GOT A CALL FROM LOTTIE.”

Cain nods. “And?”
“Said she never came home last night. They expected her at midnight, and
when she didn’t show, they figured she was spending the night with her
date.”
His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t otherwise react. “And?”
“And when she didn’t come home this morning, Lottie got scared. Said she
didn’t know what to do or how to reach her, and thought you’d want to
know.”
“I would’ve wanted to know last night,” he says through gritted teeth.
I’m glad I’m not the one on the receiving end of that anger. It boils at a low
simmer, threatening to scald and eradicate anything it touches.
“Right, sir, but you were traveling, and not even due back until today.”
Cain curses under his breath, then turns and jerks his chin at me. “You.
Come with me.” Like I’m going anywhere else? I’m wearing his damn T-
shirt, and he just hired me. If he gave me a cot to sleep on, I’d camp right
here.
I thought there were a lot of people around his house before. Now, it seems
like people that work for him come out of the damn woodwork. Big,
muscled guys. A few in military fatigues and others in civilian clothing mill
around the large house, talking in hushed tones. None of them speak to
Cain, and it takes me a minute to realize the reason they don’t is because
they’re waiting for his command.
“Who’s Skylar?” I ask, panting as I follow him up the steps two at a time.
His jaw tenses before he responds.
“My sister.”
Oh, wow. Shit. Now that didn’t show up in the search history. And why is a
part of me relieved she’s family, that she isn’t a woman he has romantic ties
to? My gut reaction spells danger, but I shove it down. I’ll deal with that
later. Now, I’ve got shit to do.
His sister… Has everything I read about him been a lie? Do I really know
anything about him at all?
He shoves open the door to his office, and I’m not surprised by the way it
looks. His desk is large, sturdy, and intimidating, a paragon of
masculinity… just like him. Massive windows look out at the pool below,
and on another wall one overlooks the waterfront view. Storm clouds gather
to block the sun, darkening the room even though it’s still daytime. He
flicks on a switch, and bright overhead lighting illuminates the room.
“Sit.”
He gestures for me to take a seat across from him.
Why me? Why now? Doesn’t he have anyone else that works for him that
could do whatever it is he wants me to do?
Lanky follows us into the room.
“Joe, meet Miss Price, our new hire.”
I give him a little wave. “Hey.”
Joe takes a seat beside me and leans forward, elbows on his knees.
Cain pulls out his phone and swipes. A grid shows up, with a little squiggly
arrow, and he curses under his breath. “It shows her home, and it shows she
hasn’t left since Wednesday. That can’t be right.”
Joe shakes his head. “I was worried about this.”
Cain blows out a breath. “Cut the shit, Joe. You don’t have to be polite. You
not only worried about this, you warned me about this. Said she wouldn’t
go for it.”
I gather up my courage and clear my throat. They both look at me. “If I’m
working for you, it would be helpful if you could fill me in a little?”
Joe looks to Cain for permission, and when he gets it, he nods. “Skylar’s his
younger sister.”
“Got it. How old is she?”
“Only eighteen.”
I cringe. Anything could’ve happened to an eighteen-year-old. She could’ve
hung out at some guy’s house and drank the night away, be still wrapped up
in his sheets and not bothering with the time. She could’ve lost her phone or
hooked up with someone and decided a trip to Vegas would be a smart idea.
Really, anything goes.
Joe continues. “We put tracking software on her phone, because Cain
wanted to keep an eye on her.”
“Are you her guardian?”
A muscle tenses in his jaw. “No.”
“Does she know you track her?”
“Found out two weeks ago.”
“And lemme guess. Wasn’t too fond of her big brother keeping tabs on her
anymore?”
He huffs out a breath. “How’d you know?”
I nod. “It’s kind of a given.”
“Yeah, so she took all tracking off her phone…”
“But you’re not dumb enough to really not keep tabs on her.”
People frown all the time, a common facial expression one might say. When
Cain Master frowns, the temperature in the room shifts, and my skin
prickles. “Of course not.”
He flips open his laptop, and the screen flashes to life. Cameras outside of a
coffee shop show people entering and exiting with paper bags and steaming
cups of coffee. Another camera shows the inside of a typical college kid’s
apartment, complete with beer cans stacked in blue plastic recycling bins,
empty pizza boxes, and about ten pairs of shoes scattered haphazardly
around the couch.
“Her place?”
“Yeah.”
“She know about those cameras?”
He scowls at me. “What do you think?”
It’s a rhetorical question, but I want in on this case, so I jump right in as if
he really wants to know what I think. “I think you need to talk to her
roommate and get everything she knows. Find out where she was last, who
she was seeing, if she had plans. And I think you need to call the police.”
The last suggestion was a test.
“You were spot on until you got to the police.”
He passed the test. Still, I need to needle him a bit to get to more of the
truth.
“You’re not going to report a missing person?” Le gasp. Oh, my, Mr.
Master, are you above the law? Don’t trust our criminal justice system?
::Hand to brow::
“Lottie already did,” Joe says with a scowl. “Police say she’s not a missing
person until she’s been gone for twenty-four hours and wouldn’t listen to
her impassioned plea about why this was a special case.”
“Right.”
He scrubs a hand across his brow and shoots Cain a furtive glance before he
looks back at me. “And if you’re working with us, you might as well know
as soon as they find out who she is, they won’t touch it anyway.”
I exhale. They don’t know Candi, but something tells me I should tell them.
“Just so you know, my best friend’s an officer.”
Again, no register of surprise. Either the man has an ironclad poker face
like nothing I’ve ever seen before, or he already knows what I’m telling
him. Great. Not a big fan of either of those options.
He’s back on his laptop, swiping at the board. “I’ll fill you in as quickly as I
can. There will be time for more questions later, but we don’t fuck around
with this.”
“Understood.”
“Skylar was my mother’s youngest child. My mother remarried when I
enlisted in the army.”
If he enlisted right out of high school, that puts him probably somewhere in
his mid-thirties. My instincts tell me that if he’d reached seventeen or
eighteen years of military service, he’d be almost untouchable, and very
unlikely dishonorably discharged.
He pushes up from the table and stalks over to a large, framed print on the
wall. He moves it to the side magically, like it’s cast beneath a spell, before
he punches in a code.
“Under normal circumstances, we’d have a training period, then initiation.
No time for that, so you’ll work with me and I’ll fill you in as we go. We
have an armory here at the house, but I keep some things personally locked
up. My team knows I have this here and has the code. No one else knows
and I’d like to keep it that way.” He pauses, glancing at the ragged, soaked
tee that clings to my body like plastic wrap. I nod and will myself not to be
embarrassed by my total lack of clothing. I need gear.
He spits out words like they’re bullets. I know he’s concerned about his
sister but I can’t help wondering if I bring out his anger, too. “You’re part of
the team, but you’ll have to earn your place. Going forward you’ll keep a
change of clothes on site. Am I clear?”
That gets my hackles up, and I inwardly cringe. Earn my place, like a dog
begging for his table scraps? We’ll see about that. I play nice, though. “Yes,
of course.”
I watch as he slides a handgun into a concealed holster at his waist.
“Do you know how to use a gun?”
Shit. My silence is response enough. He curses under his breath.
“You may be a skilled fighter, Miss Price, but you’ll need something to
keep you safe at long range. For now, you’ll stay with me and have a guard
on you, but you’ll join me at the shooting range when they open tomorrow
morning.”
“Which is…?”
“Five o’clock.”
“In the morning?”
He gives me a withering look and doesn’t reply.
Five in the morning?
“How did you get here?”
I have a sneaking suspicion he knows but wants everything out in the open.
“I got a ride.” I bite my tongue so I don’t snap back to remind him it’s his
employee’s fault I don’t have a car.
“Right. I’ll make sure you get one back, and you’ll need a car.”
Wow, okay then. “You don’t have to give me a car as part of our
arrangement⁠—”
“I do. All my employees need reliable transportation. It’s for my own peace
of mind more than anything.” His voice sharpens. “I won’t have people that
work for me taking a fucking Uber to work.”
Ouch.
I need to remind him of something, though. “I’m not your employee, Mr.
Master.”
He purses his lips and doesn’t reply, but I can feel the judgy judgment in the
air. Grrr.
We’re walking at a good clip, and he shouts out commands as we go. He
tells one guy to run surveillance at the college (I’m guessing the one his
sister goes to?), another to load “Goldie” with ammo (Who is Goldie and
why does she need ammo?), and a third to keep a watch on all video
surveillance of Skylar. Joe takes off.
He pulls out his phone and barks out a few commands.
As we walk through his house, as people dressed in fatigues start moving
and calling him sir, it doesn’t feel like a home but a compound or a military
base.
At the door, Joe comes up to us with a folded pile of clothing and hands it
to me.
“Take those with you,” Cain orders.
With me? What the hell?
He looks up at Lanky—er, Joe. “Have Claude track my location and copy
everything we say and do. No one follows us. I do not want backup until I
call for it, is that clear?”
“Yessir.”
He clicks a key fob, and bright lights and a beep light up a truck a few yards
away from us.
Oh my God.
When I was a teen, I had a few friends who got their licenses, and everyone
wanted a car. Some just wanted a set of wheels to get from point A to point
B, some freedom and independence. Some wanted a nicer car that would
take them to job interviews or on road trips.
I wanted a truck. Specifically, a Toyota Tundra 4WD with a crew cab and
thirty-eight-inch mud terrain tires with eighteen-inch Rockstar rims.
Cain Master drives my dream truck.
His truck’s like him, sturdy and fearless, a veritable force of nature. The
wheels alone come up to my chest. Good God. Two-tone black rawhide
leather seats with red inlay matches the candy blood-red paint job, and if it
wasn’t for Massachusetts’ insanely strict gun laws, this baby would house a
gun rack in the back perfect for a twelve-gauge shotgun or semi.
And is that… no. Behind this truck, in the back, there’s an even bigger
truck.
“You do not drive a Ford 650!”
He gives me a curious look. “I do, but it’s too big to take tonight.”
“Will you let me touch it? Please? I just want to touch it, just once.”
Cain’s lips twitch, and he mutters, “That may be crossing a line, Miss
Price.”
I don’t dignify his response with a reply, and don’t speak because I don’t
trust my voice.
“Not now.” He’s right, I know he is. We have to get moving. Still, one day I
just want to sit in that beautiful truck.
I hoist myself up on the metal platform of the Toyota. I want to get into the
cab before he notes how small I am compared to this thing and decides to
do something drastic and chauvinistic like touch me and help me in.
He’s your boss, I remind myself. Your ridiculously hot, very scary, very
dominant alpha male boss who just joked about…
No, wait. Not boss. Not boss.
Business associate or…something.
Whatever.
I hop in so quickly I manage to smash my shins on the unyielding metal
step. Fuck, that’ll bruise. I don’t wince or say a word but silently slide onto
the passenger seat. He, naturally, swings himself in with one smooth motion
like this truck was custom-built to accommodate him.
I take a quick look at the clothes in my hands. Some kinda faded khaki
pants that could be men’s or women’s, but there’s an adjustable waistband
and elastic to help them fit. A small black tank top, pair of socks, pair of
boots.
He stares down at the boots. “Those are the smallest size we had, but
something tells me you’ll still have to stuff them.”
“I’m not that small.”
It’s a stupid thing to say when I’m sitting next to a man so big he could
double in Green Giant ads. His hands are three times the size of mine, his
arms bigger than my thighs, and those aren’t even the most intimidating
things about him. Normal humans are composed of skin and tissue and
strung together with muscle. Cain defies normal human body structure,
because every inch of him seems to be nothing but raw, corded muscle. If
we broke down, I feel as if he could hitch this truck to his shoulders and
haul us home without breaking a sweat.
“I’d guess you’re five feet tall, just over a hundred pounds.”
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to ask a woman her weight?”
I sigh. Exactly one-ten the last time I checked.
“I’m not asking. My point is, you’re small. Pointless trying to argue.”
He revs the engine, and heat pulses low between my legs. If this truck
proposed to me, I’d accept. Gah.
“It can come in handy, you know,” I say in protest.
“What can?”
“Being small.”
He shifts in his seat and mutters to himself, “Could be a fuckin’ issue, too.”
“Not like I can help it.”
He doesn’t respond but launches straight into giving me more details about
his sister. “Things to know. Skylar has the shittiest taste in boyfriends and
won’t ever bring them to meet me for dinner or anything before she dates
them.”
“Does that surprise you?”
He pauses, flicking on his directionals before he takes a turn, then cruises
back up to a breakneck speed. I guess not only does he not have a use for
the police, but he obviously seems to think they can’t touch him.
“No.”
“If I had a brother like you, I don’t think I’d bring my skinny little
boyfriends home to roast marshmallows by your bonfire either.”
A glimmer of something like amusement flits across his face, but he quickly
goes back to the scary mask.
He grunts. “Especially the kinds of assholes she dates.”
“Okay, so this is important information to note if I’m going to help you with
this investigation. Little sis dates assholes.”
He nods. We’ve left the shore and are heading into the heart of the city. I
love Salem, with its aged houses and history. As we leave the shore, we
draw closer to the historical parts of Salem—the Witch House, other
museums, and the House of the Seven Gables.
“Skylar wrote to me when I was stationed in Europe and didn’t travel much.
Didn’t like coming home, didn’t prioritize it.”
Why didn’t he like coming home? My radar pings again, adding to my
growing list of things I need to find out about Cain Master.
“Well, I know how that goes,” I say softly, almost to myself. I do. Some of
us would give anything to never come home again. “You and Skylar. How
close are you?”
“Pretty close. She wrote to me constantly when she was a kid and I was
deployed. Slowed when she got older, but I still have those letters.”
I nod.
“Right. When I got back… she lived at my place for a time. She got tired of
finding my mom passed out on the couch or her flavor of the week in her
bedroom. I was beyond done with it. She stayed here a few months. She
needed some structure, guidance. I gave her that.”
Yeah, I bet he’s good at giving people structure and…guidance. I stifle a
shiver.
I note how he chooses his words carefully but doesn’t sugarcoat a thing, a
master at precision in his speech.
“She wanted to date.” He spits out the words like they’re distasteful. “She
was old enough to. Let’s just say we didn’t see eye to eye when it came to
who she chose to date.”
I nod. “Let me piece this together, then. She’s raised by a mom who let her
do whatever she wanted. Doesn’t get what she needs. You went off and
enlisted which gave you the structure and accountability you needed. She
had none of that, so when you came back, you did your best to provide that
for her.” He nods. “She wasn’t too fond of your rules and expectations, but
she was maybe grateful for a roof over her head and a large, scary big
brother who’d keep her safe.”
He draws in his breath with practiced patience and gives me a look I can
only classify as a warning. “Yeah.”
“So she rebelled. On the one hand, wanted your protection and everything
you could offer, but on the other, didn’t like being treated like a child and
wanted you to damn well know that.”
“Right.”
“So at the first chance she got, when her friends got an apartment, she took
off. Maybe checked in with you from time to time but didn’t do much more
than that.”
“Very good, Miss Price.”
“I got the basics then.”
“Enough chitchat. That more or less brings you up to speed. Two boyfriends
ago, she dated a guy who told me, I shit you not, that he was leaving that
night to go become a vampire. And the next one after that came wearing a
fucking cape and black boots. In July.” Something tells me he wouldn’t
forgive black boots and a cape even in the dead of winter.
“We do live in Salem.”
He huffs out a breath.
“And… let me guess… she didn’t bring anyone else to see you after that?”
He grunts like a caveman. I’d pay good money to hear what he said to those
two boyfriends.
“Cape. Boots. Salem. Is your sister involved in anything with witchcraft?
Wiccan?”
His back goes so rigid, I could trace a straight line from the top of his spine
to his seat. “Yeah.”
But he doesn’t offer any other details.
“How so?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is she actually Wiccan?”
I watch his reaction. He looks like he wants to wince, but he catches
himself. Instead, his fingers tighten on the wheel, his knuckles white. He
does not like that his sister’s involved with the crowd she is, not one little
bit.
“Involved in witchcraft?” He makes a face like he just ate a rotten apple.
“She’s got friends that do it, but…”
Aww. Is the big bad alpha too scared to admit his sister’s involved in
something outside his control?
“Are you in denial about her involvement, Cain?”
His eyes narrow on the road ahead of him, but he still manages to give me a
brief sidelong look. “Be careful, Miss Price.”
Something in me thrills at the warning he gives me, my skin prickling with
heat. His voice has dropped, and is it my imagination, or has the inside of
this car just heated up about twenty degrees?
“Careful about what?”
“Treading into areas you know nothing about.”
I release a breath patiently. “Mr. Master, if I’m going to work with you, it
doesn’t make sense for you to hold anything back from me.”
He gives me a sharp, sideways glance before he looks in front of him again.
“You’ll help me find my sister. You’ll help me make sure she’s safe and that
the idiots she shares living space with haven’t done something brainless like
sign her up to be sacrificed to their fucking gods for the summer solstice.”
“They can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“It’s August. Summer solstice is in June.”
I think I actually see little tendrils of smoke come out of his ears.
Easy, Violet. Don’t poke the bear too hard.
“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” He shakes his head as he flicks on his
directionals again and takes a left so hard, I swear the tires leave the ground
for a fraction of a second, a hard feat considering what this monstrosity
weighs. When my stomach settles back to where it should be, I remember to
protest.
“I—”
“You think you have it all figured out. I’m an overprotective brother who
doesn’t know jack shit about teens and boyfriends and how to relate.”
Well… If the shoe fits…
“What you don’t know is that I goddamn know what it’s like to be the
ostracized freak who can’t rely on his parents. I know what it’s like to want
to fit in, to find a peer group you can socialize with who’ll value you for
who you are, not what you do.”
Oof.
“So yeah, maybe it looks like I don’t have a lot of respect for this witchcraft
thing. And maybe I don’t. I value what I can see. What I can hold. What I
can touch.”
I nod. It takes me a few seconds to realize I’m clutching at my neck, like
he’s a vampire who’s going to bite me. My blood thrums through my veins,
hot and visceral, and my skin feels too tight. I have to get control of the
situation. He continues.
“I don’t have a lot of use for bullshit. I will find the truth if I have to hunt it
into dark valleys and hold it at knife point. Do we understand each other,
Miss Price?”
I draw in a breath and release it slowly as I unfold the clothing in my lap.
“Perfectly, sir.” I cast a glance around the small interior of his truck. “Now
where am I supposed to be getting dressed?”

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER FIVE

Cain
“RIGHT HERE. I’M NOT LOOKING.”
Like fuck I’m not. I notice everything about her, from the way her fingers
graze the pulse at her neck, to the wispy ringlets of hair that cling to her
temple, still damp from the sudden summer shower that caught us
unawares. I’m aware of her delicate scent, clean and fresh yet feminine, like
moon-kissed dew. I’m aware that despite her training and level of fitness, of
how easily I could hurt her.
I remember the way she felt pinned beneath me, how I held my weight
above her so I wouldn’t hurt her, both wrists gathered in my hand.
I remember how I liked it.
“Be quick about it, we’re five minutes out.”
“Not a problem.”
She unfolds the tank, then wriggles it through the collar. Holding my T-shirt
over her like a tent, she shimmies and wriggles and huffs into the clothes. If
I wasn’t so pissed and ready to kill, I’d find it amusing. Less than a minute
later, she tosses the wet tee on the dash. I glance at her. She’s dressed, and
the clothes don’t fit her well, but they’ll stay on her for now. Next, she pulls
the socks and boots on.
“We’ll arrive in two minutes. We’ll question everyone who’s there and get
all the details we can. What languages do you speak, Miss Price?”
“I’m fluent in French, Italian, German, and Japanese. I can get by in
Portuguese and Russian, though don’t ask me to write either.”
She’s being modest. She also knows passable Greek and Hindi as well.
I’m fucking hard just listening to her list some of her many talents.
“Noted. We’ll get into why I hired you later, but for now I want you to
know that I needed a woman on my team. There are places a petite woman
like you can fit a lot more easily than a man like me or many on my team,
and your skill set will also come in handy.”
She nods.
“When you’re proficient with a gun, you’ll conceal and carry.”
“Don’t I need a license?”
“I’ll take care of it. For now, if we get into a dangerous place, you’ll use the
skills you already have, but only at my command. You do not, under any
circumstances, act without my permission.”
“I thought we were just going to investigate.”
“We are. I like to be prepared. Lesson one, Miss Price. Investigations can
turn sour, and easily.”
She nods, frowning as she looks out the window. “Why are the streetlights
on during the day? That’s odd.”
I look to where she does. Each streetlight glows with a dim yellow light. I
mentally commend her for noticing a detail I didn’t. One of the reasons I
hired her.
I flick a button on my phone. Joe answers immediately.
“Boss?”
“Check the electric grid between North and Downey Road. See if you
notice any unusual activity.”
I hang up the phone. I turn to Violet and point toward a sheathed knife on
the console. “Have you ever used a knife?” I know for a fact she has, it’s
one of the many skills her studio has taught her that they don’t advertise.
Though she doesn’t answer me at first, I can tell just by the way she takes
the ankle sheath she’s skilled in knife use. In seconds, the sheath’s safely
secured under her pant leg, but easy to retrieve at a moment’s notice.
Throwing knives are long and sharp, and this one is no exception.
“Knives and I are BFFs, you could say.”
We’ll work on honesty, a two-way street. Eventually I’ll tell her exactly
why I’ve watched her and looked into her past. My reasoning is pretty
simple and honest, but I know that if I tell her too much too soon, I could
push her away. I can’t risk that, not now.
I try to discreetly watch as she gets out of the cab of the truck, but I had
nothing to worry about. She swings herself down like an expert, with grace
and fluidity. Perfect. Something tells me I won’t regret hiring her.
We walk at a good clip to Skylar’s apartment building, but Violet pauses
just outside the door. “Wait!”
I tamp down irritation. I don’t like waiting, and I want to get this done. But
she’s fallen to one knee outside the door. She reaches out, fingering
something I don’t see right away.
“What is it?”
She shakes her head. “Flowers.”
“Right. I’m sure there are flowers everywhere. I don’t want to waste any⁠—”
“No. No, listen.” She stands, holding a delicate spray of tiny white flowers.
“Baby’s breath. I found the same flowers outside my car yesterday, these
and a little purple one. Before I got into the accident.”
“Coincidence?”
Her gaze is troubled when she looks at me. “Could be. We should note it,
though.”
“Noted. Now can we move on, please?”
My phone rings. Joe.
“Yeah?”
“Someone fucked with the electricity on that block last night. There are
reports of the lights going off from dusk to this morning, and since they’re
set on auto, they came back on this morning when they don’t usually.”
“Thanks.” I tell Violet, who only frowns but nods.
“Do you have like a special bag or something to hold evidence? We should
maybe⁠—”
I do not have the time or patience for this.
“For fuck’s sake, stuff them in your bra if you’re that worried.” I turn to the
door and push the doorbell. Out of the corner of my eye, she makes a
gesture that could be flipping me off, but when I look sharply back at her,
she shrugs her shoulders at me innocently. Probably just as well. Hauling
her over my knee to teach her respect probably wouldn’t go over too well
right now.
The flowers are gone. I wonder if she took my advice. I imagine them
pressed up against her perfect breasts, and with effort, pull my mind back to
the job.
I turn back to the door at the sound of footsteps heading our way. Like
many apartment buildings in downtown Salem, the door and stoop are aged
with time and wear. A potted plant, the leaves dried and dead, sits to one
side of the stairs. Below us, on the ground, my eyes fall on a crumpled
condom. I hate that Skylar lives here.
Someone speaks to us through the door. “Who’s there?” Lottie.
“Cain, Skylar’s brother. Open up, please.” The please is an afterthought. I
try to remember my manners. Manners can sometimes get you places, but
they’re damn inconvenient.
Hushed voices rise and fall on the other side. Violet and I look at each other
in silence as the door stays shut.
She shakes her head. “Now remember, you can’t just go in there and kill
them,” she says in a whisper so soft I can barely hear her. I didn’t even
realize my hand was already grazing the butt of my gun. It’s a little scary
how she reads my mind.
“Why not?” I whisper back. I’ve killed for less than this, and I’d do it again.
This is my sister we’re talking about, my goddamn sister, and if anyone
hurts her⁠—
“Laws,” Violet whispers. “You’re no good to your sister in jail or dead
yourself.”
“Fucking logic.” She can try all she wants, but she won’t stop me if
anyone’s hurt Skylar. No one will.
I turn back to the door and raise my hand to knock, when I hear the clicking
of metal, and the doorknob turns. Lottie, my sister’s roommate and best
friend, stares at me with wide, haunted eyes behind thick glasses. Her
purplish black hair’s in braids on either side of her head, and she wears a
black cape with a black and silver dress over her curvy body. Someone I’ve
never seen before—man or woman, I don’t know yet, dressed in drab black
clothing with long dark hair— stands next to her.
Lottie’s voice is pained. “I didn’t do it, Mr. Master. I had nothing to do with
it.”
Never a good way to begin a conversation.
“Do what?” I just want to get inside so I can ask some questions. I take a
step toward her, and she steps back. Violet watches us both curiously.
“Any-anything.” She’s terrified of me.
Sometimes, that works against me. Sometimes it’s in my favor.
I consider shoving past them to get inside, demanding answers to questions
and scouring the place for clues, but I know that brute force isn’t always the
best response.
I look to Violet, and with subtle eye movements and a slight jerk of my
head, silently ask her to get us in here without someone shitting their pants.
She steps forward, a smile on her lips.
“We didn’t think you were to blame.” Her voice exudes confidence and
grace. She looks so small, so wholesome, no one would realize how quickly
and easily she could cut or maim them. Her voice gentled, she stands close
to me, as if showing with her physical presence that she’s with me, and we
mean no harm. “We’re concerned, though, and want to help. Let us in,
please?”
Lottie releases a breath, steps aside, and beckons for us to go in.
The sweet, nearly acrid smell of incense hits me when we set foot inside.
It’s hard to tell it’s daytime, with the blinds drawn and nothing but candles
lighting our way. Several cats curl around my ankles before gracefully
gliding away. I take in every detail I can. Skylar’s never invited me, but I’ve
had surveillance on it since she came here. I know the basic layout, but now
I’m looking for other details.
It’s a small, crowded apartment. Two bedrooms? The kitchen sink is tidy
but cluttered, dishes stacked on a drying rack that’s nearly bursting. Beside
the dishes there’s a stack of coffee mugs, Zodiac signs engraved on the
outsides of them. A velvet cushion lies on a table to the left, and several
long, carved sticks that look like wands sit atop it. A carved structure
featuring three women in dresses, holding hands around a white candle
base, sits to the left of the cushion with the word goddess engraved below,
and beside the candle a long incense burner casts smoke heavenward. The
scent grows stronger.
On one wall several silver pendulums hang on a silver peg, and in the living
room, there’s a stand with a large, clear sphere. A crystal ball? Several
dragons are displayed on the walls, some carved in 3D and some flat prints.
The door to one bedroom’s ajar, revealing an unmade bed and a large stack
of unfolded laundry in a wicker basket. One of the cats walks into the room,
quickly swallowed up by darkness.
“Miss Price, meet Lottie. Lottie, Miss Price. Lottie’s Skylar’s best friend
and roommate.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Violet sticks her hand out, but Lottie doesn’t take it.
She stares at her, untrusting.
I turn to her companion. “And you are?”
“Haven, my boyfriend,” Lottie says. He gives me a jerky nod, then steps
back, falling into the shadows. Can’t speak for himself? Interesting. I turn
back to Lottie.
“You called us. What has you concerned?”
Lottie wrings her hands and paces in front of me. “Skylar had a date.
Someone we met at a local gathering.”
Gathering. What exactly is a gathering? I do my best to reserve judgment,
but it’s hard, seeing the dark, cramped apartment my sister shares with her
friends, knowing I’m fully capable of putting her in a bigger, better place.
“They were supposed to go to dinner,” Lottie says. “They had plans, and
she even told me where they were going.” Tears brim behind her glasses.
“Where?”
“Bubbles and Broomsticks.” Pretty common name. In a city like Salem,
over a quarter of the local establishments features names playing off some
variation of the word “witch.”
“She went to meet him, and she came home earlier than she expected. She’d
texted me that the guy creeped her out.”
“Did she give you specifics? What exactly creeped her out?”
I fucking hate that my sister went out on a date with someone she didn’t
trust and I didn’t know.
I pace in the kitchen, trying to ignore the way I want to break things. My
hands clench, and I try to steady my breathing. I hate this. If they hadn’t
tampered with anything, I’d have gotten full footage of everything. “And I
have no idea where she is because you two thought it smart to remove all
surveillance.”
Violet places a gentle hand on my arm. My skin heats where she touches
me, and I take in a calming breath. My fingers unclench, relaxing by my
sides.
I didn’t know she’d have that effect on me.
Lottie doesn’t respond but plays with a silver lip piercing, her brows drawn
together over her large glasses.
“What happened after she came home?”
“Well, about an hour later, I heard the front door open and close again. I
yelled after her, but either she ignored me, or she didn’t hear me. Honestly
either could’ve happened.”
“Did you see her?” Violet asks.
“When she came home?”
“Yeah.”
Lottie shakes her head.
“So she didn’t respond, and you didn’t see her,” Violet says. “Is it feasible
that it was someone else who came into the house and left again?”
Lottie’s magnified eyes widen. “Oh. Oh, God, I didn’t think of that.”
“Do you lock your door?” Violet asks, shooting me another look as if to
warn me not to lose my shit.
“Well… sometimes, yes, sometimes no.”
Even Violet looks frustrated at this point. “Lottie, this is important. Did you
lock the door last night?”
Lottie winces. “I have no idea.”
Violet’s lips thin. I run my thumb over the metal handle of my gun to calm
my nerves.
“So she probably didn’t come home,” I supply.
“No.”
Lottie’s companion shifts on his feet, as if enduring something
uncomfortable.
Violet keeps her voice gentle. “What makes you think she didn’t just go
back out with him? Why call us?”
She turns to face me. “She left her phone here. She didn’t tell me where she
was going. And that on its own might not have really concerned me. But we
have a rule, we always tell each other where the other’s going.”
The one smart fucking thing she’s told me today.
“I’m going into her room,” I tell Lottie over my shoulder, halfway in.
“Mr. Master, I don’t think that’s a wise idea⁠—”
I ignore her. Violet walks in behind me and voices my thoughts when she
looks around the room.
“Oooh. Oh my.”
The gauzy black curtains are drawn over the windows, but it isn’t dark
enough to hide the large, king-sized bed decorated with a circular, plush
blanket in purples and blacks, the skeletons that dance along every flat
surface in a macabre display, or the feathery dream catchers that hang from
the ceiling. That isn’t what’s got my attention, though, nor Violet’s.
A curved, black leather chair sits in one corner of the room.
“Is that what I think it is?” I say out of the corner of my mouth to Violet.
“A chair designed for tantric sex and multiple positions or partners?” Violet
responds. “Ohhh yeah.”
I curse under my breath. “And you know this because…”
“I believe that question violates our confidentiality agreement, Mr. Master.”
“We don’t have a confidentiality agreement, Miss Price.”
Her tight-lipped smile makes me want to smack her saucy little ass.
She steps further into the room and looks around. “Something for sure’s
off,” she says. “Look.”
She points to where Skylar’s phone sits, plugged into the wall. Her laptop’s
beside it, and the little bowl for her cats is empty. “No way she’d leave
without putting fresh water and food out for her pets.”
Lottie stands in the doorway. “And you called the police?”
“I did.” She sighs. “They won’t touch the case. They said that she hasn’t
been missing long enough and we have no evidence.”
What she doesn’t say is that knowing I’m Skylar’s brother doesn’t help the
situation.
Violet’s frowning, my sister’s phone in her hand. It’s password-protected,
and she hasn’t gotten far with it.
“We’re taking this with us,” she says. “I’m sure I’ll be able to get in.”
Lottie doesn’t protest.
Moons line every surface of the room. Half-moons pinned to the wall with
Latin phrases I don’t know, a full moon framed in silver above an end table
that’s actually a half-moon shape.
“Why all the moons?”
Violet frowns, her eyes quickly flitting over every detail. “You said she was
dating a vampire?”
“Miss Price, there’s no such thing as fucking vampires.”
She nods. “Look, there may not be in our world—in the practical world we
both inhabit—but in hers? There are. And it’s noteworthy.”
I give her this and don’t argue again.
After scouring Skylar’s room and the rest of the apartment, I get directions
for Bubbles and Broomsticks. Back in the truck, Violet frowns as she
fiddles with Skylar’s phone. She’s tried her birthday, her astrological sign,
every obvious password she could think of, and finally locks herself out of
it for fifteen minutes.
“Damn it,” she mutters, scowling. She takes her own phone out. “Have you
noticed that your sister’s companions are all sort of outcasts? You’ve got
Lottie, who’s sweet but wears glasses, is overweight and dresses in
costumes. Probably not the most popular girl in her class. Were all her
friends sort of unpopular?”
“Mhm.”
I flick on the directionals and take a left.
“Like… the boyfriend who’s essentially androgynous, and I bet if we
investigated her other friends, we’d find something similar.”
I nod, not sure how this has anything to do with the case.
“Our goal right now is to bring back everything we can to my men. Tonight,
we’ll go over every detail and see what we can piece together.”
“Your men. That sounds so…” Her voice trails off.
“So what?”
“Like, masculine.”
I grunt. “What should I call them? My employees?”
She shrugs and gets a little haughty. “It’s just that they’re not all men
anymore.”
I look at her full breasts, her petite little body, and those pursed lips I want
to kiss. “They’re definitely not.”
I pull up onto the highway, twenty minutes out from the restaurant we need
to investigate. A car whizzes past us so closely, Violet screams. It hits my
left tire, ricochets forward, and I have to slam on my brakes to keep it
steady.
Violet gasps. “What was that?” I’m already accelerating, following the
small black Mazda.
“Are you road raging after them?”
“Me? Road rage? What makes you think I have road rage?”
I’ll fucking kill them.
“That was not an accident,” Violet says. She’s sitting straight up next to me,
hands on the dash. “They so did that on purpose.”
I’m gaining on them, as they take a sharp right and exit the highway.
“Uh yeah, no reason,” she says with a grimace as I follow them off the
highway. Horns blare as the light turns red and I plow through it, gaining on
them. Someone flips me the bird. The truck’s too big to chase them too
closely.
“Get the plate,” I tell her.
“On it.”
The car zigzags in and out of traffic, way too quickly for my huge truck to
follow them. I curse under my breath.
“This is not a good getaway car,” she mutters.
“No, but it off-roads like a motherfucker and there isn’t a better place to be
when the shit hits the fan.” The glass is shatterproof, the wheels reinforced
and nearly invincible. I could mow down a goddamn semi if I had to.
“You can’t chase them now, though.” She mumbles something under her
breath.
“What was that?”
“I said, ‘thank God,’” she says loudly. “Not sure what you’d do to them in
your present state of mind.”
“You work for me now. That means accepting anything and everything that
working with me entails. Under any and all circumstances. Understood?”
She nods. “Yes, of course. Why do you think they would hit us?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“It is, but I want your take. No stone unturned and all that.”
“They hit us because they have something to hide. They don’t want us on
this case. It was a stupid, pussy threat.”
I hate that someone basically assaulted us and got away with it.
I call Joe. “Run this plate.” I repeat the plate number Violet gives me.
We’re going to get answers, and we’re going to get them now.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER SIX

Violet
SOMETHING’S definitely not right here, I know it in my gut. My mind
wanders to the flowers squished against my breast, the phone and cats left
unattended in Skylar’s room, and the little car that just tried to run us off the
road.
“Please tell me the truth,” I say to Cain. “Is it more likely that someone has
a beef with Skylar or with you?”
He clenches his jaw. “Me.”
“Thought so. And do you think there’s a chance they’d come after her to get
back at you?”
He curses again. “Yeah.”
I pull up my phone to Google some facts when I remember something. “It’s
a full moon tonight.”
“And?”
I remember Skylar’s fascination with moons. I take her phone and type in
full moon. Nothing.
“Can you name the phases of the moon?”
He gives me a quizzical look, but nods. “Full moon. Waxing crescent.
Waning crescent. Waning gibbous… waxing gibbous…” He strokes his
chin, a surprisingly masculine move that makes me look away because he’s
my boss—correction, no he is not, we work professionally with each other
—and I will not look at how sexy those fingers are rasping against the
stubble on his jaw goddammit.
I type waxing crescent. Nothing. With a sigh, convinced this isn’t going to
work, I type in waning crescent.
Her phone unlocks. I pump the air.
“Got into her phone.”
The streets are quiet, the oppressive heat and humidity of late August
making the air around us shimmer with haze. Cain guns the engine, as if
reminding the universe that he’s coming for his sister. “Good work.”
I suspect it isn’t often that he commends someone who works for him, and
his praise sends a warm flicker of pleasure through me. I ignore it. I don’t
like that I want his praise.
I focus on scrolling through her phone for some clues. I’m violating her
privacy, I know I am, but we have to find something that can help us. If we
let the police department take their time, it could be too late. I feel sick.
“So, your sister only has like twenty contacts.”
“And?”
“Well, it’s pretty unusual. The average person has… I don’t know, I’d guess
hundreds. Huh.” I shrug. “That’ll make it easier to go through.”
“Okay, good.”
“But… well, that’s not a lot. Is she sort of a loner?”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
Bingo. I read a text on her screen that pings my attention.
“She has a text from a guy she’s named ‘Cowboy.’”
“Cowboy.” He frowns. “That’s not usually her scene.”
It’s definitely not.
“Yep.”
I flip through the phone. “They met… a week ago… online. He asked her
out for drinks and they agreed to go out last night.” I don’t say anything for
a minute, because I’m not sure he wants to hear what’s going on in these
texts.
“Oh. Oh wow. Then there’s a text here, she says, Don’t call me back. I don’t
ever want to hear from you again.”
“I want his address.”
With the tone he uses, he could replace what he said with give me the
coordinates so I can bomb his ass.
“And then it looks like there might’ve been more communication between
them, but maybe it was a phone call or several because there are no more
texts.”
“And there’s nothing else?”
I sigh. “I don’t see much of anything. She’s got some social media stuff...
but even that…. Well, there’s just Wiccan stuff.”
I don’t tell him what. He’s obviously not a fan of her lifestyle, and I don’t
know how much is relevant anyway. I scroll through text after text, and it
makes me feel shitty. I don’t like invading her privacy like this.
But I share his concern. She’s in danger, and we need to find her. I look for
something, anything at all that will clue me in.
On a whim, I pull up a browser and scroll through her history. Now this is
starting to feel more invasive. I ignore the growing unease.
My cheeks scald at the first dozen or so searches.
Doggy style
Reverse 69
Best tantric sex moves
Cowboy
“You’re blushing, Miss Price,” he says, as he flicks on the directionals and
gets off the highway.
“She, uh… not sure how much you want to know. Let’s just say I think I
know why she calls him Cowboy.”
His jaw firms. “Fuck.”
“There are maybe some things you don’t need to know about your sister.”
With a grimace, he shakes his head. “Everything. I need everything.”
“She… had a pretty rich sex life, it seems.”
He looks like he’s just bitten into a lemon. A rotten, mold-covered lemon.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
I scroll a little more.
“Oh. Oh, wow.”
“What? Will you please stop that?”
Fuck, I need to find a better poker face.
I shake my head. I will not tell him I had no idea that was a position one
could put themselves in. I mean, honestly… someone would have to have…
like a really, really big… in order to fit that way…
“We aren’t going to work together if you’re hiding things from me.”
“I just don’t know if you want to know what I’m seeing over here about
sexual positions, Mr. Master.”
He clamps his mouth shut.
“Some of these are—” I stop talking, as a cold shiver runs down my spine.
Baby’s breath.
She has six search histories involving baby’s breath and three more with
purple irises.
Why?
He pulls into a parking spot outside the restaurant. I remind myself to tell
him about the flower search history later.
I need to call my bestie Candi but have to find a way to do it without him
knowing, since he doesn’t want to involve the police.
I pull out my phone and shoot her a text.
Babe, off record. You were telling me something last night
about a recent string of sexual assault victims… what can you
tell me about it?

No response. I tuck my phone in my left pocket and Skylar’s in my right.

He parks the car. I pull up my pants leg to make sure my knife’s secured,
inwardly groaning when I see the purplish bruises along my shins from
getting into his truck. I look like I fell off my bike when my mom took my
training wheels off. Great.
I don’t miss the way people look at us, and I don’t think it has anything to
do with my odd choice in attire. I can tell that people recognize him, and
those that don’t, notice him from afar. He’s large and intimidating, but that
isn’t what garners attention so much as the way he walks.
Some people walk like they know you’re watching them. Others walk
timidly, as if they don’t want to step on toes or offend you. Cain walks into
the restaurant as if he belongs here and anyone who doesn’t ought to fuck
off before he makes them. His confident gait and the take-no-prisoners steel
in his eyes are silent declarations that he isn’t afraid, that if anyone does
something dangerous, they’ll deal with him. He drips arrogance and
violence through his goddamn pores, something that should turn me off.
It doesn’t. It doesn’t at all.
A few women vaping to the right of the entrance look him up and down,
and one even hands her bag to her friend and steps toward us. She gives me
a quick look and easily dismisses me as someone who isn’t competition,
because she doesn’t even bother to hide the fact that she likes him, thinks
he’s hot, and wants to sleep with him, probably right this very minute.
Without missing a beat, Cain slides his large, warm hand along my lower
back, curves his fingers around my side and pulls me to him. His eyes are
glacial, a man on a mission, but my body doesn’t seem to care. At the feel
of his hand on me, my blood heats, an electric current coursing its way
straight through me. I can’t help but step closer to him. I like the way my
body tingles, as if every nerve knows this is a man who knows how to treat
a woman’s body.
The woman heading toward us halts mid-step, then shoots me a scowl. I
don’t know if I want to stick my tongue out at her or punch her.
We step further inside, and a waitress hands us some menus.
“Do you still have wings on the menu? Babe, you remember those wings
you like?”
Babe? Wait, what? Cain Master’s just staked his claim on me, and I have no
idea why. But when the woman who’d been heading toward us steps to the
side, it’s starting to become clearer.
I draw in a shaky breath and laugh. I could get into this. “I do. You’re the
best, honey.” Gag. Me.
A glimmer of a smile crosses his lips, like a particle of sun breaking through
clouds before they swallow it up again. “Anything for you.”
This is a front. Nothing more, nothing less.
“Let’s sit at the bar,” I suggest, gesturing toward the bar.
“Sure thing, baby.”
God! He’s really pushing this. I make gagging motions with my finger
down my throat, then slice my hand in the air in front of me. Stop!
He mouths, “Nope.”
Argh!
I hop up on a bar stool, but he shakes his head at me. “Scoot over.”
“You wanna sit here?”
“I do,” he says through tight lips. He’s the boss, and he has his reasons, so I
move to the left and let him take the seat I was in. “I can see all exits this
way.”
I’d be pleased if I felt he’d made this move to protect me, but I don’t
romanticize shit.
The bartender, a thin, kinda young ginger with a scraggly beard and
piercings all along each ear and his eyebrow welcomes us. “Can I get you
two a drink?”
His eyes linger a little longer on Cain. He recognizes him, I think. Hard to
forget a guy like him.
“Soda water with lemon,” I order. Cain gets a soda.
“I know you,” the bartender says to Cain when he hands us our drinks.
Bingo.
“Yeah?” Cain takes a sip of his drink and places it back on the counter. His
eyes flit over my shoulder, scanning the entrance, before he looks back at
the bartender. He folds his arms across his chest, and his muscles bulge. I
don’t know if he’s trying to intimidate him on purpose, but the bartender
takes a step back. “How do you know me?”
“On second thought, not sure I do. You remind me of someone.”
He turns to walk away.
“He’s Skylar’s brother,” I say loudly enough to get his attention. “Do you
know her?” I keep a close eye on the people watching us. Does anyone look
guilty? Curious? Does anyone know her?
Cain shoots his eyes to me, the quickest glance. I pull out my phone and
open up a picture of her.
“We’re actually looking for her,” I say casually. “Have you seen her
recently?”
The bartender wipes down condensation from my glass, then slides it over
to me as my phone beeps. “Haven’t seen her.”
He doesn’t make eye contact, though, and as soon as someone else comes to
the bar, he walks away from us to take their order.
“He’s lying and avoiding us.” I sip my soda and check my phone.
“Agreed. The question is, why?”
There’s a string of texts from Candi.
Where are you? No one’s seen you at work and you never
miss.
I’m doing a job. I can’t tell you any more right now.
Are you safe?

I look at Cain. Am I safe? Hell no, I’m not safe. But he’s likely not going to
hurt me in the next few minutes, so I can lie for now. I have to.
Yes.
What did you need to know?
You said there was a rise in sexual assault cases lately. What
did you tell me about flowers?
It’s his signature move. He leaves flowers for his victims before
he rapes them. Why do you need to know?

I don’t reply.
The baby’s breath at my breast feels suddenly hot, burning against my skin
like a brand.
I try to reason with myself. Not every flower is a sign.
I’m going crazy.
Half a minute later, another text comes in.
 Hey. You’re nowhere to be found then the next thing I know,
you’re asking me about active cases. Way to freak me out.
What the hell is going on?

I don’t know. I’m safe.

I glance at the monster of a man sitting beside me and release a breath.

Two

Fuck.

I have some research to do tonight.

Cain’s scowling at his phone, too.
“Anything important?”
“Yeah. They got the details on the car that hit us, but the car was stolen so
there’s no way to tell who was driving.”
“And the lights?”
“Someone reconfigured the timing grid at the intersection.”
Also notable.
I have to find out more about the missing women and the surviving victims.
I open my phone again, and I Google shit I never want to Google until I’ve
got a list of details involving the rape crimes around here lately. I do not tell
any of this to Cain quite yet, because I have to find a way to do it without
giving him a coronary.
I make notes on my phone.
Tonight, I’ll look up every detail I can until I have a better idea of what’s
going on.
I slug the rest of my drink and raise my hand for another, just so I can get
the bartender to come over.
He glances from me to Cain apprehensively. “Need a refill?”
He nods.
I watch as the bartender fills both of our glasses. He jerks his head behind
him. “Be right there.”
He’s just trying to get us to not ask questions, I know he is, because I see no
one has called him, no one who's waiting for him.
I turn on my most charming smile. “Oh, hey,” I say, crooking my finger at
him to stay before he goes off again. “I actually have a few more pictures of
the girl we’re looking for." I try to keep my tone casual, my body language
relaxed. I wish I could send a message to Cain to lighten the hell up,
because he’s definitely not contributing to the casual, relaxed vibe I’m
going for here.
The look the bartender shoots Cain is nothing short of terrified, but I talk
quickly so he doesn’t look at Cain and looks at me instead. “I’ve got a few
more pictures for you.” I pull up the pictures I swiped from Skylar’s social
media. “It’s really, really important we find her. Are you sure you didn’t see
her? She was here last night on a date.”
The bartender rubs a hand across his face. I read once that touching one’s
face is a classic sign of guilt or nerves, and I note this carefully. My guess is
he didn’t have a direct hand in taking her, but somehow helped the people
who did or at least knows who they are.
Son of a bitch.
I glance at Cain, narrowing my eyes to tell him to stop looking like the
Grim Reaper, then quickly glance at the bartender.
Cain leans forward on his big, beefy arms, his voice a low drawl. “I’d be
very pleased if you could help us find her. Like she said, she’s my sister.”
Implication: And I’ll be pissed if you don’t.
“Right.” The bartender’s words are barely above a whisper.
Cain flashes a disarming grin that somehow makes my nerves stand on
edge. There’s something about that smile I don’t trust. There isn’t an ounce
of humor in his body right now. “I’m not sure we’ve met before?”
He extends his large hand out. It’s then that I notice small tattoos along the
inner side of one hand. I can’t see what they are yet, but there’s a lot of
them.
“Name’s Cain Master.”
Now this time, there’s nothing left to the imagination. The bartender pales,
and only after prompting from Cain, reaches out and gingerly takes his
hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you, sir.”
Cain shrugs. “Eh, people like to embellish facts. I bet half of what you
heard isn’t true.”
And the other half is.
The bartender doesn’t reply at first. Then he clears his throat, and when he
speaks, it’s in a low whisper. “Meet me by the dumpster out back. We can’t
talk here.”
Cain slowly picks up his drink and sips. I take inventory. There’s one more
bartender near the dishwasher, unloading clean, steaming hot glasses and
placing them on a rack. A few people glance our way, but most are drinking
or dancing, and in one corner of the room, some people play pool. A
waitress sidles past me with a tray of pizza that looks so good my mouth
waters.
Damn, this place is teeming with people, from young adults to teens, and
I’m starving. I haven’t eaten in way too long.
“Finish your drink,” Cain says in a low whisper. “Then follow me.”
The bartender wipes down the space in front of him, turns, and leaves. He
walks down a hall that leads to a door, a broken restroom sign leading his
way. The door shuts behind him.
A minute later, Cain gets up from his seat, tosses a few bills on the bar for
the tab, then goes out the door the way the bartender went. I follow.
Someone crosses in front of me, putting more distance between me and the
guys.
Before I can reach them, an alarm goes off. White lights flash. The wail of a
siren goes off and sprinklers water down on us.
“Everyone evacuate!” someone shouts, just as the smell of acrid smoke
reaches me.
Utter chaos erupts.
You don’t realize how crowded a place is until you all try to evacuate at
once. One minute ago, the place was relatively calm, save some voices and
laughter. Now, it’s a zoo.
People shove past me. Some scream, and others have the rabid look of
someone being chased. I might be small, but I won’t let myself get
trampled. Someone in front of me shoves me back. I throw my shoulder,
knocking them down.
“Hey!” her boyfriend says, and the dumbass thinks he’s somehow entitled
to hit me. I duck his hand, and in one quick movement, sweep his leg. With
the crowd pushing on him, it’s the most effective way to make sure he stays
down. His girlfriend screams. I take the opportunity to run.
I’m small, so it’s easy to dodge the melee of people around me. I wonder
where Cain is, but I’m not too worried. Something tells me he can take care
of himself.
I get to the exit when someone grabs me from behind. I feel strong fingers
at the nape of my neck. On instinct, my hand flies up to block the touch just
before I bend and strike at the torso behind the grasp.
I gasp when I see Cain doubled over, the people around us swarming past,
oblivious to us. Shit! Sirens scream, coming closer.
“Fuck,” he pants, still doubled over. “It was a set-up. And Jesus, look before
you fucking strike. Come with me.”
It’s then that I realize there’s blood dripping down his forehead and a gash
on his upper left arm, and neither one of those were because of my self-
defense moves.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. Follow me.” He sidesteps people left and right, then ducks down
behind a barrel. He tugs me down beside him. Fire trucks come down the
street, their sirens piercing the air. Our hiding space is so small, I’m right up
against him, my back against his thighs. I keep myself very, very still.
His voice is a low vibration in my ear. “Stay here. We’re waiting until this
has all died down. He pulled the fucking alarm trigger thinking it would
scare us off.”
“Asshole. I don’t scare off that easily.”
“Good,” he says from behind me. His voice is a low rumble, his warm
breath on my neck. “I don’t either. And now, we wait. The son of a bitch set
me up.”
I would not want to be that bartender right about now.
“How do you know it was a setup?”
“The second I stepped outside of the bar, he was gone, the alarm went off,
and when people poured out of the bar, I was attacked.”
I suspected he knew something. This only confirms it.
“Who attacked you?”
“Couldn’t see. Someone hooded, and they took off the second the place
evacuated.”
“Son of a bitch.” I wobble in my crouched position, and without a word, he
wraps his hand around my waist to steady me. His hand’s large enough that
his grip on one side rights my whole body. My skin seems to flame beneath
the heat of his touch. I force myself to stay focused.
The firefighters come, finish evacuating the place, and put out a small
kitchen fire. I look in every direction to see where the bartender might have
hidden. I pull up the bar website and look for everything I can find. They
have a profile page with the name of everyone who works here. I get to
work.
By the time the crowd’s dissipated, I’ve got everything I need to know
about the bartender.
“You think they think we’re gone?”
“Long gone.”
“Good.”
We wait for what seems like hours. I don’t move. I barely even breathe.
We’re safe in our hiding place, but our location could be revealed at any
moment, so I stay exactly where I am. His hand’s still on me, steadying me.
My breathing’s ragged and unsteady.
I blink in surprise when I see the bartender. I hiss to Cain, “I saw him. He
went in just now through the back door to the stock room. Plan of attack?”
He grunts. “I’ll go in first. I’ll⁠—”
“Let me go in first. I’m smaller and it will be easier for me to find him.”
“Absolutely not, and do not interrupt me again.”
I stifle a whine. Of course not. Yes, sir! ::inward eye roll::
His voice rings with authority. “I’ll find him. I’ll question him. You’ll do
what I tell you.”
I grumble at him, “Take notes on my notepad and maybe make you a
sandwich?”
The grip on my waist, which I almost forgot about, tightens. “Careful, Miss
Price. Don’t push it.”
Now why would I do a thing like that? Grrr!
I see a glimmer of red hair through a window.
“He’s definitely there.”
“Where?”
“Ten o’clock, behind the door, but close enough to a window if you need
that entrance as well.” Ha, who am I kidding? The only one of us who’d fit
through a window is me. He’d be lucky to get a leg through.
I hear the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked. “Let’s go.”
Seconds later, we move as one, crouched but running to the back entrance
of the restaurant. I test the handle and find it locked. Silently, Cain jerks his
head for me to get out of the way and pulls a small, slender device out of
his pocket. He slides it expertly in place. The lock clicks, and the door
swings open.
Cain goes in first. Prepared for an ambush, I don’t look. This is not going to
end well. The ginger bartender looks at us, turns, and tries to run away. In
one swift move, I take my knife out of the ankle harness, aim, and fling it
through the air. It lands like an arrow, the blade sunk deep into the wood of
the doorframe half an inch from his head.
“Stay right there.”

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER SEVEN

Cain
I KNEW she was skilled with a knife, but the way she stopped him mid-
stride was fucking beautiful. So graceful, it fucking made me hard. Her skill
goes way beyond beginner.
I don't waste time. In three firms strides across the room I've got the
bartender by the neck.
“Name.”
“Jeremy Guard.”
“Why the fuck did you try to get rid of me?”
His eyes water and his voice squeaks, like a cornered mouse.
“Because they’ll kill me.”
“Who will?”
“I don’t know names.”
“Are they the people that took my sister?”
“I—I think so.”
I grip his shirt and shake him.
“Yes!”
“Where are they?”
“I don’t know. Said something about heading to Canada, but I can’t tell you
anything beyond that.”
Fucking Canada?
“Why will they kill you?”
“Because they don’t want to get caught. Because they’d go to jail for life.
Because it would end their little shopping spree.” He’s crying freely now.
How fucking dare he. I give him another shake, furious he had the nerve to
call it a shopping spree.
“That’s my sister we’re talking about.”
Jeremy nods.
“Give me one fucking reason why I shouldn’t kill you.”
“Because I’m your ticket to finding them.”
Wily son of a bitch.
“Yeah? You have no names. You’ve got no connections. How do I know
what you’ve said is true?”
“Because they come all the time. They’ll be back.”
“And what’s your role in this?”
He closes his eyes and winces. I shake him again, but Violet is so over this.
She gives him a swift kick to the calf. “He asked you a question!”
He flinches and cries out. She glares at him, beautiful and feisty but
ferocious as hell. Christ, even I’d answer her question. I did the right thing
hiring her.
“They paid me! And I need the money.”
A deadly calm comes over me. My gun burns on my hip, ready to dance in
my grip and make him pay. “Why?”
“I owe a bookie,” he sobs. “I didn’t want to do it.”
“Do what?”
He doesn’t answer but closes his eyes and cries harder, like he knows his
honest answer will sign his death warrant.
“You tell me, or I’ll hold you down and give her permission to beat you. Is
that what you want? To be beaten by a woman?”
He winces. Violet assumes a fighting stance, fucking ready.
Gorgeous.
He shakes his head. “He paid me to… slip them roofies.”
Motherfucker. The date rape drug.
The hand holding him in my grip shakes with fury. “Then what?”
“Then he’d… pick them up. Take them home. And I don’t know what from
there. I try to respect people who⁠—”
“Oh, fuck off.”
He stares at the gun in my hand.
I don’t give him a chance to explain further. He starts to cry. “I never meant
to hurt anyone.”
I grab him by the hair and shove him to his knees. If I had time, I’d torture
the motherfucker. I want to see the same pain in his eyes the women he fed
to the goddamn wolves felt. I want to hear him cry harder and beg for his
life until he’s hoarse.
“You fucking piece of shit.” My voice shakes and the room blurs. “If my
sister’s with a rapist right now… if he hurts her… it’s your fucking fault.”
I knee him, and when he doubles over, I hammer my fist to his jaw. Bone
snaps, blood spurts. Violet watches in approval and cracks her knuckles like
she wants to help me.
“You’re a worthless, spineless bastard. Any man that helps another take
advantage of innocent women deserves punishment worse than death.” I
grab him by the hair and yank his head back. I want to slit his throat. I want
to feel his warm blood spill on my own hands as his life seeps out of him. I
want to watch his eyes grow lifeless.
I have to get to Skylar. And Violet’s watching.
I hit him again, and again, until he’s whimpering and bloodied, his eyes
swollen shut.
“Cain,” Violet whispers. “We have to go. He deserves this. He deserves to
be tortured and raped just like those girls he helped hurt. But we have to get
Skylar.”
“This asshole slipped roofies to unsuspecting women. He helped a known
rapist who now might have my fucking sister.”
I don’t think about the choices. Out of time, I pull my gun and slide the
silencer on. I ignore his pleas, the way he cries like a baby and begs for
mercy. I put the gun to his temple.
“You’ll never hurt another innocent woman.”
“No! God, no, please,” he says through blood and spittle. The hand holding
my gun shakes.
“You can look away, Miss Price.”
“No.”
I pull the trigger.
Violet watches with a slight frown as his body hits the floor, blood
splashing on the floor beside her. She kneels and takes his pulse.
“You’re right. He won’t.”
I call Joe.
“429 Might Street. Team alpha.”
“Five minutes out, sir.”
I hang up the phone and look at Violet. She doesn’t look upset, as I
expected her to. She doesn’t even look disturbed. Her lips are a thin line,
and something like triumph lights her beautiful, vivid eyes so they sparkle
like amethyst.
That should warn me. Sane people don’t watch someone being executed
and rejoice in their death. But I don’t feel anything but a sort of
camaraderie.
“I’m sorry you had to see that.”
She gives one short shake of her head. “Don’t be. I’m sorry his death was
so quick.” She stands in silent acceptance that I just killed a man. We both
know it’s only a prelude to what I’ll do when I find who he was helping.
We don’t talk. We barely look at each other.
There was a time when I could still remember the names and faces of the
people I’d killed.
That was a long time ago.
In exactly three minutes, our team has arrived to take care of the details.
I jerk my chin at her. “Let’s go.”
This time, she walks with me of her own accord and there’s no need to
threaten her.
“You didn’t hesitate.”
“Hesitate?”
“To kill him.” Her voice is a bit strained, but she looks otherwise normal.
“No. Why would I?”
She shrugs. “You just… you didn’t second-guess.”
“No.”
“You shot him because he deserved it, and you have no regrets.”
I don’t even think about my answer before I speak. “Yes.”
“If I ask you an honest question…”
“You’ll get an honest answer.”
A beat passes before she tips her head to the side and asks, “Do these pants
make me look fat?”
I stifle a snort. “How can you make jokes at a time like this?” I can’t help
the corners of my lips from turning upward.
“You’ll see I’m surprisingly skilled at comic relief during the absolute worst
times. It’s one of my skills I should’ve mentioned during our interview.”
The door to the room shuts fast behind us, hiding our team and the body
they’ll dispose of.
Our boots stomp heavily on the concrete toward my truck.
“I’ll look forward to it.”
She releases a shuddering breath. I look at her sharply. Good God, she’s not
going to start… crying. Is she?
But no. When she catches me looking at her, her eyes are dry and her lips
are in a thin, firm line. “I pulled up everything I could on our little friend.”
“The one we left with our other friends?”
“The very same.”
“Tell me in the truck. Someone helped him, and I’m not sure who, but we
aren’t safe here.”
She steps up the pace, and I move closer to her. When we reach the truck, I
don’t wait for her to fight her way up and bang the hell out of her shins
again. She thinks I didn’t see that. I remember the feel of her against me
when I pinned her to the ground, and the feel of her body pressed to mine
while we crouched in wait. I want to feel her again.
Before she has a chance to react, I reach for her and lift her up as easily as if
she were a child. Her feet scissor and she gives a little squeak, but I don’t
wait around for the inevitable lecture or eye roll. I plop her down safely and
walk to my side.
As soon as I open my door, she starts in.
“Excuse me,” she says sternly, before I get the door to the truck closed shut.
“I know, don’t touch you, don’t help you, let you bruise the shit out of your
shins. No.” I crank the engine and look through my rearview mirrors, not an
easy feat considering they fucked my mirrors up.
“Why? How? Seriously, how do you justify being such a control freak?”
“Me? Control freak?” I laugh quietly to myself, and mutter, “You have no
idea.” I would enjoy the ever-living hell out of having some modicum of
control over her.
Dusk has settled on the city, the bluish haze of late summer making
everything look mysterious and ethereal. I drive toward the road that takes
me home, glancing in the rearview mirror so many times I’m barely
watching where I’m going on the main road.
She’s typing away on her phone, muttering to herself, taking notes, when
she looks out the window and stares.
“Thinking?”
She doesn’t reply for long minutes, just picks at a cuticle on one hand.
“What do they do with the body?”
This would be a shitty time for her to start crying about all this.
“Better if you don’t know, but it won’t be a problem.” A beat passes.
“Take me home now, please. I’ve never needed a shower more in my life.”
I don’t want to take her home. I want to keep her with me until we find
Skylar. But I know we have research to do, and my team is on it. We have
to find the person who hit us today and follow up on the contacts on
Skylar’s phone, along with whoever else at the bar’s connected to the
disappearances. And I’ll be worth shit if I don’t get some sleep.
“I’ll take you home, and you do all the research you can. Tomorrow, we
meet with my team to compare what we’ve found and hopefully make
moves. Remember what I said about packing a bag.”
“Right.”
Tugging down her top, she moves her bra to the side and pulls out the sprig
of delicate white flowers. I swivel my eyes back to the road so I don’t
confirm how the little sprig of flowers left an imprint on her bare breasts. I
shift uncomfortably in the driver’s seat, trying to rein in my focus. She has
small, perfect breasts that would fit⁠—
Christ.
“We need to keep this in mind. Whoever’s taking them leaves flowers for
them before he goes. One of those signature moves? There were flowers on
the walkway to your sister’s house, and your sister was looking for the
meaning of them. I found it in the search history of her phone.”
Shit.
“We don’t really have the luxury of assuming anything’s a coincidence right
now.”
We don’t.
She’s quiet, looking out the window. Holding something back from me.
“What is it?”
“It’s just… well, there were flowers at work. I teach kickboxing classes to
little kids, and before I left the other night, I saw some. It’s probably not
related, though.”
“Is your studio near a florist or a delivery shop or a supermarket that might
sell flowers?”
“No.”
“Fuck going home,” I tell her, as I turn to take the entrance to the highway.
“You’ll come back to my place.” To my home, the goddamn fortress, where
I’ve got my own army of trained soldiers who aren’t afraid of combat.
She draws in a breath then releases it slowly, but she doesn’t respond at
first.
“I’m not giving you a choice in this. I’m⁠—”
“Giving me a choice or I walk.” I feel my brows snap together, but before I
can respond, she continues. “I appreciate your concern. But I’m fully
capable of taking care of myself.”
“I thought we already had this discussion this morning, and that
conversation ended with me on top of you.”
Her hands clench into fists, but I don’t fucking care. My sister’s with God-
knows-who, I’ve got no leads whatsoever on whatever the fuck is going on,
I just put a bullet through a man’s skull, and now she thinks she has a
choice in this.
“You may have noticed, Miss Price, that my entire staff resides at my
house.”
“I have.” She frowns in a way that looks almost like a pout. “It’s odd and
borderline cultish.”
I won’t let her get a rise out of me.
“I have my reasons. Scattering my employees and the contractors that work
for me would be a terrible decision, as my necessary resources would be
dispersed and weakened. I provide ample accommodations and security.”
“Right. But what you may not have noticed is that the only female in your
residence is an elderly, likely married woman.”
“And the doctor.”
“Oh wow. You hired a female doctor? How modern of you.”
There’s a low rumble in the truck I don’t realize is my own damn growl at
first.
“I’m not offering for you to live with me, Miss Price.” I huff out a
humorless laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
She mutters something under her breath.
“What’s that?”
She doesn’t respond.
Her stomach growls, loud and clear. Now that I understand. “You’re hungry.
At least come and get something to eat before you go home.”
“I’m good, thanks. I’ve got plenty of food at my house.”
“Are you hungry or not?”
“Starving, but legitimate hunger’s good for the soul. I’ll somehow make it
this time.”
Stubborn. So goddamn stubborn. I don’t miss the way she sits as far away
from me as she can, as if somehow forming a physical distance will keep
her safe.
I try another tactic. “I prefer the people that work for me to be safe. You
don’t have reliable transportation or a way to get anywhere if I need you
right away. You were the one that picked up on details today we need to
pursue, and I want you to report to my team directly so we can pool our
resources. If anyone or anything hurts you, our entire operation is at risk.”
She nods, slowly. “I see. But still, no.”
Maddening woman! I clench my teeth and force myself to speak calmly.
“And what will you do if someone attacks you?”
She’s quiet for a minute, then finally shrugs. “You’re not the only one with
weapons, Mr. Master.”
This woman’s full of surprises.
“Fine. I’ll take you home. Pack a bag so you’re ready for the next time we
work together. I’ll send one of the company cars to your house for your
use.”
“Thank you.” Finally, something she doesn’t argue with.
She gives me her address, and we drive the rest of the way to her home in
silence.
“You’re brooding.”
“I’m not brooding.” Jesus, I haven’t met anyone in years who’s so goddamn
free with me. Does she have zero sense of self-preservation? We don’t
speak again for long minutes, as the houses and cars pass by our windows,
dimly lit in the moonlight. Streetlamps cast shadows on the street and
sidewalks.
When we’re a block away, she turns to me.
“I’m sorry about your sister. Tonight, I’m going to look up anything and
everything I can. I’ll make a list of notes and leads, and come over
tomorrow to help you continue the investigation. And if anything happens
while I’m gone, please let me know.”
“I will. Look up everything you can about the flowers and the cases they
suspect are linked.”
“I will.”
“You should get some sleep, though.”
“So should you.”
We both know neither one of us will sleep tonight.
I hate that my sister’s out there. I hate that we have so little to go on.
It’s easier to handle cases that don’t involve the people you love.
And I hate that Violet’s going home.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER EIGHT

Violet
IT SEEMS like I’ve lived a dozen lives this week, and I’m weary. So tired,
my bones feel like they creak, and my eyelids feel paper thin. I want to
crawl in my bed, face first, right on top of the blankets and not get up again
for a good, long while.
I left here this morning wanting to get hired by Cain Master.
I got a lot more than I bargained for.
His huge, ambling truck pulls out in front of my place. My landlord Troy’s
smoking a butt on the top stoop, and he doesn’t even bother to try to hide
the fact that he’s scoping out Cain and his truck. I watch him take a drag,
then let the smoke out slowly. He tosses it to the next step down and grinds
it under his heel before he starts to come our way.
Seriously?
“Who’s this?” Cain murmurs, his voice deceptively casual.
“Landlord. Usually just keeps to himself. This is weird.”
“He got a thing for you?”
I can’t help but snort at that. “Uh, no.” No one’s got a “thing” for me, but I
don’t think Cain believes me. Troy anchors his hands on his hips and glares
at us.
“Come at me, bro,” Cain says quietly.
“Okay, relax,” I say with an eye roll. “He is not worth your time. Trust me. I
can handle him.”
“That was never in question,” he mutters, releasing the wheel and cracking
his neck, like he’s limbering up for a fight. Maybe he wants someone to
pick a fight with him, to help burn off the intensity of the aggression that
rolls off him. Maybe he wants to kick some ass.
Shiver.
“Alright, fine. I’ll have a car brought here within the hour, and I want you at
my place at eight a.m. sharp tomorrow morning.”
Well then. Someone likes to gain back control. Well played, Mr. Master.
I’ll play along right back.
“Of course. And thank you.”
“Don’t forget to pack your clothes.”
I bite down some snarky remarks and turn away from him so he doesn’t see
my eye roll.
“Yessiree,” I mutter, as I swing my legs around toward my side of the truck.
The clouds shift, and a stream of moonlight hits the ground beside it. I look
up at the full, brilliant white moon, and a pang hits my heart. Skylar. Where
is she? What’s happening to her? Is she okay?
And she isn’t even my sister. I can’t begin to imagine what he’s going
through. He’s learned how to school his features, how to hide his feelings.
Years of service and what he’s been through would do that to a person.
We’ll find her.
I push open the truck door. Cain opens his mouth to say something, but I
don’t give him a chance.
“Thank you for everything,” I say loudly, infusing a lilt of flirtation in my
voice, as if he just brought me home after homecoming, for Troy’s benefit.
Cringe. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
He gives me a little finger wave but doesn’t reply. He’s focused instead on
watching Troy.
“If this fucker gives you any trouble…” he begins in a low rumble.
“Kick him where the sun don’t shine. On it.” To be more accurate, I’d curse
him out and call Candi, since I typically try not to get into any altercations
with my landlord. I did that once, and things got a bit… messy. It’s hard to
find a new apartment mid-month.
I step down from the truck, and Cain yells from behind me, “Call me before
you go to bed, baby!”
God. He’s doing that fake boyfriend thing again. I shoot him a glare over
my shoulder, but that only makes him do this deep, manly, sexy chuckle I
feel straight between my legs. Grrr!
Troy stares. What the hell is his problem? “Tell your boyfriend he can’t
park there,” he says, but once he catches sight of Cain, he starts to take a
step backward. Smart move, asshole.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him he’s not my boyfriend, but I think
better of it. It might be good for word to get around I’ve got a boyfriend the
size of Paul Bunyan, who drives a truck the size of Paul’s big blue ox. I
amuse myself with the memory of the fabled Paul Bunyan rolling over in
his sleep and causing an earthquake, and digging out the Great Lakes by
hand.
I fantasized about being friends with Paul Bunyan when I was a little girl,
bullied by my foster parents and bullied at school. No one would bully a
girl with a friend who was bigger than life.
I guess I never outgrew that.
As Cain’s truck drives away, I square my shoulders and head inside.
I walk up the steps and grab my mail, and for once in my life my landlord
doesn’t give me shit or follow me. Thank you, Mr. Master. I did tell him I
don’t need help, and I don’t, but I might as well take advantage when
opportunity knocks.
Now that the sun has set, it’s cooler, and even the humidity’s lessened. My
phone beeps. I look down to see a text from Candi.
Just checking to see if you’re still alive.
I will be more alive after I get some food in my belly.

I’m so starving, my vision’s blurred. I walk up the flight of stairs, open my

apartment door, then shut it and deadbolt it behind me. I breathe a sigh of
relief that I’ve somehow made it this far. We do breathing exercises when
we train, and it comes naturally to me when I feel the tension along my
neck and back.
Deep breath in. Release.
After everything that’s happened the past few days, I feel like I need to
scope my place out before I relax.
The kitchen looks untouched. Nothing out of place. I left everything locked
up tighter than a drum, the windows shut and locked, the air conditioner on
low. The kitchen’s clear.
The bathroom’s got a small, standing shower with a clear glass door, and
it’s easy to see it’s vacant as well. Not a towel or tissue out of place.
I turn to leave the bathroom when a loud crash sounds behind me in my
bedroom. I scream, swivel on my heel, and my knife’s in my hand before
I’ve stopped screaming. I stand in place, my hand trembling.
“Who’s there? Come out! I swear to God, if you don’t, I’ll kill you!”
I walk into my bedroom. A light breeze flutters through an open window, a
curtain dancing in the wind. No one’s there.
That’s odd. I never leave my window open. Why the hell would I forget this
one?
I swing around and look at my closet, but it’s wide open and so tiny, no one
could fit in there if they tried. There’s nowhere else to hide in my rinky-
dink apartment.
Why the hell did I think this was a good idea again? Why?
Independence is so overrated.
There’s a fucking serial rapist on the loose, and the guy I’m working for not
only has an enormous kitchen stocked with food I saw with my very own
eyes, he has things like security guards and guns. Big ones.
Not the only big thing he’s got, I think to myself like a horny teen, but
someone’s got to break the tension, and I’m the only one here.
“Good one, Vi. Keep ‘em rolling,” I mutter to myself just to break the
silence.
I walk around my room, suddenly angry that anyone’s done anything at all
to make me afraid, to think they can come into my goddamn house and hurt
me. Blood pulses through my veins, boiling.
Come at me. Fight me. If even Cain Master himself took me on now, it
would be a battle to the death.
“Who’s there? Come out! Come show yourself to me!”
Nothing. Not a sound. I look on the floor as something catches my eye. A
picture frame’s fallen from my desk. The wind knocked it over, and here I
am thinking I have a damn intruder.
I roll my eyes and pick it up. My doorbell buzzes.
Interesting. I go to the living room and push the intercom button, curious.
“Yes?”
“Delivery for a Miss Price.”
Delivery?
“What is it?”
“Sake and Sushi.”
Sake and Sushi’s the name of one of my favorite places to eat. “I didn’t
order Sake and Sushi,” I say, even as my stomach growls and my mouth
waters. I swallow hard. I wish that was my order.
“Delivery ordered from a Master Enterprises, ma’am.”
No. He didn’t!
“Come up.”
I hit the buzzer, and a moment later, look through the peephole to find a
delivery guy standing with an enormous takeout bag of food.
I open the door, and he hands me the bag. “Let me tip you⁠—”
“Already been taken care of. Good night.”
And off he goes.
The smell wafts through the air, and my knees wobble. I’m weak with
hunger.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Cain.
I tap it, and a picture fills my screen. It’s a stunning, hefty black SUV with
chrome rims that gleam under the streetlights. Oh my God.
This is your company vehicle. It’s been dropped off by your
front door and I’m sending you an attachment with a digital key.
Once you open it, you’ll find the physical key in the glovebox,
entry code your birthday. You’ll have a gas card as well and
unlimited mileage.
Okay, Mr. Master, what’s the catch?

No response at first.
Most people say thank you, Miss Price.
I’m not most people. What goes up must come down and all
that.
The catch is, I still want your ass at my place in the morning for
target practice.
 And?
And nothing. I’m assuming you’ll do the work I asked you to do
tonight, and that’s all. Enjoy your dinner.
Thank you.

My hand hovers over the little smiley face emoji, but on second thought I
don’t send it. I have to stay strong. I can’t let him wine and dine me.
Mouth watering, I open the takeout bag to find a small pile of white
cardboard boxes. I swallow. Oh my God, there’s enough food here for an
army. Vegetable tempura, lightly breaded and fried until golden brown,
skewers of savory beef and chicken teriyaki, steamed rice with their
signature veggies fresh from their rooftop garden, shrimp and rice, delicate
rows of spring rolls, and a variety of fresh, decadent sushi, neatly nestled in
pretty silver trays.
Candi’s got a night shift, and I don’t know anyone else close enough to
share this with. Ah, well. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the next week,
and I am not complaining.
I eat standing up right at the counter, savoring every decadent morsel.
“My God, food this good should not even be legal,” I mutter to myself
around a mouthful of shrimp tempura as I open up the laptop and fire it up.
I’ve got work to do.
I start with the notes on my phone.
When I’m good and stuffed, I package up the leftover food and slide it into
my fridge, my mind teeming with the knowledge I’ve gleaned.
Precisely thirteen victims since June.
God. It’s worse than I thought.
Several eyewitnesses insist they saw the same man with a string of victims
before they went missing, but things aren’t adding up.
“I know it was him,” one father said about his daughter’s kidnapper. “He
fits this exact profile.”
Who? The profile fits a man by the name of Derrick Dossier, a former
police officer, retired from the force at the age of forty-nine. Some sources
even found his DNA at the crime scene and on victims, which normally is
strong evidence to convict. But every single time, there was undeniable
evidence that Dossier had an ironclad alibi, most with video and
photographic evidence. And since humans are unable to bi-locate, he was
let off despite overwhelming evidence against him.
I look at my notes, wishing I hadn’t eaten that last piece of shrimp. My
stomach’s in knots.

ANITA Charles
Age: 18
Taken August 1, found dead August 4 th.
Clear victim of repeated rape. Bruises found along inner thighs and anus,
lesions throughout the body.
Note: Sources say she received bouquets left at her door several days before
she was taken.

MARGARET Sellier
Age: 19
Taken August 5 th, found dead August 7 th
Raped multiple times. Bruised and subjected to beatings. Broken bones and
teeth.
Note: Sources say there were fresh flowers at her residence when she was
taken.

CLAIR BOYD
Age: 18
Taken August 8 th. Survivor.
Has no memory of abuse but shows signs of repeated rape and abuse.
Trauma amnesia.
Note: No flowers on record

I SPEND the next two hours scrolling through every bit of social media
involving the girls that I can, as well as every report I can get my hands on.
Anita left home at the age of sixteen and was estranged from her parents as
well as her siblings. She came from a religious home and had nine brothers
and sisters. “She left us for the occult,” her mother’s on record as saying. “I
knew things would end like this. I knew she’d be taken by the Devil for her
sins.”
A lump rises in my throat, reminding me of the minister’s wife who rejected
me. I don’t know how some people live with themselves in the name of
something that should be good.
Anita has a mere twelve followers online, and the news said no one came to
her funeral.
Strange.
I flip through her pictures, not surprised to see she classifies herself as
Wiccan, but has very few friends. There are patterns like the pieces to a
puzzle scattered on a table, beginning to take form but still just a jumble of
cardboard. I need to fit more pieces into place before I can see the whole
picture.
Margaret Sellier has a similar story. Left home at eighteen, got a double
associates degree from a local community college. But reports say she was
“strange” and “odd.” Further investigation shows she was known for
resisting mainstream culture, publicly and vocally.
I pace my apartment. Thinking.
If I were someone looking to take advantage of women… I would want to
take someone no one would miss. It would cover my tracks if I took
someone who might be involved with things their family didn’t approve of,
so said family might blame their social groups or behavior on their
disappearance…
It’s after midnight when I close my laptop and go to shower. I strip my
clothes off halfway down the hall and toss them into the hamper just before
I get to the bathroom. I wish I could cleanse what I’ve read from my mind,
but I’m determined now. I will find the person responsible for these crimes.
A pang of guilt hits me.
I haven’t thought about finding my parents’ murderers in hours. I haven’t
gone that long without thinking about them in… God, years.
I tell myself this is only a means to an end. Help him, and he’ll help me.
I’m only working with him for this one reason, so I can leverage his power
and connections.
I put the water on to scalding and glance down at myself. God, I’m a mess.
Between the stupid accident and bruising my shins all to hell today on
Cain’s car, I’m covered in bruises and lacerations and smudges of dirt. How
could that guy hit on me?
Did he hit on me?
I stare at myself in the mirror, just before the steam fogs it up entirely. My
body may be damaged, but my eyes are the same vivid shade of violet as
ever.
I should maybe get those color-changing contacts. If I’m on the hunt for
someone, they’ll remember a girl with eyes like mine.
I text Cain. I bet he’ll be able to get them quicker than I will.
Hey, I know it’s late, hopefully you do the ‘do not disturb’ after a
certain hour thing

The response is immediate.

Everything okay?

Guess he doesn’t.
My heart thumps. I probably woke the guy up, and his first question is, am I
okay? This is after he bought me dinner and a car.
And after he tried to boss you around and showed absolutely no respect for
your self-respect or autonomy. NO THANK YOU.
I’m fine, but I wondered if you

I pause mid-text, trying to figure out how to word my question just right.
My finger is hovering over the phone when my eyes graze the windowsill in
my bedroom. I’m on the second floor near the fire escape. The breeze still
flutters the curtains at the window, only now the windowsill isn’t empty.
A sprig of purple irises sits on the ledge.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER NINE

Cain
I WATCH the little dots on the screen dance, then stop, dance, then stop. I
asked her if she’s okay and expected a quick response, probably something
snarky like,
Fine, just polishing my guns. You?
All good, haven’t found any strange men lying in wait or
abductees behind my shower curtain, how bout you?
I’m fine, you can call off the babysitters now.

I sent her a car, but I sent a small team to watch her, too. If she’s right about
the asshole being after her, I don’t want to take any chances.
A minute passes. Two. Three.
No response.
I’m in my bedroom in shorts and a tank after a shower, prepared to do
whatever work I can through the night. I’ve got a team ready to be briefed
in the morning and people working around the clock already.
I go to text her, then stop. Then again. Finally, I decide the hell with it, and
shoot her another text.
Hey. You were typing and now nothing. Everything alright?

No response.
I pick up my phone and call Henri, the head of the team I sent to her
apartment. His phone rings and goes to voicemail.
No response.
I pull on shoes and grab a jacket, slipping it on as I leave my room.
“Everything alright?” Joe asks me when I hit the foyer at a jog. I fill him in.
“You think she’s in danger?”
“After today? Not something I wanna risk.”
I should’ve duct taped her to her seat and made her come home with me.
“I’ll join you. You taking the Audi?” His eyes gleam, hoping I am.
“Hell yes.”
The truck is good for an ambush, for safety, for a potential shoot-out. But
when I have to get somewhere fast? I take the Audi. It goes from zero to
sixty in 2.8 seconds and drives up to two hundred seventeen miles per hour.
It’s swift, takes corners with agility, but is small and sleek enough not to
cause too much attention if I’m careful.
Her apartment is twenty-five minutes away according to GPS. We’ll get
there in ten.
“What are you packing?” Joe asks. We step into the room we affectionately
call the armory, where our weapons are securely and discreetly stored.
“Ruger and a blade. You?”
The Ruger EC9 functions as one of the best compact concealed pistols
money can buy, small and sleek but lethal.
“EC9. Which blade?”
“MK3.” I take it from its sheath and give it a quick look-over. “Are there
any others?” The Ontario MK3’s a standard Navy SEAL weapon, six inches
of hardened steel perfection finished with a solid, ergonomic handle that
doesn’t slip. It hides as easily as a shadow but cuts hard and deep and fast.
I won’t be throwing my blade like Violet.
Goddammit, I never should’ve let her stay at her own place.
I should’ve insisted. I should’ve reasoned better with her. Instead, I let her
have her way, and now what?
I call security again but get nothing.
“Swear to God,” I mutter under my breath. “If they don’t have a good
reason not to pick up this phone…”
I don’t finish the sentence. Joe blanches and looks out the window as I drive
so damn fast, rocks fly behind us, the ground whizzing past in a blur. I call
Violet and Henri one at a time, over and over.
My phone buzzes with a text. I look quickly at the screen, but it isn’t any of
the people I want to hear from.
Armand: Boss, I think I found something of importance.

I don’t respond. I don’t have time for his bullshit right now. I would’ve
fired him if I hadn’t gotten distracted by Skylar’s abduction.
“Tomorrow, you fire Armand’s ass,” I tell Joe.
He freezes but doesn’t respond at first. I look over at him, and he seems to
snap out of his stupor. “Armand?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, sir. Will do.”
I fill him in on everything, even why I’m here to check on her.
“Just so we’re clear, sir. She was texting you, you asked if she was okay,
and she didn’t respond.”
“Correct.”
He seems to be mulling this over.
“Could she… have fallen asleep?”
I curse under my breath and push the gas pedal deeper. The roads whiz by
us like they’re on speed.
“If she did,” I say with measured patience, “we’ll leave well enough alone.”
Again, he doesn’t say anything but the silently raised eyebrows say it for
him. He thinks I’ve lost my fucking mind.
He can think that, as long as he does what I tell him.
We’re two minutes out when my phone buzzes again. I growl, glancing at
the screen to see another text from Armand.
It’s important, I think you should know

Jesus.
“Text Armand, tell him I’m driving, and ask him what the hell is going on
that’s so urgent.”
Joe scowls and mutters a “yessir,” already texting. No response at first. I
pull up to Violet’s house and park at the corner.
“You see anything?”
“No. You?”
I shake my head.
“But you don’t know if it’s one person or several we’re looking for, what
they look like…” his voice trails off.
“Correct.”
A woman laughs on the other side of an open window, and a few teens sit
on the stoop licking ice cream cones. A dog barks in the distance, and
someone’s lighting off fireworks a few blocks away. It looks just like any
typical late summer night.
I walk up to her front door when the dumbass we saw earlier comes out.
He’s unsteady on his feet. Drunk.
“Ahh, Violet’s lover,” he says. Joe looks at me sharply.
“I’m her boss.” She’d kill me for that, but she’d kill me faster for
pretending to be her man. I’m not playing games right now.
“Right, like that matters,” the asshole says with a snicker. “Why are you
back?”
“I need to get into her apartment.” There’s no way on God’s green earth
he’s going to make this easy on me. He’ll need to be persuaded.
“And?”
“And I need you to let me upstairs.”
He smirks at me and leans against the railing. “Can’t do that without the
pretty lady’s say so. How do I know you didn’t get into a fight and you’re
using me to get to her?”
Joe glances at me, ready to spring into action. I shake my head at him.
I want him all to myself.
Every second that passes places her in greater danger than before. The
asshole that took those women moves fast, and I’m not fucking around.
In two seconds, I’ve got him by the collar, and I yank him inside the
entryway where no one can see us. My MK3’s pushed up to his neck, a
bead of blood coloring the blade.
“Hey, man!” he says, panicking like a girl. “Hey!”
“Let me in and do it now. You do not call the cops unless you want a
building inspector here by Monday. I’ve got connections in places you
really, really don’t want to go and will have this place condemned before
you can wipe your ass.”
I press the knife harder, drawing more blood.
“Jesus! Go!” he says in a strangled voice, stepping aside and handing me a
set of keys. “Her key’s the purple one, 208.”
I toss him to Joe. “You escort him out of here and make sure he doesn’t
cause trouble.”
Joe’s grin is chilling, even to me. “My pleasure.”
I take the stairs two at a time, listening. Something crashes inside her
apartment. I double-time it.
She’s got a deadbolt on the door, and I can’t open it. It’s reinforced steel, no
goddamn way I can knock it down. I grab the key and shove it in the lock,
then unfasten the deadbolt. The door falls open. I enter, Ruger in hand, and
kick the door shut behind me.
My gaze slashes across her kitchen. Nothing.
Living room. Nothing.
Goddamn it, if I find her asleep in bed after all this⁠—
I hear a scream and a growl, and I take off at a run down the hall. I try the
door to her bedroom and find that locked, too. Too many keys on this
goddamn key ring to find the right one, but this door’s a basic wooden one.
I come at it full force, my shoulder slamming into it. Once. Twice. On the
third hit, I knock it down, and it splinters like kindling. Violet turns to look
at me, a pink handprint across her cheek and blood streaming down the side
of her face. The hand holding her knife shakes. A curtain on her window
flutters in the breeze.
“He got away!”
No.
I’ll kill him.
Her voice quakes, her hand’s trembling. I fight the need to hold her, to make
sure she’s okay, that she isn’t hurt worse than it looks, but I can’t let the
fucker get away. I move past her and crane my neck out the window, just in
time to see red brake lights on a small Mazda as it peels around the corner.
“Motherfucker. Did you see him?”
She nods, her eyes filling with tears, and she swipes them angrily away. “I
did. It’s the guy I found tonight in my search, the same goddamn guy they
suspect for all those crimes but haven’t been able to prove.”
Okay, alright. She’ll come back to my place, and we’ll clean her up and find
out what she knows. Who he is. We’ll make sure she’s okay.
“You’re not safe here.”
She winces. When she blinks, a tear rolls down her cheek, mingling with
the blood. Fuck. “I had him. I fucking had him,” she says.
“Are you hurt?”
“No,” she says, vibrating with anger. “I’m furious.”
It’s anger, then, that makes her cry.
She could be in shock. She could be injured. We’ve got more evidence now
so we can track him down and find him, but first I have to make sure she’s
okay.
“Sit down.”
She looks from me to the window, then back again. With effort, I gentle my
voice. “Sit. Please.”
It kills me to see those eyes of hers filled with tears. She cries, letting the
tears go unchecked, and finally sits down. I don’t realize until I kneel in
front of her that I’m shaking.
“Oh God, you’ve got… you came in with a knife and a gun?”
I look down to see my Ruger in one hand and my MK3 in the other. I lay
them down.
“Yeah, I have a tendency to overdo shit,” I say, just to calm her down. If the
motherfucker was in front of me now, I would wish I had more than this on
me. “You alright? Do you need immediate medical attention?”
She stretches for a tissue from her bedside table but doesn’t quite reach it. I
hand her one silently.
“No, I’m okay.” She continues to swipe angrily at the tears.
I want to kiss her, blood and sweat and tears and all. I want to haul her up
into my arms and carry her away from this shitty apartment, bring her to my
place, and treat her to the lap of luxury. I want her body to soften
underneath me, to yield to everything and anything I want to do to her. But I
can’t do that to her. I can’t do that for her. She’s the type of woman who’d
feel belittled if I treated her that way.
We’ll get there.
I need to make her feel safe. I need her to trust me.
“Alright, woman.” I reach for the box of tissues and place it beside her.
“Tell me everything.”

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TEN

Violet
I’M SO angry with myself I could cry. Hell, I realize when I swipe my hand
across my eyes and find my fingers covered in blood and tears… I am
crying.
Arrggh. I do not cry.
The only time I do cry is when my anger doesn’t have an outlet. I ball up
the tissues he hands me, desperate for some sort of release.
He’s gone off to the bathroom to fetch a first aid kit and returns with a
frown and the tiny plastic generic kit I got at a discount store. “You call this
a first aid kit?”
I roll my eyes at him. “I don’t usually get into a knife fight with intruders,
Mr. Master. I get bruises from training and things like paper cuts. Like
normal people.”
His eyes gentle as he kneels in front of me again, and I’m momentarily
struck by the enormity of this. He’s so huge, even when he kneels, his head
nearly comes to my shoulders. But something tells me he isn’t a guy that
kneels very often.
“Normal? Violet, you’re anything but normal.”
I like my name on his lips, like spiced honey. I snort out loud to cover the
way my heart speeds up. “As if.”
He quirks a brow at me and doesn’t take the bait.
“So let’s hear it.”
“Okay, so I came home and I did inspect the place. Promise. Everywhere.
And yes, Mr. Master, like a good girl I checked every room to make sure no
one was here, and the coast was clear.”
“Very good. And call me Cain.”
I want to reach to his chin and run my finger along the stubble. Make him
look at me. Instead, he’s fumbling through the kit and pulling things out.
“Cain.” I like the feel of his name in my mouth. “You’re named after the
world’s first murderer.”
A wry smile ghosts across his lips before he sobers again. “Something my
mother never let me forget.”
“It was intentional, then?”
“Yes.” A flicker crosses his gaze before he shutters it again. “Now back to
the story, Miss Price.”
I want to hear him say my name, the word like a seductive caress.
“No more Miss Price either, please.”
“Alright, Violet.” Such a small thing, hearing my name from him, but the
way he says it sounds like a poem. He lines up gauze, antibacterial wipes,
and bandages. “Now. Everything.”
I speak quickly. We need to move. I know more about who might have his
sister, and I don’t want to waste any more time.
“After I knew no one was here, I used the bathroom, when I heard a crash.”
Those eyes of his are fixed on me with an intensity that I feel straight to my
belly. “I came in here to check, but there was no one here. The window was
open, and a curtain was kinda blowing with the wind, but the room was
empty.”
“Did you open the window?”
“No. I looked out the window and saw no one. Nothing at all. I assumed I’d
forgotten to close it and went out to the kitchen.”
He makes a noise that sounds like a growl, but waits for me to continue. For
a big, grumpy guy he can be patient when he wants to be.
I give him a curious look. “Wait, how did you know what I liked?”
“Stick with the story, please. You answer my questions first, then I’ll
answer yours.” He tears open a gauze pad and gently swipes across my
temple. He pulls it away stained in blood. I continue.
“I texted you, and then when I turned around there were irises on my
windowsill.”
“That weren’t there before.”
“No.”
The savage cruelty I saw in his eyes when I first met him returns. I draw in
a ragged breath. I look into his clear, sapphire eyes that glimmer like ice,
the same frigid eyes that pulled the trigger next to a man’s temple today
without remorse. He watched that man crumple to the floor without
blinking, then called for his team.
It was apparent to me from the moment I met him that fury and power war
within him. He’s only played nice for a little while.
Today I saw the real Cain Master.
With military precision, he slides a bandage open, then cradles the back of
my head. The whole base of my skull fits easily in his cupped palm. With
gentle pressure, he pulls me toward him as he puts the bandage on my cut.
My breath catches at how gentle and careful he is, like he knows I’m
injured and can’t bear to cause me any more pain.
If only he knew.
I shiver.
His heavy brows draw over his eyes, and his mouth forms a thin, angry line.
“Go on.”
He opens another antiseptic packet and lifts my hand in his. My hand looks
so small engulfed in his much larger hands. Mine are bleeding. I don’t
remember why. The adrenaline and fear blinded me.
I draw in a shaky breath as he wipes the grit and blood from my hands. It
stings, but I don’t let myself flinch. “After I saw the flowers, I put my
phone down. I considered calling you. I decided I was going to drive to
your place after all, and when I came into my room, someone hit me.”
He lets loose a string of curses.
I want to find the man who attacked me. I want to find him, and I want to
kill him. I want him to pay for everything he’s done. So I speed up my
story.
“I felt the blow and blocked on instinct with a slip.” It was drilled into me
how to block a kick or punch, arms up to defend the face while squatting to
block the gut.
He nods.
“When he was on the downswing, I turned and jabbed him straight in the
gut.”
“Did you get any names in your research?”
“Just Derrick Dossier, the man suspected but released on the rape and
abduction charges.”
Cain picks up his phone and makes a call. “I want you to get everything you
can on Derrick Dossier. Report on my desk within the hour.” He doesn’t
even wait for a response but hangs up his phone and shoves it back in his
pocket.
“This motherfucker’s playing us. He’s after you and may have my sister.
We can’t fuck around anymore, Violet.”
There’s my name again.
“Yeah. I’m coming back with you. We need to put our heads together. Pool
resources.”
He narrows his eyes. “What a novel concept. Pack a fucking bag.”
“Do you ever say please?”
He looks down, his eyes on my shins. I’m wearing a pair of shorts, my legs
on full display. Angry purple bruises mark my shins from earlier.
“Did you get these from my truck?”
“Yeah, your truck can be pretty damn aggressive.”
He lifts one of my legs in his hands, cradling it just like he did my head. My
heart beats faster at the rough feel of his hands on my skin and the way his
brows draw together angrily, his mouth pressed tightly in a harsh frown.
That focused, steady gaze unwavering.
He bends. My breath freezes. In shock, I don’t breathe when he places a
tender kiss on my legs, his lips brushing across the black and blue so
tenderly it’s barely more than a whisper. When I start breathing again, I’m
acutely aware of the sound.
We don’t speak. Seconds tick by, the only sounds in the room are my
heavier breathing and his gentle, fluttering kisses across my skin.
If he looks at me, there’s no turning back. If his eyes meet mine, I can’t tell
him no.
He lets me go. I shiver at the loss of his warmth.
He stands and walks away from me.
I’m saved.
Then why do I feel so disappointed?
“I’m sorry. We have to get out of here. On second thought, you’re not
packing. I’ll buy you whatever you need. We’re leaving now, and you’ll tell
me the rest of what happened on the way back.”
“I can pack in less than a minute.” I’m already on my way to the closet. I
need to walk away from him.
He grumbles but uses the time to toss the bandage wrappers away. I grab a
quilted backpack Candi gave me from the back of my closet and quickly
shove folded clothes, underwear, a pair of sneakers, and my phone in the
bag. He’s waiting for me, his arms crossed over his chest. “Can you find the
little pink bottle of lotion on the bedside table, please?”
I need to distract him so he doesn’t see what I grab next. No one sees that,
not even Candi.
“I can get you as many little pink bottles of lotion as your heart desires, let’s
go.”
“That’s a special one, it was for Candi’s bachelorette party.”
I got it as a freebie in the mail. I hope he doesn’t see through the lie.
Another grumble, but he fetches it just in time. I yank the zipper on my bag
closed and get to my feet.
“You had a guard here, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t need⁠—”
“You fucking did, and he better have a good excuse as to why he didn’t do
his goddamn job.” He slams the drawer closed and turns to stalk over to me.
I could never, ever be with a man like him. Do this, do that. He’s about as
supple as a steel rod, and I have to remember that.
They call him the executioner.
I can’t let the gentle side of him mess with my mind. That’s where women
go wrong. They know in their heart a guy’s no good for them. They know it.
Yet something he does makes them forget all logic and they believe the
stupid lie that they have a magical pussy that somehow cures all, that he
won’t ever drink/steal/lie again, or whatever the heck they tell themselves.
I won’t let that happen.
When my mind wants to replay the feel of his full, hot lips on my aching
skin, I shove it away. When my brain wants me to remember that he came
to find me, that I didn’t respond to his text and he knew I was in trouble and
he came for me, I don’t let myself dwell.
He’s dangerous, ruthless, and arrogant, and so bad for me he’s poison.
Poison.
When we exit the building, I try to hide my fear. Logically, I know there is
no madman waiting for me outside, but it still feels like there could be.
I don’t miss how he walks beside me. His razor-sharp gaze notes
everything. If there’s anyone here to try to take me now, they’d better have
backup, a hand grenade, and a cannon, because no one’s getting me without
a declaration of war.
The ride back to his house hurts like hell.
“You’ve got ibuprofen back at that mansion, right?” I mutter, my head
falling on the seat behind me. My eyes close.
“No sleeping,” Cain snaps. My eyes fly back open.
“You really are a slave driver!”
That gets Joe’s attention, but he doesn’t say anything.
“You can’t sleep now. You could have a concussion.”
“Fine. But God, am I tired. How long do I have to stay awake?”
“Until the doctor gives you clearance.”
“Oh God. I’m gonna need a coffee. Double shot of espresso, straight up.”
“Need me to stop and get some?”
I sigh. “No. I don’t drink coffee.”
He shakes his head.
“What?”
He changes the subject. “Back to what happened.”
“So I got him with a jab. I believe that’s where we left off.”
“You have a mean jab,” Joe chimes in.
I stare at him. He’s never seen me fight.
“How do you know?”
He shrugs and laughs. “I can just tell. You’re a fighter. Little fireplug.”
He’s lying. I look at Cain, but his face is a mask of stone.
“I threw a jab and he fell back, and he would’ve gotten me but I aimed a
very, very well-placed kick to his crotch that was meant to incapacitate him.
And that was when everything began to go wrong.”
Cain sighs and accelerates.
“This car is gorgeous, by the way. Stunning, with this all-leather interior.
Are these heated seats?”
“Yes. Thank you. Get back to the story.”
“There’s not much more to tell. He rebounded, slapped me across the face
so hard I bit my lip, and we literally brawled. I tried to pull my knife, but I
was too slow, and by the time I got it out…” I sigh. I hate this part of the
story. “He was out the window and onto the fire escape.”
Cain frowns. “He slapped you?”
I nod. Of all those details I just told him, that’s what he thinks about?
“Yeah.”
His back goes rigid.
“Remember I said you’ll be at my place at eight a.m.? Now that order’s null
and void, since you’re coming back with me.”
Order? I think sometimes he forgets he’s not my commander.
“Yesss…?”
Where’s he going with this?
“Scratch that. Tomorrow morning at seven a.m., unless we have a
breakthrough and find something we need to pursue, you’ll get your first
lesson in how to handle a gun.”
I stifle a squeal. I’ve wanted to learn how to shoot a gun forever but haven’t
taken the time to do it.
“You have a trainer?”
He frowns, those glacial eyes glancing my way before he looks back to the
road. “Yeah.”
Joe chuckles softly. Is this an inside joke or something?
“Did you find anything before all this happened?” Cain asks, and his eyes
meet mine in the rearview mirror. Something like camaraderie flashes
between us, so quickly I wonder if it’s my imagination.
He doesn’t like that I was alone in the apartment and attacked. He wishes he
was there.
Why does it excite me to imagine what would’ve happened if he was?
I should be appalled that he shot a man today. Without remorse. Without
hesitation.
I’m not, though. In fact, quite the opposite.
It’s the single most attractive thing he’s done since I’ve met him. He’s the
man who could help me, and will.
What on earth does a guy like him find attractive about a girl like me?
What?
Maybe I need to play into this. Maybe, if he were attracted to me…
No.
No, no, no. I’ve gotten this far without whoring myself out, and I won’t start
now.
Something tells me he’d make it worth my while…
“You mean, did I do any research? Damn right I did, and I have a list of
leads we need to pursue as soon as possible. Has anyone contacted you
about your sister?”
“No.”
“Have you checked all your social media accounts and email and phone
number?”
Again, the flash of stunning blue in the mirror. “Check my social media?”
“Do you… have social media?”
“No.”
“Well, that makes things simpler.”
I look out the window and Joe chuckles again, so softly I barely hear him,
but the sound is unmistakable. What’s so funny?
“When we get back, you’ll see the doctor and we’ll make sure you meet
with my team. We’ll combine what we’ve found so far.” He glances in his
rearview mirror again, but he doesn't look at me this time.
“Someone following us?”
A long gaze in the mirror again, and he finally shakes his head. “No.”
The interior of the car is a soft, matte black leather, luxurious and decadent.
The carpet’s pristine, the windows and chrome details like new. More
notable is the way it drives, though, so seamlessly you don’t know it’s
accelerating until the world flies by you. So sleek, it cuts through the air
with military precision.
“Is this your getaway car?”
“It is.”
“The next time you rob a bank, I’ll be your getaway driver.”
“What’s your going rate?”
“Oh, for you, I’d cut you a break and let it go for a cool mil.”
He nods, as if thinking this over. “You’re right. I would consider that a good
deal.”
“Take him for two,” Joe chimes in over his shoulder. Cain almost smiles.
His lips thin before the smile reaches his eyes.
Almost.
“So this is how you got to my place so quickly. You must’ve been driving
like over a hundred miles an hour.”
He doesn’t reply, only gives me a slow, lazy shrug, like driving at the speed
of light is seriously no big deal.
“So why so much slower now?”
He doesn’t answer. Joe speaks up from the passenger seat. “We’ve got
cargo now.”
Cargo?
Oh.
Oh.
Me. I’m cargo.
Well then.
I think as a woman I should be offended by that, but somehow, I feel it’s
almost sweet.
And it’s definitely something I could use to my advantage.
It’s warm and comfortable here. I lean back against the seat, my senses
overwhelmed with the rich scent of leather. I took ibuprofen from the first
aid kit before we left to dull the pain, and it’s kicked in, my bruises and
scrapes no longer throbbing.
I’ve had bullshit luck with this kinda thing lately. Between the accident and
this, I’m almost ready for a nice, boring day in the office⁠—
Who’m I kidding? I’d stab myself in the eye with a pencil.
What I’m really ready for is some adventure that doesn’t involve Violet
Price, punching bag, as the main attraction.
I’m floating, and it’s comfortable here, and for once in a very, very long
time, I know that no one’s going to hurt me.
“Do not fall asleep!”
I snap to attention, my eyes flying open. The next second, a surge of
adrenaline powers through me and I glare at Cain in the rearview mirror.
“I’m not sleeping.”
“You aren’t now.”
I can’t believe I ever thought of seducing a guy like him. I would strangle
him in his sleep.
We pull into the long driveway that leads to his garage. The house is alight.
His team’s awake.
I want to sleep. I was exhausted before all this, and now I’m at the point of
no return. I’m so tired I could cry.
I open the door and shiver with a gust of night wind. I wrap my arms
around myself and follow them both into the house.
It’s different tonight than it was earlier today. Tonight, even though it’s way
past midnight, the place is teeming with people. Even Alma, his
housekeeper, is in the kitchen in her robe, putting a kettle on the stove.
“Good evening,” she says to me pleasantly. “Tea? Coffee?”
“Tea would be great, thank you.”
In the kitchen, right up next to the counter, are large, padded, spindle chairs.
They’re so fun, they make me want to play music on a jukebox and wear a
poodle skirt. But right now, every one of them is occupied by one of Cain’s
employees.
A bowl of popcorn, nothing left but kernels, sits on one side of the counter,
and on the other, there’s a large platter of cheese and a fruit tray pretty well
picked over beside empty pizza boxes and energy drink empties. Laptops
and notebooks are scattered about, and in one corner of the room, a series of
monitors are set up.
Cain grabs a mug. Strange he doesn’t let his house help get it.
Something’s changed between us. Something… shifted… from the very
first moment his lips touched my skin back in my apartment.
Hell, it was before that.
From the very first time I stared into his eyes after he’d ended a man’s life.
“How do you take your tea?”
“Dash of milk, please.”
He places it in front of me while the milk still swirls, and I sip. It’s so hot it
scalds the roof of my mouth, but somehow it’s exactly what I need right
now. I wrap my hands around the ceramic mug, the heat of it warming me
through. One small comfort on a day fraught with violence.
Cain clears his throat. The room stills.
“For those who haven’t met her yet, this is Violet Price, a new contractor
who will be working for Master Enterprises in the short-term. Violet’s
skilled in kickboxing and knife throwing, speaks multiple languages, and
will be a valuable asset to our team.”
I look around the small group. The man who hit my car last night isn’t here.
A few of them murmur greetings and some nod to me.
“Violet and I are in pursuit of someone we believe kidnapped my sister. We
have reason to believe the man’s a serial rapist who intends on abusing,
possibly even fatally hurting, Skylar and that the same person has hinted at
coming after her next. Tonight, she had an intruder in her apartment. She’ll
be here indefinitely, while we search for Skylar.”
I take another sip of tea, not quite as hot now as it was before.
“Violet, are you in a position where you are ready to talk?” Cain gives me a
curious look. I don’t know what he means. Why wouldn’t I be in a position
to talk?
I look at him in surprise, as I finish my mug of tea and place it on the
counter. His housekeeper scoops it up with a smile and stashes it in the
dishwasher before I’ve put my hand back in my lap.
Okay, I could totally see why having a housekeeper is a good thing.
“What do you mean?”
He crosses the room to me, all fluid grace and muscle despite his bulk, and
leans across the counter on his arm, speaking in a low rumble. “You okay?
Or do you need some time to yourself?”
“I’m fine,” I lie, my voice distant while my heart beats a thunderous beat in
my chest. I can handle his arrogance and anger, but concern… now that’s
another story.
He nods. “Then why don’t you fill us in.”

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER ELEVEN

Violet
AN HOUR LATER, we wrap up for the night. Cain calls it “taking a
break,” giving me a good idea of what it’s like to work with him. I’m not
surprised, though. With his background, he’s used to working in godawful
conditions at any hour he needs.
I saw the doctor, a rather short, stocky woman with wiry black hair graying
at the temples and thick, round glasses. She was brief. She pronounced me
banged up but otherwise unharmed, her examination taking place around
me talking over her shoulder at the guys.
“Someone already bandaged you up pretty well,” she said. When I told her
it was Cain, she didn’t respond.
His team has a list of details to investigate, and we’re trying to get a read on
Dossier. I want to stay up and help, but my eyes feel so heavy I can hardly
keep them open.
We have work to do. I have to let his team handle it.
I gave them my information. I don’t want to put this down right now, but I
can hardly keep my damn eyes open.
The bartender told us they were going to Canada. A lie, maybe?
Derrick Dossier has no listed address, no job that we can find, and virtually
nothing to lead us to where we might find him. Honestly, the rest of the
details begin to meld into my brain. I’m so tired, I feel like I’m starting to
short-circuit.
Cain’s standing by Joe, his arms crossed on his chest. I’m behind him on
one of the stools, trying to sit upright before I keel right over. He looks over
his shoulder at me, then turns around and faces me.
“You need to get to bed.”
I yawn widely and want to protest like a small, petulant child. I’m not tired.
But I’m no good to anyone if I can’t see straight.
“Yeah.”
I go to pick up my bag, but he reaches for it and swings it over his shoulder.
I’m in no mood to fight with him, so I let him. Without a word, he slides his
hand over the small of my back.
A moment ago I felt like I could fall asleep and not wake up until
Christmas. Now, I’m suddenly very, very awake.
We were pretending earlier that I meant something to him. Why’s he doing
this now? A part of me wants to pull away, and another part of me realizes
that stumbling right now would only make me look foolish.
“This way,” he says, like the only reason he’s got his hand on my back is so
he can show me where to go.
Very interesting, Mr. Master. Very interesting indeed.
He leads me to a staircase I’ve only seen from a distance. I stare at the
steep, hardwood stairs and briefly consider asking if he’ll let me sling
myself up on his back, but that seems kinda desperate, and I don’t even
have the energy to do that.
When he takes his hand off my back, I wobble a little. I’m vaguely aware of
him frowning at me. I push myself to move, to put one foot in front of the
other, but every step feels like my feet are getting heavier.
Finally, we reach the top of the stairs. My vision blurs as he steps to the left.
“This way.”
In my mind’s eye, his voice is the low rumble of volcanoes churning. I
follow the rumble automatically.
“Why so far?” I ask, my words slurred. I’d sleep on the damn landing at this
point. That carpet looks pretty inviting.
“Just about there,” he says almost gently, in that tone he used earlier. “I
want your room near mine.”
Of course he does.
He stops short, and like an idiot, I don’t stop in time. I crash into his back
like I’ve just learned how to walk. He turns and catches me as I wobble on
my feet.
“Sorry.”
“Christ, woman,” he says in a low rumble. Without a word, he does what I
wanted him to do but had been too proud to ask. He bends, then effortlessly
lifts me, my feet dangling and my head lolling to the side on his chest.
“Well, this is a nice office perk.” I sound like I’m drunk.
That earns me another grumble.
The door to the room is open, but I hardly notice. My senses are on
overload, and every damn detail is filled with him. The masculine scent of
him, raw and primal. The broad stretch of his muscled shoulders exposed
because he’s wearing a tank, his stubble thicker now that it’s so late in the
day. The heavy sound of his breathing.
Can he hear how fast my heart beats? Can he feel the way my skin heats?
Can he see the flush that creeps over my body because we’re touching?
I’m intoxicated from lack of sleep and adrenaline from all the events of the
day.
I try to keep my body erect so my head doesn’t snuggle up in that hollow of
his neck like I want it to. “You’re crossing a line here, you know.”
“Doing what?”
Thump goes my heart. “Touching me.”
A beat passes before he responds. “I know.” It’s dark in here save for the
yellowed pool of a nightlight beside the bed, but even with the shades
drawn and lights dimmed, I can tell this room’s outfitted in luxury. I don’t
care.
He could have had one of his men show me the way. He could have pointed
or gestured or even just walked beside me.
I need him. I need what his team can do for me. I have to make sure I don’t
say or do anything that jeopardizes what I need.
He’s still holding me. I’m barely breathing, afraid if I move too quickly, I’ll
wake and find I was only dreaming.
Men don’t touch women like me, and those that even think about it face the
consequences.
I want him to know it’s okay, or maybe I just want to assure myself.
So I reach my hand to his jaw and do what I wanted to from the first time I
saw him. I lay my hand on his stubbled jaw, thrilled at the prickly feel.
“I’ll help you find your sister,” I whisper.
Heat flares in his eyes. “You will. And we’ll find your parents’ killers.”
I swallow, not sure what else to say.
I have to get ahold of myself.
“You could put me down, now.” My voice doesn’t sound like my own, all
breathy and whispery yet somehow husky. I feel… sexy.
How does he make me feel sexy?
“I could.”
Still, he doesn’t.
I want him to kiss me, but there’s no telling what will happen if he does.
Just a kiss, I taunt myself. What harm could come from a kiss?
His eyes spark at me, like he’s reading my mind. Maybe he can, I think in
my sleepy state. He’s already larger than life and fearless. It only makes
sense that he has superhuman abilities too.
I feel as if I’m standing on the edge of a precipice. One gust of wind, and
I’ll plummet to my death.
But I’ve always been more afraid of complacency than taking chances.
Slowly, so slowly at first I think it’s my woozy, exhausted imagination, he
bends his head a bit closer to me. I stare at his full, gorgeous lips, and
imagine what it would be like to lick and bite them. I wonder what he tastes
like.
Fire licks through me.
My eyes rove over his stubble, then down to his neck. I watch him swallow.
The cuts he sustained are no longer bleeding, but the skin’s an angry red
between his collarbone and neck.
“You’re hurt,” I say in a hushed tone. And before I know what I’m doing,
my hands are at his neck to anchor myself and I’m pulling myself closer to
him. My lips meet his skin, kissing it better. I feel like I could cry.
The energy between the two of us crackles and sizzles. I tremble at his
nearness, at his scent. I want to taste him.
I close my eyes and go for broke. I lick where I just kissed.
The groan he utters lashes through me as his grip tightens. I suckle his skin.
I want more. I need more. I swear I feel the snap as his resolve breaks.
His mouth is so close I can feel his breath. I’m on the bed. I don’t even
know how I got here. He kneels beside me, the bed sagging under his
weight.
Strong fingers grasping my chin, he lifts my mouth from his neck, and for
one heart-stopping moment, I don’t know what terrifies me more—the
thought of him kissing me or the thought of him turning away.
His fingers tangle in my hair as if to prove to himself that I’m real, that I
can’t get away from him. I watch his lips part. My heart slams against my
rib cage… then his mouth meets mine and my thoughts come to a
stuttering, screeching halt as my brain short-circuits and I fall fully into my
body.
Like everything about Cain Master, his kiss is too much.
Too much everything.
My heart beats too fast, my breathing’s too ragged, my body’s on fire just
from this one kiss. He tugs the lock of my hair wrapped around his fingers,
pulling my head back, and when I gasp from the intensity of it, he takes
advantage, moving to fully claim my mouth until there’s no room for
escape.
I want everything. All of him. His hands on my breasts, his naked body
pressed to mine, his length inside me. I want him in me.
I want to live in this moment, revel in it. Every fiber of me’s alive with
excitement, need and desire rolling through me to the tips of my toes. I
don’t know if I’m awake or dreaming, but if it’s a dream, I don’t want to
wake. If I’m awake, I don’t want to fall asleep.
I squeeze my legs together as pressure builds between my thighs, a
throbbing, burning need.
Something behind him blares like a foghorn. At first, he ignores it, but at
the second raucous shriek, he pulls away. I stifle a whimper.
His goddamn phone.
“I have to take this.” He slams his phone on and smacks it to his ear. All I
have to say is, whoever’s on the other end of that line better have something
important to say or the both of us won’t think twice about murder.
“What?”
I sit up, awake, but can’t hear a thing.
He curses. “I’ll be right there.”
When he hangs up his phone and glares, I know his anger isn’t meant for
me. He doesn’t like to be interrupted on a good day, never mind now.
“I have to go. We got a lead on another case we’re working on.” He runs a
hand through his hair. I’ve never been so jealous of another person’s
fingers. “I need you to get some sleep. Tomorrow, we will investigate
further, and you get your shooting lesson.”
He turns to leave. I feel cold and hot all at once as I watch him. Before he
goes, he looks over his shoulder at me.
“I’m sorry.” I don’t know if he’s apologizing for leaving or for kissing me.
Maybe both. “Shooting range is opposite the pool. Meet me there at seven.”
The door shuts with finality.
I stare at it for a moment, wondering if everything that just happened was
my imagination. My fingers roam to my lips, and my eyes flutter closed.
I did not imagine that.
He kissed me. He kissed me, and I want more.
Did I just sell my soul to the Devil?

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWELVE

Cain
IT’S two o’clock in the morning when I finally get to bed. I signed off on a
job involving several of my men, because I want them back here as soon as
possible. Every other job we’re working on needs to be finished, and
quickly, and thank fuck we’re closing in on one deal so I can free up more
of my men. Tomorrow—Jesus, today—we need to make headway on
finding Skylar.
But my mind’s on the woman across the hall from me. It’s a damn good
thing I got the call when I did, or who knows where we would’ve ended
up.
I don’t regret it, though. I want her to know that I want her.
I whip off my clothes and climb into bed, ignoring the raging hard-on I still
have from kissing her earlier. I need sleep before tomorrow. I punch my
pillow, frustrated that she isn’t beside me.
I close my eyes shut tight, willing myself to sleep. My body’s fatigued, but
it’s something I’m so used to, I’ve trained myself to stay awake. Once,
when I was stationed outside of Paris before the fiasco with the
gendarmerie, I stayed awake for thirty-six hours straight, waiting for news
from the White House. When I finally heard what I needed to and dozed
off, we were under attack an hour later.
I’m no stranger to lack of sleep. Still, I need some or I’ll be useless
tomorrow.
I go over the day in my mind. Her coming to me, asking for the job.
I asked Armand to make her think it was her idea to come here. And he did.
How was I to know he planned on fucking risking her life to do it?
I interrogated the shit out of him but didn’t let him go until today. I’ll have
to follow up with Joe. My mind’s focused on all things Violet.
Violet.
I need her out of my mind. I have to find Skylar, but we have no fucking
leads.
Tomorrow, I’ll burn the city of Salem to the ground to find her.
I close my eyes and see vivid violet eyes.
I remember the way her mouth tasted like berries and cream, fresh, sweet,
and decadent. I remember the way her skin felt in my hands, warm, silk-
wrapped seduction that I wanted to worship. I remember the way she
yielded when I touched her, the only softness she may ever succumb to.
I never have trouble falling asleep. I train hard, I work hard, and when my
head hits the pillow, I’m asleep. But tonight, I’m distracted by the woman
lying in a bed only paces from my room, and guilty that I’m even thinking
of her when my sister’s in danger.
Why Skylar?
Why Violet?
I can’t shake the feeling that it’s someone after me, someone seeking to get
revenge. The list of my enemies is as long as my arm, and I can’t even
begin to decipher who it could be. I never heard the name Derrick Dossier
before tonight.
She promised she’d help me. I know she will. Together, we’ll find Skylar.
I fall into a deep and dreamless sleep and don’t move or wake until my
alarm clock sounds a few hours later.
I stifle a groan and smack the alarm off, get to my feet, and head to the
bathroom. Use the facilities, wash my face, scrub a hand through my hair. I
sleep bare-chested, the dog tags I wear glinting in the bright overhead
lighting. They aren’t mine, but I won’t take them off. They remind me of
the man who made me who I am today, for better or for worse. They remind
me how I got here.
Where’s Skylar?
Is she hurt?
Is Violet?
Did she sleep well?
I don’t drink, but for once, I understand the appeal of a Bloody-fucking-
Mary.
I tug on a tee, jeans, and a pair of socks and boots, then check my phone.
No messages, which shouldn’t be surprising since I only slept a few hours. I
glance at the clock. Six thirty. She’s supposed to meet me at the target range
at seven.
I’ve got just enough time for a cup of coffee. The door to her room is shut
tight, no sound from the other side. She might be tired, but so am I, and if
she’s working with me, she’ll learn to deal with sleep deprivation. She’d
better not be late.
The house is either wide awake or most of my staff never went to bed last
night. I pay them well to work hard for long hours and give them all six
weeks of paid leave throughout the year. I guarantee them the best benefits
of any other private firm on the East Coast. They’re loyal to the core.
A door slams in the distance, and I pause on the landing. Someone shouts,
then Joe’s voice—deeper, calmer—replies.
Armand? Did Joe do what I told him to?
I find Alma at the landing. She’s already dressed for the day, her hair tucked
into a solid blue bandana, a dustpan in hand. I tried to hire her just to do the
cooking, but she insists on doing the cleaning as well. So, I hired a small
staff to assist. This house is huge.
“Good morning, Mr. Master.”
“Morning, Alma. What’s all the noise?”
“I don’t know, sir. I keep my business to myself, you know.” She gives me a
tight smile, swiping her rag along the side tables until they shine. She
doesn’t suffer dust or fingerprints. Someone could rob our place, and she’d
have the prints wiped off before the cops could arrive.
Not that we’d need them.
“But I think,” she says, turning so I can’t see her face. I’m sure she’s
smiling, though, because she’s always smiling. “Your little lady has already
awoken.”
My little lady?
She is little, I’ll give her that.
“Has she?”
“Yessir. She came down earlier looking for a few things.”
I’m walking down the stairs as Alma fills me in but have half an ear out for
Armand and Joe.
“What was she looking for?”
“Cucumbers, filtered water, fresh mint, and some moisturizer.” I’ll have her
make a list tonight of everything she needs.
“And?”
“I got her everything she requested, sir.”
“Thank you.”
The smell of coffee wafts past me, along with the low murmur of voices in
the kitchen. I trot down the remaining steps and head to the kitchen. Violet’s
nowhere to be seen. Joe’s sitting at the head of the table with a cup the size
of a Great Lake in front of him, along with a few others. They all look up
when I enter.
“Morning. Anyone seen Miss Price?”
“Morning, sir,” Joe says, his eyes twinkling at me. “I believe Miss Price is
ready for her… instruction?” He leaves enough of a pause between his
words to make the other men guffaw. I’ll give him a fucking lesson.
“At the shooting range?” I don’t want her there without me. We’ve got
weapons that would blow the arm off a giant.
“Yessir.”
“She has no shooting experience. I don’t want her at the range without
someone who knows how to shoot.”
“No shooting experience?” Joe looks baffled. He’s probably wondering why
I hired someone with no shooting experience, but I don’t owe him an
explanation.
On paper, she’s got skills. She’s got many things she can offer my team. In
real life, I want a hell of a lot more than her skill set.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. It won’t happen again.”
I nod. “Did you do what I asked you to?”
“Yessir.” He was supposed to fire Armand this morning.
“I’m guessing that didn’t go over so well?”
“No, not at all, but it confirmed for me you made the right call.”
The other men watch us. Alma comes into the kitchen and grabs a broom,
quickly sweeping up imaginary crumbs. “Did it?”
“Yessir.”
I pour myself a steaming mug of coffee.
“And what was that?”
“That it was time for him to go.” He frowns. “He had nothing but shit to say
about all of us in his exit interview.”
“Exit interview?”
“Yeah, my euphemism for the profanities he yelled on his way out the
door.”
Why am I not surprised? The clock on the kitchen wall chimes six forty-
five. I need to meet her at the range.
“I’ll arrange for his things to be boxed up and shipped. Your job’s done.
Thanks, Joe.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Do we have any more information on Skylar?” I’m standing by the door. I
don’t like that Armand left angry with us. He could compromise our
operation with the right motives.
Joe shakes his head sadly. “No. I checked in with Lottie, and she still hasn’t
come home, but there’s no evidence that whoever took her reached out to
anyone.”
My hand is on the door to go out.
“How about Derrick Dossier, anyone find any more information on him?”
“I found something encrypted on a server, and we’re working on it. One
thing to note is that it does appear he's former military, dishonorably
discharged.”
Dishonorably discharged. Just like me.
Christ.
We have a history together; I just don’t know what the fuck it is yet. There’s
more to his name than appears.
“Call me the second you find anything.”
“We have a list of the survivors, Mr. Master, and their addresses.”
I turn around to look at Joe. The room’s grown quiet, all eyes on me. “I
want a printout when we get back from the shooting range.”
Joe nods. “Yessir.”
Today, we hunt for sources that lead us to Skylar.
Alma pulls a huge pan of steaming hot muffins out of the oven, and several
of the men grab them before she can put them on a serving platter.
“Dios mio! You’ll burn your fingers off. Leave some for your boss!”
I’ve told her a hundred times I don’t eat breakfast, and still, she keeps
trying.
Violet and I have an hour to practice before we go over the names and
locations of the survivors. If we can interview them… we might find what
we need after all.
I start to turn the doorknob but pause as Joe’s phone rings, and he answers
it. He frowns, his eyes coming straight at me. “You gave her a gun? And
now the door to the target range is locked?”
Jesus.
The kitchen door slams behind me with a bang.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Violet
OH GOD, he’s going to absolutely fucking murder me for this, but it will
be worth it. You only live once, so you might as well make that one time so
worth it.
I tried to sleep last night and did end up finally catching some zzz’s, but it
was nowhere near enough. My mind was teeming with everything that had
happened… and that kiss. So when I woke, I knew where I had to go.
I knew he was meeting me here. I asked in the kitchen about who the
shooting instructor was, and by the way they all looked at each other
knowingly and laughed, I knew it was Cain.
I wanted to get here ahead of him. I didn’t want to give him even that little
bit of control over me.
So I came here first, even though I don’t know what I’m doing.
I guessed he doesn’t just leave guns sitting around, but I found Joe in the
kitchen, and I may have told a bit of a white lie embellished with what I
knew Joe heard last night about our practice. Joe allowed me to come down
here, but there was another guy, some big dude with a shaved head, training
outside. He was the one that let me in.
The floor beneath my feet’s sparkling clean, made of concrete. Each
practice area, sectioned off like cubicles, has a place to stand, a small table
covered in velvet where I’m presuming you lay your guns, a hook with
headphone things, and in front, targets at a distance. Half a dozen people
could safely practice in here at once.
He’s coming here, coming soon, and my body heats with this knowledge. I
want him so badly I can taste it. I want so much more than a kiss.
Even his attention’s nice, and I know I’m going to get more than I can
handle if he catches me in here. I’m early though, at least fifteen minutes.
I’ll put this all away before he comes.
I may have never shot a gun, but I’m no fool. I got a few hours of sleep,
then pulled up a YouTube video on my phone and watched a series of “intro
to shooting” videos. I didn’t want to be a complete newb.
I just want to touch the guns. I just want to feel them in my hand, see how
heavy they are.
I have to admit, I didn’t know guns were so gorgeous.
I lift each gun, feeling the substantial weight of them in my palm. I don’t
know why I ever bothered with throwing knives when guns were an option.
I caress the heavy barrels, finger the finely crafted details. I can’t believe
I’ve gone this long in my life without ever holding a gun. I’ve been missing
out.
I doubt these are all the weapons he has on his property, but I’m pretty
happy with what I can play around with for now.
There’s a compact pistol that feels like I'm holding a stick of dynamite in
my hands. I place it back in the box, gingerly. Whoa. That thing’s deadly.
Next up, a revolver. Don’t know the name but it’s exquisite. I feel energy
pulse through me, and for one brief moment, imagine electricity lighting up
my veins like live wires. I’m not tired anymore when I hold the revolver.
There are handguns and shotguns, some that make me think of private
investigators wearing suits and trench coats, others that look like they
should be strapped to the backs of a military brigade.
I’m not dumb enough to load any of them. I put down the revolver and pick
up another gun, imagine pointing it at the target. How hard is it to pull the
trigger?
“Come at me,” I whisper, remembering what Cain muttered at Troy last
night, his words laden with a deadly threat. “Come at me, bro.”
I pull the trigger just to see what it feels like.
Fire erupts from the gun.
I fall to the floor, too stunned at first to feel the pain in my shoulder. My
ears ring from the deafening roar of the shot, and the instinctive fight or
flight part of me feels like I should run for cover.
The door to the firing range bursts open, and I know before I even look to
see who it is, Cain Master has entered the arena.
Great.
I am in so much damn trouble it isn’t even funny.
I place the gun gingerly down on the ground—too little, too late?—and leap
to my feet. “I had no idea it was loaded!” I say in my defense. I flail my
arms defensively, so he doesn’t actually murder me with his bare hands, but
I suspect if he really wants to, my waving arms aren’t going to hold him
back.
I knew the first time I saw Cain that he was capable of anger. I knew it from
the moment our eyes first met, when I saw a world of hurt and rage
simmering in his eyes. I knew it when we began hunting for his sister, and I
saw him control and harness that anger when he killed the bartender last
night.
But this… this isn’t controlled anger. It’s nothing but unadulterated, boiling
hot rage, and he’s coming straight at me.
He has to stop at some point, I reason. He has to… stop walking
and… halt.
But he doesn’t.
When he reaches me, he grabs me by the upper arms and shakes me, hard
enough to make my teeth rattle, before he shoves me up against the wall
with a growl I feel deep in my belly. Cold concrete hits my back as his
fingers grasp my chin. I’ve never wanted to look away from someone so
badly in my life, but his grip on my chin makes that impossible.
He says something to me, but my ears are ringing from the sound of the
shot and the blood pounding in my head. I shake my head to signal to him
that I can’t hear him.
He raises his voice so loudly, my stomach clenches.
“You think you can shoot a gun? With no training, no experience, nothing to
keep you safe? Do you?” he snarls. A vein throbs in his temple, his nostrils
flare. I cringe. What else am I supposed to do? I’m wilting under the heat of
his glare, and I totally deserve this. Shooting a loaded gun is really fucking
stupid. I wouldn’t blame him if he made me leave or fired me or made me
go peel potatoes in the kitchen, or whatever it is a military guy does to
someone who’s royally fucked up.
My voice shakes. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know it was loaded.”
My ears still ring. I want to cover them to still the aching reverberation.
His eyes are sharp as ice, blue rivulets of churning fury, as he holds my
gaze.
“Who gave you the gun?”
“I—I don’t know his name. A guy with a shaved head? He was outside.”
“Claude.”
Still holding my gaze, he reaches for his cell phone and makes a call. I’m
trembling, scared of what he’ll do next, scared to say a thing. He puts it on
speakerphone.
“Yes, sir?”
His voice cuts like a scalpel. “Did I give you permission to give Miss Price
a weapon?”
A pause, then, “No sir.”
“She did not have permission to touch a weapon, and I’ll punish her for
that. But if you ever again give anyone a weapon without my express
consent, I will fire you. Consider this your one and only warning. Do you
understand me?”
Punish?
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir. I’m so sorry.”
“Miss Price, I believe you have something to say as well.”
I’m shaking in his grip, and my voice sounds distant and muffled. “I’m
sorry I asked you for a weapon. I’m sorry I got you in trouble.”
I’m sorry I got myself in trouble?
Why did I think it was okay to work with him again?
I’m shaking as he hangs up the phone and shoves it back into his pocket,
which, unfortunately, brings his furious gaze back to focus fully on me.
Gah-reat.
I open my mouth to speak, but I don’t know what I’m going to say. I have
to say… something. But when I go to speak, he shakes his head at me.
“No.”
I don’t know exactly what he’s saying “no” to, but I clamp my mouth shut.
It’s convenient, since I don’t know what I would say anyway.
I look down at his hands on my wrists and realize he’s shackled me in his
grip. With the cold concrete wall at my back, there isn’t a single move I
know that could get me out of this position. He dwarfs me, my whole body
shadowed by his.
When he speaks, his voice vibrates with anger.
“Are you familiar with the Four-Step Approach to Progressive Discipline,
Miss Price?”
Ouch. We’ve gone from the hottest kiss of my life to “Miss Price.”
I shake my head, still not sure if I’m allowed to speak.
“Step one.” His words travel down my neck to my collarbone and warm my
skin. I swallow hard. “Verbal warning. The supervisor tells the employee of
their concerns and listens to the employee’s side of the story, then issues a
verbal warning of disciplinary actions.” His fingers flex on my wrists.
I nod dumbly. Yes. Mhm. Got it.
“Step two,” he growls. Oooh, boy. “Written warning. Self-explanatory,
yes?”
“Yes, sir,” I whisper. I don’t have a submissive bone in my body but
showing some respect right now might help my plight.
His eyes soften for a fraction of a second at my response. I feel about two
feet tall and would feel about ten years old if my body didn’t react the way
it did to his intimidation tactics. My pulse races, and my mouth goes dry,
remembering the last time we were this close to one another, what he’d
done next.
I can’t look away from his eyes and wish I could.
“Step three involves suspension. Paid or unpaid leave for a defined length
of time, presumably during which the employee considers their behavior
and decides how they will proceed.”
A pause where neither of us speaks, before he finishes, “Step four is
termination.”
Silence can be loud sometimes. Right now, it’s deafening.
He releases my wrists, but I still can’t move, because he leans in on one
forearm, his other caging me in. I’m just as secured as I was before.
This may not be the time to once again remind him that I’m not his
employee, but an independent contractor.
“Do you know how many men I’ve let go, Miss Price?”
I shake my head.
“One. This morning. And do you know why?”
I shake my head again. I feel as if I’m going to cry.
“Because he could’ve killed you with his stupidity.”
I can’t breathe. I try but my lungs don’t seem to want to work.
The man I affectionately called Douche… Armand, I think his name is…
Fired. Because… he could’ve killed me?
I don’t know why I mean anything at all to Cain. But there's no point in
denying the fact that I do. Probably more than I deserve.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I really didn’t know it was loaded.”
His shoulders rise as he draws in a deep breath before he releases it. “The
guns down here usually aren’t loaded, because I want my men to bring their
own ammo with them. We do have loaded guns on the premises, because
the only people who ever set foot here are trained in weaponry and
shooting, and because having loaded weapons on hand helps in matters of
self-defense.”
I nod. I don’t know how else to respond.
“Lesson one. Always, always assume that a weapon in your hand is
loaded.”
I want to smack my own forehead with a resounding duh, because that
sounds like something that should be obvious.
“How are your ears?”
“They’re… okay.”
“Lesson two.” He’s still holding his body pressed to mine, still pinning me
to the wall. His breath skates across my skin, a reminder of what happened
last night. My lips tingle. “You can permanently damage your hearing
from one gunshot if you don’t have proper protection. Always wear
electronic earmuffs or ear plugs.”
I nod.
His gaze travels down to my shoulder. “Did you hurt yourself on the
kickback?”
I forgot about the pain until he mentioned it just now. Ouch. Tears sting my
eyes, and not just from physical pain.
“Yes.”
With a scowl that would freeze hell, he reaches for my collar and gently
tries to tug down my T-shirt so he can inspect my shoulder. The collar’s
unyielding, though, and he can’t see anything.
Frowning, he steps back and folds his arms across his chest like he’s
surveying me. “Off with the shirt.”
I try to play this off. Lighten the mood, you could say, to take his focus
away from my trembling hands and the way I’m flushing like I’m sunburnt.
“My, my, Mr. Master, so early in the morning and you’re⁠—”
“Not. Playing.”
The flirtation dies on my lips as I reach for the bottom of my shirt. I try to
tug it up so he can only see my shoulder, a really futile attempt at holding
onto some semblance of control through this, but it’s no use. With a sigh, I
take it off. My shoulder burns.
“Of all the guns you could’ve shot, you chose the one with the quietest
sound but meanest kickback.”
“Right. Good one, Vi.” I swallow my need to cry and wince when his
fingers graze my shoulder.
I remember the way he kissed my bruised shins when he bandaged me
yesterday. I remember the way he cradled my head and comforted me.
While still obviously angry, he’s no less gentle this time than he was the day
before.
Sliding one hand along the small of my back, he braces me as he inspects
my shoulder. “You shouldn’t be bruised,” he whispers. “These all happened
on my watch. Never again.”
Not all, I want to remind him. The car accident wasn’t his fault. Hell, none
of it is. Why does he blame himself?
“You don’t need to see a doctor for this, but we should wait on any more
practice for today.”
I shake my head. “No. No, please, Cain. I’m fine.” I move my arm around
just to show him I’m okay, but I can’t hide the wince when pain explodes
along my arm and shoulder.
“The hell you are.”
I watch his gaze rove hungrily over my barely clad breasts and flat belly
before I yank my shirt back on.
“I need to learn how to shoot! I need you to teach me.”
“You do not make demands around here, Miss Price.”
Fuck him with the Miss Price bullshit.
“I’m not Miss Price!” I yell in a fit of frustration. “My name is Violet!”
Something snaps in him. I see it in his eyes. One minute, he’s staring at me
angrily, prepared to argue with me. The next, there’s cold decision in his
gaze.
“You want me to teach you?” he asks, his voice an alarming purr. “Fine. I’ll
teach you.”
His words ring in my memory.
I’ll punish her for that.
“The gun on your left is the perfect gun for beginner’s practice. Lift it with
two hands and point it away from you and repeat the first rule I told you.”
I nod. “Always assume a gun is loaded.”
“Always. Do what I said and place it on the table in front of you.” Ahead of
us are the targets, a few bullseyes, but most covered in thick paper in the
shape of a human body.
My hand shakes a little, but I will the trembling to stop. I pick up the gun,
point it away from me, and lay it on the velvet table in my cubicle. My
hands hang by my sides awkwardly.
“Good. Now lean over the table on your forearms.”
I blink. “Lean over the table?” What the hell does that have to do with
holding a gun?
His icy blue stare pins me in place. “Lean. Over. The. Table.”
I turn away from him, shaking, as I do what he tells me. I hear him walk up
to me right before I feel his heat at my back. I still when he leans over me,
pushing me against the table while he reaches for something I didn’t see
before–small leather loops on the table, no doubt meant to secure weapons
when they’re not in use. Only it isn’t the gun he’s securing.
“Cain! What are you doing?” I hate that my voice shakes. Hate that he’s
scaring me.
Without a word, he slips my wrist in the first leather harness, then the next.
Click. I can’t move my arms. I’m bent over the velvet table, my wrists
secured in front of me.
“The target range is soundproof, Violet. No one will hear you if you scream.
So go ahead. Scream to your little heart’s content. I’ll enjoy this more if you
do.”
If he didn’t have his hand on my lower back just now, I’d be terrified. As it
is, I wouldn’t say I’m exactly at ease…
I hear the click of metal, a swish. Is he… unfastening his jeans? What?
My hands shake, and my belly quivers. I…what will he…
“Repeat rule number one, Violet.”
I love the way he says my name.
I swallow, my voice still distant even as the ringing fades. “Always assume
a gun is loaded.”
“Maybe this will help burn it into your memory.” There’s the sound of a
swish, then a line of fire lights up my ass. I gasp, too shocked to do more
than that. I whip my head around to see him standing behind me, his belt
folded over in his grip.
Heat fans my core while indignation rises.
I could tell him off. I could tell him to go fuck himself and keep his big
hands to himself. But then I’m fucked. Then I’m back to square one, where
I’ve been for so long the very thought of going back there makes me feel
desperate. No. No, I can’t walk away from him, not now. Not when I’ve
come so close to what I need.
I catch his gaze for one heart-stopping moment. I’m the utter focus of his
attention. A bomb could go off beside him right now and his attention
wouldn’t waver.
His icy voice shatters the silence. “Did I give you permission to turn
around?”
I hold his gaze. Is he… into this?
Am I?
I shake my head wordlessly. He makes a twirly motion with his finger and
points. “Then turn back around and stay bent over that table.” I didn’t even
realize I’d stood up, hunched over as my wrists are still secured.
Shaking, I do what he says.
“Tell me rule number two.”
I cringe, knowing he’s going to punish me now, somehow craving and
dreading it at the same time. “Always wear ear protection.”
Again, the whir of leather and another searing strike. I cry out this time, but
before I can recover there’s an additional lash of leather.
Rule number two. Two strikes.
I bite my lip. Even though it hurts, I know a man as strong as he is could
tear the skin off my back if he whipped me at full strength. He’s moderating
his strength, by a lot.
“Earmuffs on.” He’s right up next to me when he slides them over my ears.
The ringing stops, but all other sounds are muffled.
His voice sounds as if it’s far, far off in the distance.
He’s still standing behind me. I can feel his eyes burning through me as
vividly as his belt.
“Rule number three.”
Oh, God, will that be three strikes?
“Always keep your finger on the outside of the trigger guard, nowhere near
the trigger, until you’re ready to shoot.”
Leaning across my body, he slides the gun between my secured wrists.
“Show me.”
I make sure my fingers are nowhere near the trigger.
He nods. “Good. Just like that.” He takes the gun away. “Bend over the
table.”
“Oh my God! Again?”
“You didn’t really think we were done, did you?”
I ignore the way excitement builds in my belly, because I don’t have any
fucking idea why the knowledge that he’s going to continue to punish me
thrills me.
I shake my head numbly. I bend over the table again. This time, I squeeze
my eyes shut tight.
No warning at all, but his belt lands with rapid precision, each line of fire
building on the one before it until my body screams in pain.
One.
Two.
Three.
Then he’s in my space, his body over mine and his pelvis pressed up against
my aching, heated ass. I look down at his large hands placed on either side
of me and shiver. I feel his prickly stubble along my cheek as his mouth
comes to my ear. “Did you learn your lesson, Violet?” His teeth clench on
my earlobe, and I hiss in a breath.
Heat races through me. I close my eyes. I’m drowning in him, in his
nearness and dominance, his voice and clean, masculine scent. My heart
beats along with his as he’s pressed up against my back.
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell me something, then.”
“Yes?” I whisper.
“If I slid my fingers into your panties, would I find you wet?”
My mouth falls open. “What?”
“I spanked you.”
That felt like more than a spanking. My voice trembles. “You call that a
spanking? A spanking is over your lap with your palm.”
“I can arrange that, too.”
Gah! I think I swallowed my tongue.
“Cain!”
“Violet. Did your punishment turn you on?”
In my trademark nonsensical way, I answer a question with a question. “If
that was punishment, would I be in trouble for being turned on?”
“Of course. You’d have to wait until I got you alone later to do anything
about that.” I slam my lips together so I don’t do something stupid like beg.
I feel his hands anchored on my hips and he draws me closer to him. His
erection presses up against my ass.
I’m not the only one turned on.
He unfastens the cuffs, turns me around to face him, then slides his hand
along my jaw, his anger dialed back to a low simmer.
“Today’s lesson’s over, but we’re nowhere near done here. We have
unfinished business, you and I. Understood?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Tomorrow morning, you’ll meet me here at seven a.m. You do not enter
until I am here. You do not pick up a weapon until you have permission.
You do not shoot a gun without my permission. And I’ll be sure to help you
remember each rule.”
I nod again. Does that mean he’ll… turn this into what I think he will?
How will I focus when he’s doing that?
I wish our lesson wasn’t over for the day, but I’m not sure how much more I
can take. I’m already turned on beyond reason, so much I’m shaking.
People always say I’m intense. Some can’t handle my brand of intensity.
They want me to play nice, to follow the rules. They like things like polite
conversation and social norms. Not me, though. That’s never been who I
am.
I once dated a guy who got angry with me when I wouldn’t let him pull out
my chair or order dinner for me. I told him I take care of myself, and I’m
not giving that up for a guy I hardly know. “You’re too intense,” he said
when he dropped me back off at my apartment.
Too intense.
I held those words within me. I remembered them. And when I found
myself alone, or wishing for some kind of companionship, I’d pull them up
again.
Too intense.
I was too intense for anyone to ever love.
“Where’d you go just now?” Cain asks, his sapphire eyes boring into mine.
“You sometimes go somewhere in your mind, like you’re dredging up
memories. Where’d you go this time?”
There’s no need to hide the truth.
“I was just thinking that… until I met you, I’d never met anyone more
intense than I am.”
A glimmer of a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. They’re almost… sad. No,
not almost. “You think I’m intense?”
“So intense you make me forget to breathe.”
The flutter of breath on my forehead warns me he’s drawing closer. I close
my eyes as his lips brush my skin. I look at him when he responds.
“You’re so intense, you make every cell in my body aware of your
presence,” he whispers, and his anger lowers even more. “You shine so
bright, it almost hurts to look at you, like I’m staring directly at a beam of
light.” My throat tightens. He has to stop. He’s going to make me cry, and I
do not cry. “You’re so beautiful, I feel as if I stare too long, I’ll turn to
stone.”
“Stop.”
We stare at each other in silence for two full beats before he speaks again.
“Why?”
I don’t know why. Words seem ludicrous when the feelings in your heart
boil over. “I… Because we just met.” Because I’m uncomfortable with
praise, it’s so foreign to me.
He shakes his head, and I don’t know why.
Slowly, so slowly I don’t realize what he’s doing at first, he threads his
fingers through my hair. The feeling’s exquisite, sexy, relaxing, and
comforting all at once. “When you touched the guns earlier, did you know
right away which one fit in your palm? Did awareness strike you?”
The question surprises me almost as much as my answer. “Yes.”
“There was a certain comfort in the touch, wasn’t there? As if the others
held power, but that one was designed just for you? Like someone waved a
magic wand and crafted it to fit your palm?”
“Exactly. Yes, that’s it.”
He nods. My skin feels all prickly and hot. “That’s how I felt when I saw
you for the first time.”
I brush off the compliment, because I’m squirming under his praise. “Cain,
the first time you saw me, you looked as if you were bored by me.”
His response is to lower his mouth and brush his lips across mine. I get the
distinct feeling he’s rejecting my comment, but I can’t understand why, and
then I forget what the comment or question even was. Because he’s kissing
me, our lips joined in a heated moment, and when Cain Master kisses me,
the world fades to dust.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Cain
I DIDN’T MEAN for this to happen.
We’ve got an hour before my men will have their report ready for me.
I wasn’t supposed to let her drive me to distraction, and I most definitely
wasn’t supposed to punish her.
Not now. Not here.
I love the way her eyelids flutter closed, and her hands wrap around my
neck for support. I love the way she lets me hold her.
But we have a job to do, and I’m a shit teacher if I don’t teach her how to
use this gun.
I change my mind about waiting until tomorrow morning. “We need to
practice.”
“Right,” she repeats. “Practice.”
We pull away reluctantly.
She’s a natural.
I want to wrap her up in my arms, carry her back to my room, and tie her to
my bed.
No one would ever touch my Violet. She’s mine.
What I’d do to her when I had her there…
But we have a job to do, and we don’t have any more time to waste.
“You’re really fucking good at this.”
I love the way she flushes under my praise. “I have a good teacher.”
“There are some things you can’t teach. Some things that only come
naturally.”
I don’t know if it’s because she has years of training, because she’s
incredibly skilled at knife throwing, or because there’s just something inside
her that innately knows its way around weapons, but when she holds a gun
and shoots, she does it as if she’s had years of practice.
She doesn’t trust me at first when she turns back around to shoot.
“Stop looking over your shoulder at me.”
“I’m afraid you’ll—do something to me again.” She gives me a look
halfway between a glare and a pout.
“Like spank you?” I love watching her squirm.
“Or—something.”
I release a labored breath. “I will never, ever do anything to distract you
when you’re holding a gun.” I shake my head. “Goddammit, woman, you
think I wanna lose my balls?”
“Ah,” she says, standing the way I showed her with her legs spread apart
and knees slightly bent. “So I’m safe from being dominated when I hold a
gun?”
I huff out a breath. “Yeah.”
“I’ll have to bring a gun with me to bed, then.”
“Try it,” I say dryly. “See how that works out for you.”
She turns back to her target with a coy little smile. The first shot hits in the
yellow ring, a shoulder strike for the human-shaped paper. “I meant that,”
she mutters. “I don’t really want to kill anyone.”
“If they’re pulling a gun on you, yes, you do.”
She doesn’t reply, but her next shot strikes straight between the eyes.
“Good shot.” I glance at my watch. Eight o’clock. “We have to go now.
You’ll join me here every morning at seven sharp.”
I note the regret on her face when she lays her weapon down. “And lemme
guess, no coming here without you even if I follow the rules?”
“If you come here without me, you’re not following the rules.”
“I’m not going to get any better if I don’t practice.”
“Trust me. We’ll practice.”
She draws in a breath and squares her shoulders. “I want to see you shoot.”
“You want to see me shoot?”
Her pupils are dilated, and I realize… she’s aroused.
No. She’s on fire.
“It turns you on, doesn’t it?”
“What?”
I feel a slow, lazy smile spread across my face. “All of it. Your spanking.
The gun. Me, dominating you. Watching me hold a gun.”
She swallows but doesn’t look away. “Yes, Mr. Master. You could say
that.”
“Give me your knife, Violet.”
Trembling, she bends and slips her knife out of its sheath.
“What about knives?” I hold the knife to the light. The blade glints like
crystal.
“What… about them?” Her chest rises with a sharp intake of breath. I watch
as her fingers come to rest on her hips, but her body’s tense. Waiting.
“Have you ever played with knives?”
“Of course. All the time. The only way you learn to throw like I have is to
—” Eyes wide, she swallows before she continues. “That’s not the kind of
knife play you have in mind, is it?”
“Not at all, sweet girl.”
I brush the handle of the knife across her temple. Her eyes flutter closed,
her lips parted. “Knife play can be intensely erotic. You would never want
to play with a novice, but with the right person…if you have full trust...”
My heartbeat races. “Stay still, Violet.” I drag the edge of the knife along
her jaw, a thin scraping that makes her skin white. She stands absolutely
still. If she moved too quickly, she’d break skin. “Edge play takes you right
to the very brink of danger and foreplay.” I gently drag the knife from her
jaw to her neck, the tiniest scrape of metal to skin. I lean in, my mouth
against her ear. “But it intensifies everything.”
Her eyes flutter open, and she licks her lips.
“You’re good at that,” she whispers.
“Good at what?”
“Intensifying everything.”
I gently take the knife off her skin and hand it to her.
Brilliant violet eyes meet mine, unblinking. “I want to see you shoot.
Please.”
I step past her, my shoulder brushing hers, and my own need to claim this
woman flares. I reach for my baby, the Ruger EC9. A striker-fired pistol
with an easy trigger and immovable sights, it’s my favorite for fast,
meticulous shooting.
“Tell me where.”
“Left shoulder.”
Boom. Hit it.
“Midsection.”
Boom. A hole tears straight through the abdominal region.
“Left ear.”
Boom. Blast the ear straight fucking off.
“Right wrist.”
Boom. Bingo.
“Shit. You’re a perfect shot.”
I shrug. “Some guys play video games. I relax at the target range.”
“Why does this not surprise me?” I can’t miss the unmistakable pride in her
voice. It does strange things to me I don’t know how to unpack. But we
have to go.
I show her how to lock everything up. “Back at the house, you’ll find
clothes in your room. Wear something professional, so we get some
answers.”
I turn away before she can reply. I don’t want to listen to any of her bullshit
about not wanting the clothes I gave her. She’ll wear the clothes.
My phone rings. Joe.
“Yeah?”
“Lottie called. No change. No word from Skylar, nothing at all.”
I’ve never been a patient guy, and I sure as fuck am not one now. I hate that
we’re in a holding pattern until we can get more information.
“Thanks. You have that list of victims for us?”
“Yes, sir. Waiting for you in your office.”
I head to my office to get the papers, then do a quick change myself so I
look professional. Khakis, dress shoes, polo shirt. Someone knocks on the
door.
“Come in.”
The door creaks open, and I don’t look up at first, fully consumed by the
details I’m reading about the people we’ll see today. When I get my hands
on this motherfucker…
“Ahem.”
I look up. I blink. I sit back in my chair and admire the stunning woman
before me.
Violet’s dressed in a white top and dress pants that show off her trim figure
and gorgeous thighs. Her top fits her snugly, but drapes about her, somehow
pulling off both professional and stunning all at once. Her hair is pulled
back in a stylish braid, and she’s wearing makeup that makes her cheeks
brighter, her lips fuller, and her eyes… God, her eyes.
“Lock that door behind you and get over here.”
A pleased smile tugs at her lips. “Is that an order, Mr. Master?”
Christ, I love it when she calls me that.
“It is.”
She captures her lower lip between her teeth and casts her eyes down, but
dutifully turns and locks the door behind her. When she turns back to me,
her vivid eyes are even brighter.
“I literally have no idea how to fix this hair and makeup, so you can’t muss
it up.” She thinks those hands on her hips somehow give her authority.
So cute.
I crook a finger at her. Her cheeks flush brighter.
“We have work to do.”
“We do.”
I tap the papers together on my desktop and push them to the side, shove
away from my desk and walk around to the front. I meet her at the same
time she reaches my desk, lift her, and place her on the edge.
I love the way she gasps and her hands fly to my shoulders to steady
herself. I reach for her, embrace her, and tuck her against my chest.
“This is risky. You know that.”
“I do.”
I bend and kiss her, and for one brief moment in time, the world stops
spinning.
“I could’ve worn the skirt,” she says, as if to distract me from her stunning
beauty. “But you can’t run in a skirt, and you just never know…”
“You don’t. Smart girl, we should be prepared.”
“And I’ve been thinking.”
“Yeah, baby?”
I love the way her eyes go soft when I call her baby.
“I don’t think we should start with the victims. The only survivors don’t
remember what happened to them. We know that he went to Bubbles and
Broomsticks, and we know that he has witnesses for every place he’s
gone.”
“Exactly.”
“But something occurred to me when I was getting changed just now.”
I step back to look at her, so I can take her seriously.
“What’s that?”
“The alibis for the times Derrick Dossier supposedly abducted his victims?
They’re detailed, but almost… too detailed. Here, look.”
She takes out her phone and pulls up the notes app.
“August first. Flowers show up at Anita Charles’ door. She goes on a date
with a mysterious stranger and doesn’t return. Her body’s found two days
later, but he has video evidence that he was shooting pool at the bar when
she was supposedly abducted, then he was working the other hours. Like,
he didn’t even go home to get changed?”
“Odd.”
“There’s more.”
I nod.
“Next up, Margaret Sellier. Flowers show up at her door. Like the others,
same thing, goes on a date with a stranger and doesn’t return. That time, he
was with three buddies fishing in Panama, and couldn’t possibly have
kidnapped anyone, yet…”
Her voice trails off. I wait for her to finish.
“Yet there’s actual DNA evidence to prove it was him.”
I shake my head. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“We don’t know who struck us yesterday in the car, but we do know that
whoever this person or persons are, they’re specifically targeting people
who…” She flushes pink. “Who mean something to you. But… you didn’t
know me until yesterday.”
I can’t tell her that isn’t true. She’d run.
No one knew she mattered to me.
“I say we go back to the bar. I say we bait him. He has bartenders there that
slip roofies in drinks for him so he can do his thing, right? At least the one
we already took care of.”
“Right.”
“Then use me as bait.”
“No fucking way.”
My hands have risen to her shoulders, and she gently pushes them down to
rest on her thighs.
“Yes. I can go in and pretend I’m asking more questions, searching for more
answers. I’ll be a sitting duck drawing him out, and the entire time, we’ll
have your team keep looking to see what they can find. He’s already tried to
get me anyway; we’ll just make it that much easier for us to find him.”
“No. And if you try to do it on your own, I swear to God, Violet⁠—”
“I know, I know, you’ll tie me up, right?”
I curse under my breath, and she waves me off.
“He’s watching us. You know he is. You know he was at my place and he
knows I’m here now, he has to, if his motive is to get the people that matter
to you.”
I shake my head. I hate that my sister’s missing. I hate that she’s in danger.
But there has to be another way.
Holding my gaze, her voice softens. She takes one of my hands from her
thigh and turns it around so she cups it in two of her own. “We have to do
something.”
My throat feels tight. I nod. “Yeah.”
“We have to find out who he is. Let’s sit with your team and piece together
what we have. But I really think our time’s better spent at the bar than here
or questioning those poor survivors who were traumatized anyway.”
I cringe. “Right.”
Her eyes harden. “I looked at the pictures of the victims. I’ve made
connections. And I saw some things I never, ever want to see again.” She
cringes. “I won’t tell you details because of Skylar, but believe me, we need
to stop this guy.”
“Agreed.” I pull away from her with reluctance. “Let’s go.”
We’re ten minutes out. I love the way she’s hyper-focused and aware, her
back ramrod straight as she sits next to me in the truck.
“Some people like pretty cars,” she says softly, fingering the leather details
on the interior of my truck. “Some like race cars or convertibles or
expensive, luxury cars. I mean, your Audi’s nice,” she says with a shrug, in
the same tone of voice one might say, I mean, it’ll do.
I feel the corners of my lips quirk up. It’ll do. “But you?”
She sighs contentedly and runs her hands palms down over the leather-clad
dash. “If I could, I would spread my legs for this truck and fuck it good and
hard, cowgirl style.”
I nearly hit the curb and catch myself just in time. “My God, woman.
There’s a visual I won’t forget. What do you love about trucks?”
With a contented sigh, still running her hands over the leather, she grows
meditative. “I like dangerous, powerful things. Your pit bulls, for instance.
Some see nothing but a vicious, lethal dog. I see strength and loyalty, and
they’re so beautiful to me I could cry. I love how when you sit in a truck
like this, you’re above everyone else.”
“On top of the world,” I say softly. Violet gets it.
She moves closer to me, our bodies flush against each other in the cab.
“I’ve always loved powerful, dangerous things.” Her fingers trail down my
bicep, tracing the edges of muscles and veins. “Makes me feel… protected,
I guess, but at the same time… not safe at all.” With what I know about her
background, I understand. She sighs. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“It makes perfect sense.”
I accelerate when we get on the on ramp. Her grip on my arm tightens.
We’re five minutes out.
My phone rings. Joe. I hit the button on the steering wheel so we can both
hear.
“Yeah?”
“I’ve got Derrick Dossier on the line for you.”
OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Violet
IF LOOKS COULD KILL, his phone would be incinerated right about
now. I cringe at the latent threat in his voice.
“I want everyone in surveillance on this call.”
“On it, sir.”
I watch as he releases a breath. “Connect the call.” There’s a series of
clicks. “Cain Master speaking.”
“Ahhh, Mr. Master. We meet again.” I shiver at the unpleasant sound of
Dossier’s voice. Some voices are musical, almost lyrical. Others are neutral.
Dossier’s makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “You don’t
remember me, do you?”
Cain glances at me. Someone he does know, or should know, as we
suspected.
“No. Where’s my sister?”
“Settle down, Mr. Master. I have your sister right here.”
Cain’s shaking with anger, but I can tell he’s relieved as well.
Skylar’s alive. I exhale and reach my fingers to his knee. I give him a
reassuring squeeze.
“Why don’t you put her on the phone.” His tone is deceptively calm. He’s a
raging inferno, ready to annihilate. I’m not even the one he’s angry at, and
his roiling fury has me trembling.
“Now, now, Mr. Master, no need to be hasty. Relax. Skylar and I are having
a brilliant time, aren’t we?”
Do I detect an accent? If there is one, it’s faint.
“Cain!” A young female voice sounds frantic on the other line. “It’s a setup.
Don’t come!” Like that would stop him. An armed squad paired with a
bomb threat wouldn’t stop him.
There’s a scuffling noise then the sound of a thump and a muffled cry.
“If you hurt her, I’ll kill you.” I feel as if actual fire shoots from Cain’s
eyes.
“That’s what you like to do, isn’t it? You kill people just for the hell of it,
don’t you? You don’t care who you kill. You don’t care if people have
family. The ends always justify the means with you, don’t they?”
Cain doesn’t respond but goes deadly calm.
His eyes flick to mine and I can’t quite read him.
“What do you want?”
“You can’t give me what I want, Master.” Oh, the irony of him calling Cain
Master. “So I’ll do what you do oh so well. I’ll take what’s mine.”
“If you⁠—”
The line goes dead. He grabs the phone, curses, and it looks like he’s going
to whip it right out the window. I grab his arm. “Stop! You’ll need that if he
calls you again. I know, I want to break things, too.”
The truck comes to a rumbling stop at the side of the road. He tosses it into
park and buries his head in his hands. Shoulders heaving, I wonder at first if
he’s crying. The thought terrifies me.
Gently, I reach a hand to his shoulder. He’s breathing heavily, his body
tense like a bowstring pulled too tightly. He’s going to snap.
“We’ll find her,” I tell him, determined. “I don’t care what it takes. We’ll
find him.”
When he lifts his head, his eyes are too bright, but he hasn’t cried. Still, it
breaks my heart to see him so tortured.
“He’s right, Violet. I did kill, and I have no regrets. I did it for my country.
For my soldiers at arms.”
I read his files. I know what he did, what he’s capable of. But I don’t see a
bad man. No. Only a good man would feel the weight of his actions the way
Cain does. Only a good man would lay down life and limb for the people he
loves. He’s loyal to his very core.
I gentle my voice. “One thing at a time. Let’s go over what he said. Did
your team get anything at all?”
“The call was too brief, all ability to track expertly blocked.”
“Okay, alright, so let’s put our heads together. He says you know him. How
would you know him?”
“Must’ve been when I served in the military.”
“In France?”
He gives me a short nod. “Yeah.”
“Tell me what happened there. Would anyone have reason to want to kill
you?”
“Lots of people want to kill me. Fucking dozens. I was in charge of
protecting the U.S. Embassy. It came to my knowledge there was going to
be an attack, so I acted.” He blows out a breath. “If I had it to do over again,
I would behave differently, but honest to God…” His voice trails off, and he
shakes his head. “I did what I thought was best at the time.” He glances at
the clock on the dash. “I don’t have time to go into detail.”
“Summary, please. I need to know.”
“Fine. The short version. We were subject to a hostile militia attack at our
embassy access points. They began at night and went into the day. The
attacks were unprovoked and considered an act of war and had to be
stopped or many, many more would’ve died. The attacks focused on the
arrival of American diplomats who’d come to the Embassy to sign an
agreement with the U.N., but the agreement had a direct impact on weapons
sales across the Mediterranean.”
I nod. Following.
“It was one attack after another. Since we were attacked, we sent an
airstrike, which killed dozens. So when I got word the militia was preparing
for a counterattack, I sent our men to ward that off.” His lips thin. “Their
initial attacks cost us twenty million in fire damage, and we lost two dozen
of our soldiers, not to mention dozens of innocents. I couldn’t let more
devastation happen.”
“Of course not,” I say, squeezing his knee. I hate that he bears this burden,
to this day.
“So we attacked them before their counter strike, and we killed the entire
militia. It’s the worst memory I have, and one I wish I could erase forever.”
“I understand. I have a few like that myself.”
We’re only a few blocks away from the bar now.
“There are ways of erasing bad memories,” I say gently.
He reaches for my fingers and gives my hand a little squeeze. “Yeah?
How?”
“You replace them with new ones.”
We drive by the business section of town, where the office parks are lined
up near restaurants and retail shops. Something flashes by my window, and
suddenly, a spark fuses in my brain and I have the answer, with lightning
clarity.
I know.
“Stop!”
The truck comes to a screeching halt as he yanks the steering wheel to the
right and pulls to the side of the road. “What is it?”
“The flowers. Oh, God, Cain, the flowers. You said you think this guy has
history in France, right?”
“Yes.”
“The flowers he’s been sending. The beautiful purplish-blue flowers, those
are irises, right? He puts them next to the baby’s breath.”
He’s staring at me now with so much intensity, I feel hot under the glare.
“Yes?”
“The iris is the national flower of France. Baby’s breath represents
innocence, doesn’t it?”
He nods.
“Criminals who leave clues think they’re clever, that they can outsmart the
police. Most of them are narcissists. He did this out of pride, to taunt us.”
“Did what?” He’s clearly running out of patience.
I talk faster. “The fleur-de-lis emblem, the one with the flower and leaves?
French symbol. Fleur-de-lis. He’s taken every single woman right here in
Salem, the very same city with the Fleur-de-lis Memorial.”
His phone rings again as he pulls back out into the intersection. Joe.
“Boss, we found something we think you need to know.”
“Don’t keep me waiting.”
“You ordered us to find the names of the people killed in the counterattack
of the Embassy to see if anyone was connected to Dossier. We found none
by the name of Dossier, sir. We did, however, find a Dozier. Actually, two.
Twins. One was killed, the survivor moved to America. We found him, and
he fits the profile of the man they’ve suspected of being behind these
attacks.”
I suddenly feel cold. “Could… someone from another country become a
police officer here in the States?”
“Depends on the state but yes, many departments will allow it.”
“So the former police officer that’s suspected in the abductions and rape
cases… could’ve been the same man you fought overseas… especially if he
fudged his age here in the U.S.”
“Yes.”
I think this over. “Cain. Dozier’s French for willow… it’s the surname for
someone who lived near a plantation of willows… if you killed his twin…”
I smack my forehead. “Skip the bar, we can’t go there. We have to go to the
Salem Willows, it’s where the Fleur-de-lis Memorial is!” My heart races
with excitement. We’ve had a breakthrough. “It’s a hunch, but my hunches
are very, very good.”
“Don’t get too excited. He likely laid this out precisely so we’d find him.
Remember, Skylar said it was a setup.”
The Salem Willows Park is thirty-five acres along the ocean, named
because of the white willow trees planted along the walkways to offer
shade. The long, graceful branches nearly graze the ground they’ve grown
so long, and on warm summer days like today, it’s not unusual to find
families strolling along the paths, ice cream cones in hand, or cyclists
whizzing past on two wheels. The rocky beach borders large, grassy fields,
where people often picnic or play frisbee.
Around the Willows, though, are several residential houses, apartment
complexes and rentals, video arcades and vendors selling carnival food and
treats.
The Fleur-de-lis Memorial stands in the center of Salem Willows Park, only
steps away from the main attractions.
When we arrive, the park is teeming with people, dogs, and bicyclists. We
park the truck at the edge and move quickly to the Fleur-de-lis.
My skin prickles.
Here. He’s here.
They’re here. I know they are.
Cain whips his head around, scouring the passersby, but it’s hard to tell
even where to begin.
“Too many people here,” he mutters. “Too many goddamn civilians. We’ll
have to find them and isolate them.”
A shiver skates down my spine. I’ve read what he does to them when he has
them alone. “But first we have to find them.”
When we draw near to the Fleur-de-lis, I don’t see anything that can lead us
to where Dossier’s got Skylar.
We walk up and down the paths, intent on finding details or something that
would give us a clue.
Near the arcade, something purple catches my eye.
“Cain.” I point wordlessly, as my stomach churns with acid. Bordering the
entrance to the arcade are gorgeous purple irises in full bloom.
“They usually bloom earlier in the year,” I say to Cain, shaking my head.
“But spring was late with the cold weather, and they’ve bloomed later than
usual.” He exhales as I continue, “He used those flowers because he wants
you to find him.”
His hand takes mine as we walk side by side. “You ready for this?” Cain
asks.
“The man tried to attack me. He used intimidation tactics and hurt me. He
came after your sister and other innocent women and did the very worst
things he could have. Am I ready for this?” I huff out a mirthless laugh. “I
may fight you off so I can kill him myself.”
My breathing hitches when he tugs me a little closer to him and says in a
low voice laced with approval, “That’s my girl. We’ll fight him. We’ll
rescue Skylar. And then we’ll kill him.”
“They do call you the executioner. I hope you live up to the name.” I love
the way his eyes light up, even as a mask of fury and resolve etches lines
around his eyes.
“You do know how to flirt with a guy, don’t you?”
“Not in the slightest. But with you, I’m learning.”
We move gracefully. As one.
“We’ll go into the arcade. See what we can find. I texted Joe and my
surveillance team, they’re getting back to me with specs on the arcade’s
layout.”
It’s dim and hot in the arcade. Skee ball flanks one wall, across from air
hockey machines and foosball tables. Large, clunky machines spit out coins
and tickets, and everywhere we turn, I see flashing lights. I can hardly hear
myself think in here with the bells and whistles and loud, raucous music.
Cain says something to me, but I can hardly hear him. I shake my head to
tell him I can’t hear him. He lifts his phone. He’s got the arcade blueprint.
Two floors. The first houses video games, skee ball, and the table games,
but upstairs are the classic games, virtual reality, and funhouse. Behind the
funhouse are storage rooms and a small studio apartment.
They could be anywhere.
According to this map, the stairs are to the left of the foosball tables. I reach
for his hand so we don’t get separated in the crush of people. I locate the
dimly lit back stairs. He goes ahead of me but reaches his hand behind him
so we don’t let go.
The noise increases as we go upstairs. At first, my heart beats faster at the
sound of a scream, but at the top of the stairs I see a macabre Halloween
game with a screaming banshee. A few teens are laughing and playing,
racking up points for every scream the banshee shouts. A few feet away, my
body’s tall and distorted in the funhouse mirror, and Cain’s looks oddly
frightening with a twisted clown’s face staring at us.
“I hate arcades,” I mutter to myself. “I fucking hate them.”
I once got lost in an arcade as a child and never forgot it. They’re easy to
get lost in. Cain doesn’t know how much it means to me that he’s holding
my damn hand.
I jump when one of the teens hits the jackpot, the screaming banshee’s
wails pitching louder and louder. Cain frowns, his eyes narrowed. Here,
right behind these walls, are the storage rooms and studio apartment, likely
designed for the owners to live in or rent.
“Those fucking screams don’t help,” I mutter. His body goes rigid.
“Christ, Violet. That isn’t the machine,” he says. I look wildly back to see
the teens have gone, the game is back to the “start” menu, but the screams
haven’t stopped. A chill runs down my spine.
“Through here,” I say, pointing a finger at the break room door. “In here.”
It’s locked, but that doesn’t stop him. It’s an old wooden door that opens
inward, and the locks look flimsy. A perfect setup. “Back up.”
The guy’s a human bulldozer, larger than any other human I’ve ever met,
and he knows how to use his body. He lets loose with a roundhouse kick,
followed by a shoulder ram. The door whines and cracks. Another kick,
shoulder, kick, shoulder. The door splinters and breaks. I help him kick the
broken wood aside, half expecting someone to attack, but no one comes at
us at first.
He steps through, and I follow behind him. “Be careful, Violet.” Like him, I
expect someone to attack at any moment. No one comes. My spine
straightens at another scream, louder this time, and it’s not coming from
behind us but in front of us.
In seconds, I’ve got a knife in each hand, and he’s cocked his gun. I wish I
was experienced enough to have one too, but I’ll get there. The knives are
only my backup. My body’s my main weapon.
There’s no movement ahead of us or around us. I don’t look at Cain, both of
us focused. It’s a small room that leads into another, the curtains and shades
drawn tight so the room’s darkened. A yellowed, bare bulb hangs from the
entryway, throwing off a weak glow. Broken arcade games surround both
sides, some with wires hanging out, others with cracked screens, the
machines tilted on their sides like discarded gaming carcasses. I shiver.
There’s something eerie about them.
Another scream. My heart beats so fast I feel nauseous. Cain breaks through
the rubble and runs. For the huge guy he is, he runs fast. I run behind him,
panting to keep up, and we come to another doorway, this one with no door.
This room must’ve been part of a haunted house or something similar back
in the day. Discarded party decorations litter the floor. We enter the room;
it’s lined with boxes, so dark it’s hard to see a damn thing.
A wall of stench hits my nostrils, and I cover my mouth and nose. The
unmistakable scent of body odor, sweat, and sex lingers in the air. My
mouth waters with the need to vomit, and bile burns the back of my throat,
but I have to keep my head on straight. I can’t lose my shit now.
Cain’s boots crunch on broken glass as another scream tears through the
quiet.
Cain sees them before I do. I know this the second he whips out his gun and
aims. “You motherfucker. Put the light on, Vi. I want to see the life leave his
eyes when I kill him.”
Him. One. There’s only one? He stands directly in front of me so I can’t see
a damn thing.
I look around frantically for a light switch and finally see one behind a
stack of boxes. I lean in and flick it on. The room lights up, revealing a
bulky guy not much older than I am wearing an eye patch, his long black
hair covering his face like a shroud. He grins like he’s just won the lottery.
Beside him tied to the bed lies a young woman in a tank top and nothing
else, her body laced with lacerations and angry red welts.
“Cain,” she says in a tearful voice. “I told you not to come, I don’t want you
to get hurt.”
“Ahh, Mr. Master. I see you⁠—”
“Get down and cover.”
I take a split second to process the command he snaps out before I drop to
my knees and cover my ears, the cold metal of my knives on either side
framing my face. One gunshot, two, a third I feel straight in my belly, and
Dossier’s body falls to the floor heavily. He screams, grabbing his arm.
“Secure Skylar, Violet. Leave him to me.”
“Cain!” I stare in surprise as a second man enters the room who looks
remarkably like Dossier. He brandishes a gun in the doorway. I don’t think,
but fling my knife with perfect precision directly at him. It strikes his belly
as gunshots erupt. He falls to the floor, his face a mask of fury as he lunges
for me. I roll and duck as he strikes out, dodging every attempt to hit me.
I have a second knife I whip at his leg. It hits precisely above his knee. He
grabs at the knife, howling with rage, just as a gunshot hits his shoulder.
Another one hits him in his other shoulder. I look up to see Cain staring
down at him, his gun still smoking.
I know he’s a perfect shot. He didn’t aim to kill. He’s here to capture. The
killing will be a different story.
Dossier’s bleeding behind him, his hand on his head as blood drips down
his fingers.
Cain pulls out his phone and makes a call.
“Upper room. They’re both alive, but not for long so fucking move.”
“You bastard! You think this is over?” Dossier spits blood and spittle on the
ground in front of him.
“Oh, no,” Cain says with that smile that chills me to the bone. “Nowhere
close to over.” He falls to one knee beside Dossier. “Violet, you secure the
other asshole.”
“Happily.” I yank my knife from the guy’s leg and hold it to his temple.
“You hurt innocent women. If you move, I’ll slice your throat.” My hand
shakes with the effort of holding myself back.
“You tried to kill my brother in Paris,” Dossier shouts. “You left him for
dead. You son of a bitch, so proud of yourself.”
“I defended my country. You kidnapped and raped innocent women,” Cain
says. I turn to look as Cain reaches over and squeezes his shoulder. Blood
pours out of the wound and Dossier screams like a dying animal. “We’ll
both burn in hell for what we’ve done, but not until I’m good and ready to
let you go.”
Twins. The one supposedly killed wasn’t dead after all. It all makes sense.
Dossier and his brother worked in tandem, one with an obvious alibi while
the other kidnapped their victims. I’d bet good money both raped them.
DNA evidence proved Dossier was the perpetrator because he was. Twin
DNA is often so close it’s indistinguishable.
Now that it’s clear, I don’t know how we missed it before. Twins.
Fucking twins.
I scream when something strikes my back, pain radiating from my spine to
my neck. I grab at my back and feel something wet and sticky. I look in
disbelief at my hand covered in blood.
He sliced me with my own damn knife, but not very well. It grazed my skin
but didn’t stick.
“You son of a bitch.” Cain lands a vicious kick to the Dossier he’s got, then
another and another until he slumps onto the floor. He swivels and lands a
vicious kick to the other’s belly. Blood spurts to the floor, and before he can
recover, Cain hammers an uppercut to his abdomen with his right hand,
then a jab to his jaw with his left, a brutal combination that leaves the other
Dossier wheezing as he collapses again.
“You took my sister.” Cain strikes him again, his fist like an anvil. “You
raped innocent women.” Dossier number two yanks his arms up to cover his
face and openly cries, his tears mingled with blood, but I feel no sympathy.
I want to see him suffer. I want to see him cry. “You dared to hurt my
woman.” The next punch breaks bone. Dossier number two is a human
punching bag and Cain has hit his rhythm, punching until he’s unconscious.
“Cain!” I damn near risk my life and grab at his arm as he rears back to
deliver what will no doubt be the blow that kills Dossier. The latent power
in his arm sizzles through me, and I almost release him, but make myself
hold fast. “While this is highly entertaining, you have to stop.” He’s panting
with the exertion, sweat dripping down his face. I gentle my voice. “You
have to stop, Cain. You have to leave something for us to interrogate.”
The other one lunges at me, and I step out of the way just in time.
“Right.” Cain faces the other Dossier, baring his teeth. “You piece of shit.
You’ll get a taste of the same fucking medicine.”
“Cain,” I say pleadingly. “Let me?”
He reaches down with a sickening smile and grabs Dossier by the hair.
“Have at it, baby.”
I swivel and give him a roundhouse kick. I hit him as hard as I can. He
doubles over, grabbing his stomach. I knee him in the back and he falls to
the floor. “You hurt his sister. You hurt innocent women. You broke into my
house, and you made my man bleed.” I puncture every word with another
jab, strike, and kick until he’s whimpering and begging for mercy. It hasn’t
even begun to satisfy my thirst for violence when Cain speaks.
“Alright, Violet,” Cain says, with unmistakable pride in his voice that
makes my chest swell.
“He deserves more than that.”
“And I’ll make sure he gets what he deserves.”
I look into Cain’s eyes and reach my hand up to cup his jaw. His icy blue
gaze locks with mine. “Promise me.”
Gently extracting my hand from his face, he kisses each bloodied fingertip,
one by one. “I promise you, sweetheart. I’ll make them pay. Both of them.”
A thrill of arousal races through me.
I might love this monster of a man.
Satisfied, I look around the room and see wires hanging out of a broken
video game. I slice them with one of my knives, then tie both men at their
ankles and wrists so I can get to Skylar.
Cain and I unfasten her and lead her off the dirty bed, grabbing a sheet to
wrap around her waist. She trembles but walks beside me.
“Are you alright?” I ask her.
She looks away and doesn’t answer at first, then finally nods. “I am now.”
I walk back to the bed while Cain drags both men to it. He hauls one up like
he’s a sack of potatoes and tosses him unceremoniously on the bed. The guy
whimpers. He takes the second, hog-tied and immobile, and tosses him
beside his brother. Even though they’re beaten beyond recognition and tied
fast, he has me hold both men at gunpoint while he makes the call.
I don’t even want to think about what he’ll do to them when he brings
them back to his place. I haven’t even begun to explore the many rooms he
has at his home, but something tells me the target range isn’t the only
soundproof room in the house. And I remember what I’ve read about his
methods.
These men will wish we’d killed them here.
Skylar stares at me with large, frightened eyes.
“Who are you?” Her voice is wobbly, broken. My heart splinters. I don’t
even want to think about what she’s been through.
I give her a gentle smile. “My name’s Violet.”
Skylar gives me a tentative smile back, through her obvious pain. “That’s a
beautiful name.”

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Violet
IT’S late into the night. Darkness settles over the house on the hill, as the
sun set hours ago. Skylar’s soundly sleeping in one of the guest rooms on
the main floor, sedated by the doctor. She needs rest now more than
anything.
Cain has her heavily guarded. I didn’t think I liked Cain’s straightlaced
bodyguard the day I came here. Now I’ve never been so happy to see him.
Today, we brought down the men responsible for the abductions and rapes.
Under Cain’s… questioning, one might call it… we got full confessions.
And I was right about them working in tandem. We have much to unpack,
and will, but the greatest threat is over.
Cain takes on the task of telling his team all that happened, and instructs me
to call Candi. “Then go to your room. Relax and get some rest. I’ll come
see you when I’m through down here.” I know without him telling me that
he’ll be “through down there” when his men lay twin bodies in shallow
graves. I’m not upset by this. I’d be disappointed with anything less.
I’m not surprised there are two armed men on either side of my door when I
arrive at the guest room. We have to make sure neither Dossier was in
league with anyone. We don’t know for sure yet that this was the end of the
attacks.
So when I’m finally settled in, I call Candi and alert her that we've found
the men responsible for Cain’s sister’s abduction, but they were killed.
Candi’s voice is weary when she asks, “Do I want to know the rest of this
story, babe?”
“No, Candi. You don’t.”
“Are you safe?”
My answer’s no more certain now than it was the last time she asked me.
Once again, I lie to my best friend. “Yeah. I’m safe.”
“Violet… be careful. Cain Master is a dangerous, dangerous man. I don’t
like that you’re involved with him. I don’t like it at all.”
I don’t know how to tell her the fact that he’s a dangerous man might be
what draws me to him the most.
She takes my statement and tells me she’ll come for a full report in the
morning. I look forward to it. Somehow, seeing my best friend here might
make this all seem real. My two worlds will collide… but it’s time.
I don’t want to see anyone else right now and definitely don’t feel like
talking to anyone, so I settle into my room for the night. I’ve showered and
put on pajamas. I played mindless games on my phone. I’m too wired to
settle down.
I get up and go to the walk-in closet. I finger the clothes, stroke the fine
fabrics, and marvel at the sheer volume of luxury. They’re gorgeous, every
single one of them, and he says they’re all for me. I’m too tired to try
anything on just now, but when I dressed earlier, everything I tried fit me
perfectly.
And the shoes… good God, the shoes alone could buy me a townhouse right
here by the ocean. Heels and flats, sandals and boots, an array of colors and
fabrics that would be the envy of any shoe aficionado.
Why?
How long does he think I’ll stay?
It’s a little unsettling, if I’m honest.
What’s the catch?
And does it matter? I’m here for a reason, and I won’t leave until I’ve done
what I came for.
But now I make myself face the truth I’ve been avoiding.
I want to see Cain. I want to touch him, feel him.
And I want much, much more than the kiss I got last night.
After what we’ve been through…
I hear heavy footsteps outside my door, and the low rumble of a voice that
can only be him. I sit up in bed, my heart racing, as he knocks just before
the door opens. He stands in the doorway, the light from the hall casting
him in shadow, but I know it’s him.
“No one fills a doorframe like that.”
He turns his head as if just realizing there’s a doorframe there.
I can hear the humor in his voice when he responds, “No one fills a bed
like that.”
I look around me at the cavernous bed. “I’m hardly filling it.” I give him a
little pout. “There’s plenty of room still here.”
The door shuts with an audible bang.
I jump. Liquid heat pools between my legs. I forget to breathe.
“Are the guards still there?” My whole being is filled with wanting.
He prowls closer to me, the shadows falling behind him. “Of course not. I
told them to go because I’m here now.”
I briefly close my eyes to quell the rise of emotion. He told the guards to go
because I’m safe with him.
I open my eyes. As he draws nearer, he never takes his eyes from mine. The
shadow’s behind him now, and the pale yellow light from the bedside table
illuminates his features.
His ruggedly masculine face, lined with weariness, is speckled with blood,
his jaw covered in thick black stubble, but I’ve never seen anyone so
beautiful in my life. His strong features hold inherent masculinity,
underscored by the harsh slash of his mouth softened by full lips. When I
first met him, I wondered if he could pull a sword out of a stone or bare his
teeth and show me his fangs. I almost laughed at myself, at my
imagination.
Now, I know he could do that and more. So much more.
He locks me in the power of his gaze. His eyes show the same raging fury
and power they did when I first saw him. Only now, I see that the
simmering anger only boils at the surface. It will take me years to unearth
what lies beneath.
I can wait.
He sighs wearily when he reaches the bed. Bending to grasp the edge of his
T-shirt, he lifts it up over his body, the fabric bunching and swaying before
he tosses it to the side. I briefly wonder if his broad shoulders ever bow
under the weight of what he carries.
I wonder if he’ll ever share that burden.
I let my gaze rove lazily over his chest, the smattering of dark, coarse hair,
defined abs, and a thin chain with dog tags. When he sees me looking at
them, he lifts them off and places them gently on the bed. That’s a story for
another day then.
“You alright?” he asks, his voice a low rumble that sets my nerves on fire.
I shake my head. “No. You?”
“No.” He gives me a slow, lazy smile. “I need a shower, baby. So fucking
bad. Think you can help me?”
I love it when he calls me baby.
I’m on my feet before I realize what I’m doing. My hands shake when I
reach for his belt. I unfasten the clasp and slide it through the loops, then
lay it on the side of the bed. He watches me, his hands on his hips, as I
reach for the button of his jeans and slide to my knees in front of him. With
slow precision, I remove his pants, my breath catching as I tug them down
his legs. He steps first one foot out, then the other, and his pants join his tee
on the floor.
I can see the outline of his erection through his boxers. Like everything
about him, it’s larger than life. I lick my lips and swallow. I imagine what it
would be like to take him in my mouth, to please him. I’ve never done that
for anyone before, but I want to for him.
I don’t know why, but I’m overcome with emotion. Maybe it’s because I’ve
been through so much in such a short time. Maybe because I know now that
we’ve found his sister and she’s safe, it’s time to move on to the job I know
I have to do.
Or maybe it’s because I know I want him and can’t bear the thought he
doesn’t want me the way I do him. Does he? I close my eyes and lay my
cheek against his thigh. The dark, prickly hair scratches my cheek, as his
hand comes to the back of my head and holds me there.
We don’t speak. I kneel between his legs, my arms wrapped around him. I
need a moment, and somehow, he knows that. He gives it to me before he
bends, then kneels in front of me. Holds me. Right there on the floor, nearly
naked, he tugs me onto his lap so my legs wrap around him to straddle his
waist.
My body kindles with my need for him, his length pressed up against my
panties. He wraps his fingers around the back of my neck and tugs me
closer to him. My eyes meet his, and I know he’s going to kiss me.
He rises with me in his arms, my legs still tucked around him, then lays me
on the bed. His hands tangle in my hair and he holds my mouth to his but I
need no persuasion. His huge, muscular frame pins me to the bed. I release
a breath he swallows and makes his own. My breasts heave, pressed tight
against his unyielding chest, and liquid heat cascades between my legs. His
tongue licks mine, drawing an inhuman moan from me.
“I want you, Violet. All of you.”
I nod dumbly, ready to give him anything and everything he wants. Right
now, I want his hands and mouth and cock and body joined with mine in
every possible combination. I want to kiss and lick and worship his body.
I want to bring him pleasure and surrender to bliss.
I want everything.
His hand cups my breast, and I whimper with the sudden flare of need that
makes me tremble. His thumb flicks over my nipple. I nearly come.
“Cain,” I whisper on a choked breath, so desperate to be closer to him I
can’t speak.
Silently, he lowers his mouth to my breast and licks the hardened nipple. A
spasm of pleasure ripples through me so hard my hips jerk upward. He
suckles again. My clit throbs on the edge of release. “Fuuuccck, baby,” he
growls in my ear. “I need to taste you.”
I’m a ragdoll to his touch, pliable and boneless, as he arranges me on the
bed and drops to his knees. When he looks at me, my heart turns over in my
chest. I hold my breath as he parts my knees like he’s worshipping me, the
sexiest damn thing I’ve ever seen. He kisses the inside of my thigh, as he
slides his thumb along my panty-clad slit. My hips buck. My pulse races.
He kisses my right thigh. I’m still gasping for breath when he tugs my
panties down and releases a deep, masculine groan I feel straight between
my legs.
Holding my thighs in his big, very capable hands, he spreads them further
apart. Exposing me. His eyes meet mine with a burning insolence, as if
daring me to turn away now. I couldn’t if I tried. My choice was made when
he stepped through that door.
No. My choice was made the day I came here.
His eyes burning into me, he slowly lowers his mouth. He lazily drags his
tongue along my swollen, throbbing clit, again and again. I cry out, my hips
jerk. A moan of ecstasy slips through my lips, my palms flat on the bed on
either side of me to keep me from flying away. My body quivers on the
edge of ecstasy, the first spasm of orgasm echoing through me. He pumps
his fingers in me. I shatter.
I can’t breathe, I can’t think, as my body bucks under the pressure of my
climax. I come so hard, so many times, his heavy body atop mine, his
length pressed between my legs. I scream his name until I’m hoarse.
Still riding the waves of ecstasy, I feel his breath in my ear before he says in
a ragged voice, “I want to be in you when you come again. I want to feel
you climax with me.”
“Again? I’ll die.” I grab the back of his neck, pull him to me, and slam my
mouth on his. “Bring it.”
His low, masculine chuckle sends a spasm of pleasure straight through me.
“I promise you, baby. I’ll make it worth it. Over. And over. And over
again.” He kisses my cheek while he holds me, his length throbbing along
with my pulse. A deep sense of peace invades my senses. I feel like I belong
here. I know I can trust him.
Hypnotized by his touch, I surrender to him. I’ve never surrendered to
anyone in my life.
This feels so right.
I study his face unhurriedly, each perfect, harsh, beautifully masculine
detail. I love the way he looks at me hungrily, the way his muscles tighten,
as if he’s holding himself back.
“Make love to me, Cain.”
His weight flush against me, he moves with determination, braces himself
over me, and lines himself up between my legs. Then my wrists are trapped
in his big, unyielding hands, as he puts his lips on mine.
He thrusts. I scream out loud. He stills.
“Don’t,” I pant. “Don’t stop. Please.”
He skims a hand down my side as he thrusts again and again, gliding in and
out of my slick heat in a perfect rhythm. Every thrust undoes me, every bolt
of blissful pleasure makes me whole again. He swells inside me, but I take
him. Each thrust sends sparks of pleasure rolling through me until I can’t
hold myself back any longer.
He releases a deep, masculine moan so ragged and raw, I lose myself to
bliss and join him in ecstasy.
Seconds, moments, hours later, I’m still tangled in his taut limbs. He rolls
over and tucks me to his chest. I can’t move. I can’t even open my eyes. It’s
a wonder to me he even has the strength to lace his fingers through my hair,
and yet he does.
“I’m on birth control,” I say on a sigh, half dead.
“Your timing’s impeccable,” he says with another one of those manly
chuckles I wish I could record and play in an endless loop. I’d pay money
to hear that again.
“I’m good like that. You still need to shower?”
“No, baby. I don’t need anything now.”

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Violet
“EYES ON THE TARGET. Do not take your eyes off the target.”
“If I take my eyes off the target, do I get⁠—”
“Don’t try me, woman.”
I grin as I pull the trigger.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Three perfect shots right where I aimed.
Yes.
I feel his heat behind me before I see him, warm hands on my hips. I close
my eyes when he kisses my cheek.
“I’ve never seen anyone learn how to hit a mark so quickly.”
Oh yeah? I want to ask him. What do you call this?
I haven’t returned to my apartment. I’m here for a reason, and I’m not
leaving now until I’ve fulfilled my job. Until my mission’s complete.
At least that’s what I tell myself.
I feel the cool of his dog tags on my neck, and mentally imagine they kiss
my scars. I’m feeling a bit sentimental today.
Skylar’s home safe, and Cain has his answers.
Now it’s my turn.
Unearthing who he is—who I am—is as much a mystery as finding Skylar’s
kidnapper.
“Eyes on the target, baby,” he repeats. His much larger hands cover mine.
We stand as one.
We breathe as one.
Pull the trigger as one.
The blast of the gun reverberates through me, but we brace for the kickback
together.
We shoot a perfect bullseye.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Cain
THE END of the Dossier twins is the end of the terror inflicted on the
innocent women of Salem.
Skylar needs time and some TLC, but I make sure she has it. She’s bonded
with Violet, and sometimes I don’t know who appreciates that more. They
become fast friends.
I’m glad.
It gives me a reason to keep her here.
I’d put a ring on her finger if it were up to me.
Not now. Not yet. My caged bird will fly if I try to hold her in captivity.
But now it’s time…
I can help her find her parents’ killers, and I will help her seek the
vengeance she craves. I know I have what she wants.
What she doesn’t know yet is how badly I want her. All of her. Completely,
irrevocably… forever.
One day after target practice, I ask her to come up to my office. When she
walks in the door, my heart does a somersault. I lean against the edge of my
desk and beckon to her.
“Come here, baby.”
I love that look she gets when I call her to me. Part daring, part hopeful, and
all kinds of aroused.
When she reaches me, I run my hand up and down her back slowly, until
she breathes a little freer and she lays her head on my shoulder. She fits
right here, within my arms. She belongs here.
The office is so quiet, my words hang heavily between us.
“Candi says we’ve had nothing but quiet here in Salem. The biggest issue is
keeping the teens from toilet papering the House of the Seven Gables on
Halloween.”
“I could stop them.”
She snorts. “I bet you could, but you’ve got bigger fish to fry, don’t you?”
I do. I run my hands along her shoulders, then down her slim waist to rest
on her hips.
“You want to find your parents’ killers, Violet?”
I watch her shoulders rise as she inhales, then fall as she lets her breath out.
“I do, Cain. More than anything in the world.”
Anything in the world.
I trace my fingers along her spine. “You helped me find my sister.”
“Yes.”
“And that, sweetheart, was your first task for me.”
She nods, as I slowly turn us so she’s now leaning against the desk and
extend the trajectory of my touch. Past her back. Up her shoulders. Over her
collarbone, then lower to where her ass meets the desk.
“But I want more than your work, Violet.”
I place a gentle kiss on her neck, then open my mouth and suck in her
damp, sweet flesh. I watch her knuckles whiten on the edge of the desk.
“What do you want from me?”
I place my hands on either side of her. My frame dwarfs hers. “I want you.”
A slow blink as she absorbs my words.
“Me?”
“You. All of you. Carte blanche to do whatever I want to you, whenever I
want to. Anytime, anywhere.”
Her eyelids flutter closed, like a little bird’s, her words a mere whisper. “I
have the distinct feeling I’d… both hate and love every minute of what
you’d do to me.”
“Love and hate are so irrevocably entwined, aren’t they?”
She places her hand in mine, and her eyes flutter open. “Yes.”
I’m not sure if she means yes, she agrees with the sentiment, or yes, she
agrees with what I want.
“Yes?”
When she smiles, her eyes light up, moon-kissed amethyst that enchants me
to my soul. “Yes, Cain. I accept your terms. I’m yours.”

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER NINETEEN

Violet
“KEEP YOUR EYES STRAIGHT AHEAD. Do not move away, even for a
second.”
Cain’s deep rumble of a voice vibrates in my ear. Of course this is one of
the very many ways he’d test me. Just hand me a gun that requires immense
concentration to handle, give me an instruction to keep my eyes on the
target ahead, then hover his magnificent, muscled body so close to mine I’m
nearly trembling in anticipation.
“Bet no one else has target practice like this,” I mutter, more than a little
annoyed. I don’t want to have target practice. I want to tear his clothes off
and jump his bones, right now, right here, on the cold concrete floor of the
target range. I’m annoyed I can’t do that, and annoyed he’s made me feel
like a wanton slut.
“That’s right, Violet,” Cain says in my ear, as he ghosts his tongue over my
earlobe. I stifle a whimper. “There’s no one else here who uses target
practice for the sole purpose of muffling their screams when they come.”
“It’s not the sole purpose,” I mutter under my breath. I mean, I’m a damn
good shot now.
I brace myself, grit my teeth, and pull the trigger. Fire explodes from the
gun, the bullet tears into the paper target shaped like a human, and I watch
with gleeful satisfaction as I tear a hole right between the eyes, the
infamous “T-box” shot. Lethal, every time.
“Well done, little protégé,” Cain says with approval. Warmth flares through
my chest at his praise. It’s rare that he doles out praise to anyone, and
sometimes I feel he’s toughest on me. The others know I mean something to
him, and he doesn’t want anyone to think I get preferential treatment.
I do, though.
I so do.
“Tell me the three types of gunshots,” he says, nestling his hands on my
hips. He’s been training me now for nearly two months, and only a small
portion of the training takes place with actual tactical work.
I try to stand up straighter, but his body’s pressed up against mine. Not that
I’m complaining. I reload my gun as I spout off details. “The three main
types of gunshot wounds include non-penetrating, perforating, and
penetrating. Non-penetrating wounds mean the bullet grazed skin without
embedding, perforating wounds involve an entrance and exit site, and
penetrating wounds have an entrance site with no exit.”
“Very good. Which type of gunshot do we aim for, Violet?”
I answer like I’m under his command, because it tickles my fancy.
“Whichever is the most expedient, sir.”
Sometimes we shoot to warn. Sometimes we shoot to injure. Sometimes we
shoot to kill.
I hold my position, vividly aware of his heartbeat against my back and his
warmth that surrounds me like a heated blanket. He’d kick anyone’s ass for
engaging in target practice while so close to another, but I know it’s partly
how he likes to test me.
I aim for the target and pull the trigger again.
Bam. Hit the kidney, an excellent debilitating and potentially fatal shot. The
perfect one to incapacitate and cause pain without immediate death, if we’re
feeling like we need to have a little chat.
“Good girl. Excellent.”
I don’t react. I don’t want anyone to see how I bask in the little rays of his
praise. It’s kind of pathetic.
“Aim for the left shoulder.”
I pull the trigger and stifle a grin when the paper target of a shoulder tears
open.
“Heart.”
Another on-point hit.
“Right shoulder.”
Boom.
I don’t wait for further instruction, but aim a few more shots, the last one
landing straight in the groin area.
“Fuck, my balls clenched at that.”
“Your balls clenched because it’s fucking cold out here. Did you see what I
made for you?”
I grin at him over my shoulder, and he quickly brushes his mouth against
mine. I didn’t expect that, but I don’t stop him. I love the feel of his hot,
sensual mouth on mine, the way my body melts against him and my
heartbeat quickens.
“No, baby,” he whispers with a smile. “What’d you make for me?”
“It’s a heart, see?”
He looks over my shoulder. “Ah, so it is. You shot a heart shape in a human
body. If that’s not the most romantic fucking thing I’ve ever seen…”
I grin. “I knew you’d like it.”
“Should I frame it?” he teases, as I clean up the little table at the range and
carefully put the ammo and guns away.
“Of course. Put it away so I can regift it to you on Valentine’s Day.”
“You’re so damn romantic.”
“I try.”
He takes the gun out of my hand, lays it down on the table, and reaches for
me.
“This is why you love target practice.”
I gasp when his fingers tangle in my hair, his grip firm but just exactly what
I need. My mouth parts to release a whimper he quickly swallows. His
tongue touches mine. My belly melts.
My hands find their way around his hard, muscled back, grasping for
purchase as he takes the kiss deeper. Harder. I meet his tongue with mine,
relishing the sound of his deep, male groan.
“Tell me again,” he grates in my ear, a firm command that makes my
nipples hard. “The three types of gunshot wounds, Violet. Nice and slow.”
“Non-penetrating,” I say on a groan, as his fingers find the hem of my shirt
and gently lift it. I feel the warmth of his touch on my belly, then one finger
grazes the curve of my breast. He flickers a thumb over my bra-clad nipple.
My body’s used to his touch. My hips jerk.
He nods. I think I know what he’s doing.
“Perforating.” Strong fingers slide past the elastic of my leggings, past the
silk top of my panties, and dive between my legs to do their magic. I open
my legs and moan, surprised at how wet I am already. I shouldn’t be. He
knows how to play my body, how to work it to climax in any way he knows
how.
“Good girl. And the last one?”
I close my eyes. “Penetrating.”
Thick fingers plunge into my core, jerk upward, and I cry out from the
sudden stabbing thrills that explode through me.
He’s done wicked, dirty things to me in here, and it seems he’s nowhere
near finished.
“I fucking love to see you come,” he growls in my ear, his hand cupped
possessively around my pussy, which is still spasming. I breathe hard, then
softer, slumping against him. I’m barely aware of where we are or what
we’re doing when he slides into one of the straight-backed chairs at the
back of the range which we keep for guests and tugs me onto his lap.
It’s been precisely seven weeks and four days since we rescued his sister
Skylar from a vindictive serial rapist. It feels much, much longer.
I’ve left my day job and moved into Cain’s house in Salem, a large,
rambling estate where many of his employees live. He treats them to the lap
of luxury, as he should. They run a top secret, clandestine organization that
charges top dollar. Their clients pay more for a job with Master Enterprises
than most people ever earn in their lifetime. Tonight’s security detail, for
example, runs a cool million dollars.
“Got a present for you, baby,” Cain whispers in my ear.
“Cain—”
“‘You shouldn’t buy me so many things’,” he finishes in a high-pitched
voice. “‘Stop spoiling me. I don’t need all these things’.”
I mutter under my breath. But when he nestles a heavy, large, solid black
box onto my lap, I close my mouth. My heart beats a little faster.
“What’s that?” I whisper.
“Open it and see.”
My hand shakes when I slide my finger along the edge of the box top and
gently lift it. I lean against his large, sturdy frame to help still the trembling,
but it doesn’t work. I’m shaking. I don’t handle expensive gifts well, and
something tells me this one’s not cheap.
I don’t deserve it, I think to myself, whatever it is.
He wouldn’t like it if he heard me saying that.
“It’s way too big of a box for jewelry and way too small for a car.”
His low, manly chuckle makes me smile.
“You don’t want a car, baby. Even I know that. You want a truck.”
Not just any truck, I want the gorgeous Toyota Tundra 4WD with the
Rockstar Rims that sits in his driveway. The gorgeous force of nature with
thirty-eight-inch mud terrain tires and black rawhide leather interior with
blood-red inlay. Swoon.
I lift the lid, and my jaw drops open. I can’t breathe for long seconds, my
eyes water with tears, and my nose tingles. There’s a lump lodged in my
throat. I don’t trust myself to speak.
“You deserve it, baby,” he whispers in my ear. No. No one deserves a
masterpiece like this, and most definitely not me.
“Is this the Wilson?” I whisper.
We were looking at high-end handguns the other day, and when my eyes
fell on the Wilson Combat Tactical Supergrade, I almost lost my mind. It’s
absolutely gorgeous, handcrafted from carbon steel, the premier in
defensive handguns.
Gunmetal gray with silver details, it’s solidly built yet somehow
lightweight. The handle’s decorated in a pattern that looks like sunbursts.
Every detail is finely crafted perfection.
“I had this custom made for you, baby.” Of course he did. Cain doesn’t do
cookie-cutter. “Takes eight rounds. Four-pound trigger pull, starburst grips,
five-inch carbon steel slide.” He goes on about the details, front sight
something something, blah blah blah. I’ve got guns that I absolutely love.
Some that have become like friends to me, comfortable in my palm and
ready to shoot. But this… this was custom-made for me.
“It’s lightweight, beautiful, and deadly,” he says.
“You do say the most romantic things.”
I feel his stubble across my cheek when he kisses me, and while a thrill
shimmers through my body, I’m focused on the stunning weapon I hold in
my hand.
“I can’t take this, Cain.” I shake my head. It cost five thousand dollars.
“You can. You’re worth it.”
I shake my head, but he gently pushes me off his lap. “Go show me, Violet.
Show me what you’ve got. We’ve got the security detail tonight, and if
you’re comfortable with it, you’ll take this with you.”
He’s got harnesses and holsters galore for me to choose from, so that
shouldn’t be a problem.
I stand, new energy coursing through me with my new toy in hand. I
tremble in anticipation as I slide the ammo into place. I’ve used his guns.
I’ve borrowed guns.
I’ve never owned one.
I take in a deep breath, get into position, and aim.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
My God, it shoots as if enhanced with magic. Each bullet hits its mark with
perfect precision.
This is it. I’m holding the weapon I’ll use when I kill my parents’ murderer.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY

Cain
“BOSS.”
I stare at the screen in front of me, half aware that I’m not alone but still too
busy reading the latest report to really focus. Someone clears his throat. I
look up to see Joe, my employee and friend, standing in the doorway with
two steaming mugs of coffee. “You got a minute?”
I nod, shut my laptop, and gesture for him to take a seat. “Yeah, of course.
Make it quick, though, Violet and I need to get ready for Monstraut
tonight.”
“Ah, Monstraut,” he says with an air of dignity as if he’s narrating a high-
end travel show on the Home and Garden Network. “Mandy Fontaina’s
family residence, located in Manchester-by-the-Sea, the private, single-
family home sits eighty feet above the impressive rocky shoreline so
nothing but the Atlantic separates you from Europe. With elegant Italian
travertine flooring, cathedral ceilings, and floor-to-ceiling windows, you’ll
enjoy a touch of privacy with a flair of elegance.”
I roll my eyes at him as my phone chimes, and when I see it’s from Violet, I
quickly tap it. A picture pops up with her standing in the middle of our
walk-in closet wearing nothing but a little robe. Her hair’s in a towel. Joe’s
words fade and I quickly glance at the clock to see if I have time to pay her
a quick visit.
Fuck. I don’t.
What do I wear tonight?!

I smile and tap out a response.

Something gorgeous that doesn’t let anyone see what’s mine
that’s also versatile enough for you to run in if you need to.
Ah….

I put my phone down to see Joe looking at me with a knowing twinkle in

his eyes. “Violet?”
I don’t bother to respond but just grunt at him. “What do you need? And
how did you know that was Violet?”
He leans back and laces his fingers behind his head, untroubled by my
irritated tone. “You don’t get a look like that on your face unless you’re
talking to her.”
Whatever. So they’ve never seen me in love before.
“You come here to give me shit about being a human fucking male with a
pair, or you got shit to say?”
At that, he sobers, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “We’ve
got trouble. Armand’s talking shit.”
I blow out a breath. “I fucking knew it.”
Armand has an ax to grind, and dealing with him won’t be easy. I let him go
for fucking up. He had clear instructions but decided to go about them by
orchestrating a car accident with Violet. He could’ve fucking killed her.
And I won’t allow anyone on my team to do something so stupid.
Should’ve let him go years ago. Only reason I kept him around so long was
because he saved my ass overseas, but I won’t let the asshole put Violet in
danger.
Problem is, Armand knows shit I’d like to keep between us, most notably
when it concerns Violet.
“Have you told her yet?”
I clench my jaw and look away, confirmation enough for him that I haven’t.
I know exactly what he wants me to tell her. That I knew her long before
she ever came here. That I looked into her background, had her fully
searched, damn near stalked her before she ever knew I existed.
That I had her play directly into my hands so I’d have her all to myself.
“I need time,” I tell him. “I want her to trust me fully, and I want to tell her
on my terms.”
He gives me a reluctant nod. We both know I don’t have time.
“If I tell her now, she’ll run. And I can’t have that, Joe.” I fucking hate that
anyone else but Joe knows how this happened, that Armand’s got this
evidence against me to blackmail me with, affecting the woman I’d give my
life for.
But I hate that there’s something like a lie between us. I never lied to her,
no. I couldn’t do that. But I haven’t told her the truth, which is as good as a
lie.
He swallows.
“I’ll take care of it.” I will. “Tell me the details about tonight.”
I rarely take on security detail cases but thought it would be a prime
opportunity to continue Violet’s training. She’s learned a lot since she first
came here and has quickly become the most accurate shooter in our
company. That said, what she doesn’t know about the jobs we do could fill
a small volume, and she still has a lot to learn. Plus, tonight will give us a
chance to be close to each other and pad our wallets.
He doesn’t respond at first, only straightens his shoulders before giving me
a nod.
“Mandy Fontaina’s family residence, located in Manchester-by-the-Sea.
Two hundred expected guests. Security detail’s expected to cover both
home and private beach. Our team’s already obtained full background
checks on the entirety of the guest list, and are on call to safeguard the
premises and assets.” He leans forward. “Rumor has it Mandy’s mom
recently obtained half a dozen rare pieces of art she intends to reveal at
tonight’s little gala, to the tune of a cool six mil.” He leans back and shakes
his head. “And either she’s paranoid or has a real concern about safety,
because she wants everything from the beach to the last goddamn bathroom
secured.”
Huh. Interesting. The teen idol turns twenty-one years old today, and her
parents are known for showing off.
“Francine Fontaina wants her home swept for bugs before we go, too.”
“Woman hiding something?”
Leaning back, he shrugs his shoulders. “It’s a distinct possibility, boss, but
I’m just relaying the information to you.”
“Got it. They’re paying high. You’ll each get a bonus for this.”
He grins. “Works for me.”
My phone buzzes again, this time with Violet standing in front of her full-
length mirror wearing nothing but a thong and a bra.
This work? I can move pretty freely dressed like this.
I’ll be right there.

An hour later, she’s dressed in a slinky navy gown, with a slit to high
heaven that allows her to run if need be but paired with knee-high boots to
hide her weapons.
I stand behind her in the full-length mirror and rest my hands on her hips,
ignoring the way my cock strains the closer I get to her. I pull her closer to
me, and when her ass presses up against me, she grins.
“My, my, Mr. Master. If I didn’t know you had the gun in your holster, and
not your pocket…”
I lean in and drag my lips across the shell of her ear. Inhale her. Close my
eyes and relish this brief moment in time when everything’s perfect.
“Behave yourself, woman. You move one more inch and I’ll have no choice
but to fuck you right here, right now, against this wall, and then we’ll be
late.” I shake my head with mock regret. “And I’ll have to punish you for
that.”
Her eyes roll back and her head falls to the side, giving me full access to the
creamy skin at her neck and her full cleavage. I smack her gorgeous ass,
and she gives a little yelp, then a moan. “That’s supposed to stop me?”
A knock sounds at the door. With a groan I pull away from her and adjust
myself. “Yeah?”
“It’s me, boss.” Claude, tall, with a shaved head he’s had since his time in
the service, comes in with a matte black box in his hand. He’s dressed like
me in a charcoal-gray suit custom-made to hide our harnesses and weapons.
“Oh, you brought us pressies,” Violet says, her brilliant amethyst eyes
lighting up. She loves weapons like other women love jewelry.
I take the box from Claude. “Give it here. No other man gives my woman
weapons.”
He grins at me. I open the box. Nestled on the left are sleek black earpieces
with mics, but on the right are new, custom-made thin Tantos. I take the
slim one made for Violet and give it to her. The silver blade of the throwing
knife sparkles like jewels in her slender hand.
I made her learn to shoot because a knife can only go so far, but Violet’s
real skill lies with a blade. “Show me, baby. Target, ten o’clock.”
She wields the knife with the skill of a master, the silver blade flashing in
the overhead lighting. She takes her position gracefully like a dancer, and
with a flick of her wrist sends the knife soaring into a target we have on the
wall for this purpose. It stabs like a dart, straight on the mark.
Claude whistles. “She could slice the hair off my balls and leave ‘em
intact,” he says.
“You keep your fucking balls away from her or there will be no intact,” I
mutter.
Violet grins. “Aw, babe, I love when you get all territorial on me. Gonna
piss on me before we hit Monstraut?”
I reach for her, drag her over to me, and stab my fingers in her hair. “Don’t
tempt me.”
“And, that’s my cue,” Claude mutters. “I’ll leave you two to suit up and see
you tonight, then.” The door clicks shut behind him.
“Aw, honey, you keep embarrassing the children.” Her eyes twinkle at me.
“Now, leave me alone so I can fix my hair. We’ll never get there in time.”
“Your hair’s perfect as is.”
Still slightly damp, it hangs about her shoulders in gentle waves.
“You like the beach wave look?”
“I like every look.”
“You’d like me with cellulite and stretch marks after babies?” she asks, her
head tilted. Though her tone’s teasing, there’s a hint of authenticity in her
tone I don’t miss.
Still, I heard the word babies and my mind’s still there, not quite sure what
to make of a concept like that. She laughs, a musical, addictive laugh I’d
pay good money to hear over and over again.
I lace my hands about her hips and drag her closer. “Of course. Even then
you’d be gorgeous.”
“Oh? And what if I got into a car accident and they had to amputate my legs
or something?”
“Even then, baby.”
“What if I⁠—”
I’ve had enough of this game. “Violet. I don’t like this game. I like you the
way you are right here, right now, and don’t want to imagine you hurt or
damaged.”
“Alright, alright,” she says. Getting up on her tiptoes, she kisses me. “Let’s
go. God, I’m starving, though.”
“Good. We’re getting dinner first.”
Her eyes light up. “Are we?”
“Yep. I finally got you out of yoga pants and a tank top and I’m not missing
my chance.”
She gives me a lopsided grin. “I’d get out of those anytime you ask, Mr.
Master.”
I slide my hand along the small of her back. “I’m aware, Miss Price. An
office perk I like to take full advantage of.”
My phone buzzes with a text. I glance at the screen.
Joe: They need us there early. Ready to leave in ten?

“Motherfucker.”
“Uh oh. Nothing like thwarted plans to bring out the big gun curse words.
What’s up?”
“No time for dinner. We need to go.”
Violet pouts for about three seconds before she shrugs, turns, and reaches
for the dorm-sized fridge I keep in my room. She opens it and snags two
protein shakes. I catch one mid-air when she tosses it to me.
“I’ll take a rain check.”
“Name the place, babe.”
An hour later, we’re stationed outside of Monstraut. Mrs. Fontaina’s given
us the full tour of the estate, and Violet intentionally kept her eyes off mine
as she did so. Later, she’ll give me the full rendition in Fontaina’s high-
pitched, nasally voice. “The glass staircase accesses the primary suite with
water views, marble bath with a soaking tub, and private, ocean-facing
deck.”
I didn’t know anyone hated pretense more than I do until I met Violet.
I recently tried to gift her a diamond tennis bracelet, and she told me that it
was lovely, but could I please get her a gun instead?
I did.
That’s my girl.
When we’re alone on the deck, Claude stationed at the front of the house
and Joe on the bottom floor overseeing a small group of my men, I nod my
chin toward the office. “You’ll be my lead in checking for bugs. Let’s go.”
“What makes her think her place is bugged?” she asks, her brow puckered
with curiosity.
“No fucking idea,” I mutter. “Could be she’s delusional. Who knows?”
We go through the standard routine, sweep the closets, the corners of the
room, under the desk.
“I remember I once thought I was being watched,” Violet says with a self-
deprecating snort. My heart stops for a full beat.
There was absolutely a time she was being watched. By me.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I swear I always felt eyes following me, but it was just in my head.”
“Oh? When was this?”
“Few months before I came to see you.” She’s crouched on the floor
beneath the desk, checking for bugs. She rises when she finds nothing, then
sweeps across the desk for another quick go.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her the truth. I can imagine it, her sidled
up close to me while I tell her everything. I have files and files of videos I
took of her, photos I shot, reams of background history. Everything locked
up tighter than a vault.
One day I’ll tell her, but today is not that day.
“And what if you found someone was watching you?”
She looks over her shoulder at me and laughs as if the very thought’s
preposterous. “Why would anyone want to follow me?” She shakes her
head. “Honest to God, that’s the silliest thing. I’m nobody.”
I cross the room to her. The look in her eyes tells me she’s wary of me, that
she knows she’s pushed it by calling herself a nobody.
“Okay, so I’m not a nobody,” she begins, in an effort to backtrack that I’m
not buying. We’ve been together now for a few months, but I’ve known her
longer than that.
“You are not nobody,” I tell her when she’s within my reach.
“Cain,” she murmurs, her eyes focused over my shoulder at the door. She’s
afraid we’ll get caught like this, but I couldn’t give a shit. She shakes her
head, flustered and frazzled, until I tug a little lock of her hair just at the
base of her scalp. Her eyes widen, and her lips part as her gaze meets mine.
“Not here,” she whispers, begging me not to dominate her where someone
could see us. She gave me her word when we closed our first case together
that she’s mine. That she’d devote herself to me, give me carte blanche in
exchange for my serving her vengeance on a platter.
“Violet,” I warn. She promised me. She gave me a vow that she’d give
herself to me, and giving herself to me means I take her wherever,
whenever, and however I want. I use that to my full advantage. Never said I
wasn’t an asshole.
“You are not nobody,” I whisper in her ear. “You are the most brilliant, the
most mesmerizing, the most intriguing woman I’ve ever met.” And I love
you, I mentally tack on, but I can’t say it aloud. If I do, she’ll run. I’ve
worked every day since the minute she stepped foot on my property to build
her trust, but we’re not there yet. She still occasionally flutters her wings
like a caged bird, ready to flee when the door opens.
“Well,” she murmurs, placing her hand on my shoulder in an attempt to
calm me. It works. “That still isn’t reason enough to follow me. So the very
idea’s preposterous, Mr. Master.” She cocks her head and gives me a teasing
smile. “Since the only person who finds me so enthralling… is you.”
My heart stops. For one raw moment I think she’s actually hit on the truth.
But no… she can’t know.
The handle to the door behind me turns, and we quickly go back to work.
I’m distracted, though, as we do our detail.
Does she suspect anything?
The night goes on without a hitch, other than one minor incident involving
an intoxicated ex, but Claude escorted him off the property so effortlessly,
the crowd at the beach never knew what happened.
I do my job with only one eye toward the party, though.
As always, my main focus is Violet.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re smothering?” she asks, sliding her hand
into my back pocket as the evening winds down. She rubs her chin against
my chest so briefly she’s like a cat scratching an itch, before she resumes
her professional demeanor.
“You’re the one grabbing my ass in public and painting me with your smell
as if to warn off any potential predators.”
She reaches for my collar, and I look into her mesmerizing eyes the color of
amethyst.
“I’ve got claws, and I’m not afraid to use them.”
“Mmm. Is that a promise?”
She grins, and her belly growls as Joe comes into the room. “House
secured. That’s a wrap.”
“Perfect. How late’s Sake and Sushi open?”
She grins. “Late enough.” It’s her favorite, and I’m kinda partial to the
spring rolls myself.
I want to keep her happy. I want to keep her safe.
I want to keep her right here by my side.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Violet
CAIN’S TROUBLED TONIGHT, but it’s not out of the ordinary for him. I
know this is just the way he is sometimes.
I blame it on his past.
Sometimes he wakes in the middle of the night, unable to sleep. He paces
the room we share and stares out at the ocean. He tries to be quiet so he
doesn’t wake me, but I know him too well, and I often wake when he does.
We haven’t known each other for long, but it feels like it’s been much,
much longer. Sometimes there’s a depth to our relationship… an
understanding, one might say… that makes me feel like I’ve known him for
years.
After dinner at Sake and Sushi, my belly is full and I’m tired from the
night’s events. Cain’s got a frenetic sort of energy driving him, though, and
he hasn’t even stripped for bed.
I don’t ask him what’s on his mind. If he wants to tell me, he will.
I’m lying belly-down on the bed, the pillow tucked under my cheek, when I
feel the bed sag beside me from his heft. He’s the largest man I’ve ever
known, pure muscle, yet he walks quietly and folds himself onto the bed
with surprising grace.
“You move so quietly, I hardly know you’re there,” I say with a smile, my
eyes still closed. I feel his hand come to rest on the base of my skull, his
fingers gently stroking my hair.
“Comes with my line of work. It pays to move silently so no one ever
knows you’re coming.”
That makes me wonder… is there more to his “line of work” than I know?
“Clothes that don’t rustle and rubber soles on your shoes?”
“Exactly.”
We sit in silence for a moment while he runs his fingers through my hair.
Finally, he breaks the silence.
“I’m heading down to the target range.”
“Aw, without me? No fair.” I’m only teasing him, though, and he knows it.
Other guys play video games or watch YouTube to relax. Cain hones his
skills at the target range. It’s no wonder he’s such a good shot.
“We’ll go back tomorrow. I’ve got a new toy for you to play with.” Given
how he uses the range, he could mean anything from a new handgun to a
new riding crop.
I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open, though. “I’ll look forward to
it.”
He leaves a gentle kiss on my forehead before he leaves, and after I hear the
door close behind him, I fall into a deep sleep.
Hours later, I hear the door open, and roll over. The room’s gotten cooler,
and I shiver before I draw the blanket up over my shoulder. Cain quietly
dismisses the guard he keeps at the door when he isn’t with me—both his
sister, who lives here with us, and I always have a guard with us—and
closes the door behind him.
“How’d it go?”
His voice is raspy and low when he responds. He hasn’t spoken for hours,
and he’s tired now, too. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”
I prop myself up on the pillows and open one eye. “I was, but you know
this is my favorite part of the day.”
Even in the dim light, I can see the smile that ghosts his lips.
“Snuggling in bed with me?” Cain doesn’t “snuggle.” He kisses, he
caresses, he holds me tight, but “snuggling” is too gentle a term for a man
made of steel and iron.
“Nah,” I say with a wink. “Watching you strip.”
I’m not lying.
He’s already stripped down to a T-shirt but still wears his dress pants from
earlier in the night. I watch in silence as he sits on the edge of the desk chair
and unties his shoes. Next, the socks, and his belt. I swallow when he folds
it before he lays it over the back of the chair. I have vivid memories of what
he’s done with that belt.
I watch as his clothes fall to the floor and pool by his feet, marveling at the
harnessed strength evident even in the darkened room. A glint of moonlight
illuminates the wide breadth of his shoulders, the corded muscles of his
arms, the defined planes of his chest and abs. My eyes travel down to his
thick, muscled legs, planted like two trees on the ground.
“We should go apple picking,” I say absentmindedly.
“Apple picking?” He quirks an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side.
“Yeah, apple picking. Like, you go to the orchard and pick apples. They
have things like hayrides and apple cider donuts and scarecrows.”
“Babe, it’s November. You have to do that in like… September.”
I sigh. “Oh. Right.”
He shakes his head and continues to undress. “What brought that up?”
“Just imagining climbing up on your back and using you like a ladder.”
“Violet.”
I swallow, my mouth dry. He says one word, and my body starts to heat.
I close my eyes against a rush of emotion and need. I love when he says my
name. It’s sweetness and seduction, like chocolate-dipped berries.
“Yes?”
“We don’t need to go apple picking for you to climb me.”
Aw, fuck. I was tired, and now I’m very wide awake. I swallow. “I know.”
I continue to watch him in silence. By the time he’s stripped off the tee and
stands only in his boxers, I’m on fire.
“Come here,” I whisper, gently stroking the side of the bed. He gives me a
curious look, as if not sure he knows how to take a command from me. He’s
usually the one giving them, so I decide to play nice. “Please, Cain.”
A little thrill ripples through me when I realize he’s actually doing
something I asked him to. He sits quietly on the edge of the bed just like he
did before he left, but this time, I slide out of bed. I position myself between
his knees and gently pry them apart. He’s already hard, already eager, and
when I stroke his erection through the thin fabric of the boxers, my mouth
waters.
“Hands behind your back,” he says in a low command, as he gathers my
arms and places them at the small of my back like I’m stretching for a yoga
class. “Keep them there, baby.”
Baby. I melt.
I don’t have a submissive bone in my body. Never have, never will. I write
my own rules and fight my own battles. But when Cain Master gives me a
command, my knees buckle and my legs turn to jelly.
He’s the only man I’ll ever submit to, and he knows it.
I eye his hard cock tented in his boxers, lean forward, and kiss the very top.
“Please,” I say on a hoarse whisper.
“God, woman. You don’t have to ask me twice.”
I sigh when the satiny-feel of his cock touches my lips. I lick the very top
and suckle, making him groan. He pumps into my mouth like he’s fucking
me, and I take every inch of him, every perfect fucking inch. I tease and
taunt and suckle and moan, eager to please, to own this small part of him
that he grants me.
“Jesus, baby. Stop.”
I shake my head from side to side. I don’t want to stop. I want him to come.
I want to swallow him down and own him like he does me.
He leans down and tweaks my nipple, hard, as he breathes into my ear, “I
said stop, Violet. Stop now or I’ll come in your mouth, and I want your
pussy wrapped around my cock when I come.”
I moan in protest.
“Violet,” he says warningly, already eying the folded belt by his desk. With
a sigh, I lay my head on his lap.
“Get up on this bed.” He may be a jealous lover, but he’s never a selfish
one. I’m enjoying my place here, with my head in his lap, though, so I don’t
move right away. “Now,” he orders, yanking me up and over his lap where
he gives me a good hard slap.
In seconds, I’m facedown on the bed on my knees, and he’s behind me,
hands on my hips and my pussy spread for him. I hold my breath until he
slides into me, and I release a pent-up sigh at the fullness of him. Frissons
of ecstasy explode through me when he thrusts, and a feeling of utter
completion washes over me. We climax in unison, like we were made for
each other.
I’m lying next to him in blissful contentment. Skin to skin, all our clothing
tumbled to the floor like leaves shed for winter. I’m up on his chest and his
hands are folded, resting on my lower back.
“You make a terrible pillow,” I murmur, cheek smooshed against the
hardness of his body. He chuckles, but quiets when I reach for the cool
metal of his dog tags. I wonder if tonight he’ll tell me. I don’t ask, just
gently finger them.
“Thanks for that.”
I snort. “Yeah, it was a real sacrifice.”
He smiles, sobering. “Thanks for being patient with me.”
I only nod, afraid if I speak too soon, I’ll scare him off again. I can feel
we’re on the cusp of more truth between us. He may be fearless and strong,
but when it comes to personal revelations, he scares as easily as a spooked
deer sometimes.
When he speaks, his voice has gentled, his tone contemplative. “I wonder if
you’d have stayed with me if you’d met me when I was younger.”
“You wouldn’t have,” I say with a laugh. “I was headstrong and willful with
a chip on my shoulder the size of a boulder.”
“Oh, because you’re oh-so-docile and obedient now?”
I smile. “You know what I mean. I wonder what you were like as a younger
man. Smaller?”
“A bit. I’ve always been a big guy but didn’t body build until I was older.”
“More cocky?”
He chuckles. “Definitely.”
I absentmindedly run my fingers along the little curly hairs on his chest.
“Your eyes would be more boyish, I imagine, and not⁠—”
I pause. I’ve said too much. But he doesn’t let me get away with half
sentences.
“Not what?”
I swallow and cringe before I go for broke. “Maybe not so… guarded.”
It’s a poor choice of a word. Guarded isn’t really what I meant. The first
time I looked into his eyes, I knew he was a man who’d experienced deep,
abiding pain, the type that rocks you to your core and leaves scars that
never heal. He’s only hinted at things that have hurt him, but hasn’t told me
much of anything. Yet.
“Maybe not,” he admits. “Would you like to know where I got these dog
tags?”
My heart soars.
“Of course,” I say with forced patience, because the little girl in me’s
jumping for joy and fist pumping all at the same time. I love when he lets
me in, when he trusts me a little bit more. I draw in a breath, then release it
slowly. “I want to know everything about you, Cain.”
He pauses a beat before he says, “And I’ll tell you everything. In time.”
I close my eyes against the sudden rush of emotion. Other women might
swoon at a profession of love, and when the day comes for that between us,
it will mean more than anything to me. But this… this right here, his
granting of trust that so few have, is the next best thing.
“When I was stationed in France, I was trained by a guy named Court
Fallow.”
“That’s quite a unique name.”
“He was a unique guy. Born and bred in the Deep South, his family lived on
a rambling farm that harvests corn.”
I nod, giving him space to tell the story.
“Not sure you’ve had much to do with Henri. He keeps to himself.” Henri’s
a quiet, unassuming employee of Cain’s. He was the man that opened the
door for me the day I first came here. I knew I detected a Southern accent.
“I’ve seen him, but we’ve never really even talked beyond work at all.”
“He keeps to himself. Henri was Court’s youngest brother.”
“Oh wow.”
“Court was the father I never had, Violet.”
I didn’t see that coming.
I gently stroke his shoulder. Keeping him with me. “Oh? How so?”
His voice takes on a huskier edge, reminiscing. “He took me under his
wing. Showed me how to shoot, showed me how to protect the people
under my care. He was the oldest of seven, raised to be a man of honor, and
he taught me everything he knew.”
“Well, that explains a lot.”
He huffs out a laugh as he runs his fingers through my hair in a rhythmic
motion, up and down, up and down, as if it soothes him. Maybe it does.
“Court was killed by friendly fire.” My heart aches. Accidental death like
that is so tragic, I can’t imagine how it feels for the people who knew him
or the people responsible for his death. “I was the one who found him. He
bled out while I held him, waiting for emergency crews to respond.”
“Oh, Cain.” I’ve been through brutally painful times, but something like
this makes me hurt for him.
“And before the rescue crews could find us, I was taken hostage. I took his
dog tags just before they took his body and me, alive.”
I put two and two together.
“And that’s how you got the scars on your back.” I knew it was some kind
of torture or punishment he’d endured.
“Yeah.”
“Let me see them.”
He stills for a moment, before he lets me slide off of him. The bed’s huge, a
king-sized monstrosity as big as the old apartment I rented, so he rolls over
with ease. He places his arms above his head, spreading his muscled,
scarred back for me. My eyes have adjusted to the dim lighting in the room,
moonlight lighting up the silvery-white scars that crisscross his back.
“Brutal,” I whisper, my own body clenching at the scars that mimic mine. I
bend, close my eyes, and kiss each scar that lines his back.
He lets me. My throat tightens.
“Don’t tell me where your scars came from. Not tonight, Violet.”
I still. Why doesn’t he want to know? A part of me’s relieved, because I’m
not in the mood to relive any of those events.
“I won’t. I don’t want to talk about it myself yet. But can I ask you why?”
He rolls back over, reaches for me, then drags me to his chest again. His
eyes are fire, giving me a glimpse of the inferno that rages inside him.
Sometimes, he tames the fire. Sometimes, he hides it. But it’s never fully
quenched.
“Because when I find out who gave you those scars, I will hunt them down.
I will make them pay. I want to be fully prepared, and tonight’s not the
night for that.”
I’d smile, but he isn’t joking.
I’m falling in love with the man they call The Executioner. I didn’t come
here by accident.
“Alright, then,” I whisper.
I lay back down beside him and roll over. We both know it’s time for sleep,
and the time to divulge secrets to one another is over.
For now.
He lays his heavy arm over my body, and I sigh. Nothing gives me comfort
like the weight of his arm.
I want to ask him how we’re coming along on the next job we have to do—
finding my parents’ murderer. I want to remind him that he promised me
that he wouldn’t leave me hanging. But I’m tired, and so is he. Tomorrow,
then.
I yawn widely, my eyes closing.
“Thank you for that,” I whisper, as slumber beckons.
“For what?”
“For trusting me with the truth.”
I need to ask him about my parents. Have we made headway with anything
at all? I’m feeling frustrated and impatient, so ready to move on this. But
not tonight.
I fall into a deep sleep.
I dream of hunting, and weapons, and throwing the new knives he bought
me, but every time I throw them, I miss the target.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Cain
“CAIN!”
I look up from my laptop, my eyes blurry from staring too long, and blink.
Someone just called my name.
“Cain, come here!” It’s Skylar.
I jump up from my seat and stalk to my office door, my pulse accelerating.
Why the hell is she yelling for me? I yank it open, ready to grab the weapon
I keep on me at all times. I check the heft of it in my holster, just in case.
It’s been too calm around here for too damn long, and my head’s been so
buried in research I’m still mentally in the dark and dirty trenches of my
research.
“Cain!”
My boots hit hard on the top landing as I jog toward the top of the stairs.
“What?” My heart’s beating hard, and I don’t hear Violet. Where’s Violet?
I come around the corner at the top of the stairs, staring down the banister at
the living room below. Skylar stands with her hands on her hips and Violet’s
in her shadow, shaking her head.
“Told her you were busy,” Violet mutters, rolling her eyes. She’s got a
string of pinecones in her hand. “But she insisted.” Violet looks up at me
and her eyes go a little wider. “See? I told you not to yell his name. You
scared the hell out of him. Lucky he didn’t blow your damn head off.”
“I’m not the one who shoots without reason,” I remind her.
She rolls her eyes heavenward. “You shoot a weapon you didn’t know was
loaded one time and you never live it down.”
“Never.”
Joe snorts from the doorway, walking in with a steaming mug of coffee in
one hand and a napkin in the other. “Boss, we got a call from a Miss
Robbins? She says she has some urgent news.”
Violet looks at me. “First time I ever heard of that one.” There’s a chill in
her gaze I haven’t seen often, and I look at her curiously.
“Yeah, because the case is as cut and dried as they come.” I groan. “And
seriously, this Robbins woman’s intense.”
Violet narrows her gaze so slightly it’s barely noticeable, but I notice it.
“I’m intense, too.”
Really? She’s playing this game with me now? I look at Joe when he opens
up the napkin he holds and pulls out a cookie.
“For Christ’s sake, don’t walk in there getting crumbs all over the place,” I
tell him.
“I won’t.” He pops the whole thing in his mouth and grins.
“The garland,” Skylar says, interrupting whatever’s going on between me
and Violet. “Violet says it’s too much, but I love it, so you’re the
tiebreaker.”
Violet grimaces.
They’re arguing over… room decor? I knew I should’ve taken on the last
two cases that came to me, but I wanted to free us up to focus on Violet’s
parents’ case. I’m on the cusp of a breakthrough.
“Oh no you don’t,” I say to them. “No goddamn way I’m getting in the
middle of you two about that.”
Skylar rolls her eyes.
When they first met, Skylar wore nothing but black and often hid her gaze
beneath thick, long bangs. She’d found her people among the Wiccans of
Salem, and Violet knows and respects that. But much of the way she
dressed reflected her dark inner world. Things are a bit different now.
Skylar’s… changed since she’s moved in here.
She still meets with her Wiccan friends, and it’s still a large part of who she
is. But she doesn’t hide the way she used to. Violet’s brought her out of her
shell, you could say.
Violet has that effect on people. She doesn’t have what I’d call a cheery
personality—no, she’s really nothing like that. She’s honest, though,
sometimes brutally. She hides nothing, so she values bold truth and
unencumbered sincerity.
I love that about her. It’s partly why I hate that I’ve hidden anything from
her at all.
But Violet has secrets, too.
“I don’t want to decorate,” Violet says, cringing. She throws up her
garland-covered hands and gives it to Skylar. “Go ahead. Put ‘em up. Get
some… scarecrows for the front yard, or Christmas lights, or whatever the
fuck. Peace out.” She hands Skylar the pinecones and leaves the room. I
hear the kitchen door shut behind her, then the whines and barks of greeting
from Romulus and Remus, our pit bulls. They love Violet.
Joe stares at me, his cheeks still stuffed with cookie. Skylar gives me an
apologetic look.
“I’m sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t… really know what set her
off. Like, is she hormonal or something?”
Joe holds up his hands and leaves as quickly as he came, likely wanting
nothing at all to do with a discussion about Violet’s hormones.
I blow out a breath and shake my head. I suspect I know what’s bothering
her.
“It’s not you,” I tell Skylar. “Let me handle her.”
Skylar turns back to the mantle and arranges the pinecones with a flair of
victory. She got her way. “Oh believe you me, I am happy to stand back and
let you handle her, as long as you handling her is done behind closed
doors.”
This, from the girl who once had a chair particularly suited for tantric sex
maneuvers in her bedroom.
“Are those scented?” The smell of cinnamon and cloves lingers in the air.
“Mhm,” she says triumphantly. “I wanted to get pumpkin spice, but Violet
had an opinion on that.” She sniffs the air in mock dismay.
It’s sunny but chilly when I go out the back door to find Violet. I know I
need to. I know I’m the only one that knows what’s bothering her, and I
don’t want anything to fester between us.
I glance to the left where we often train. I’ve given Violet free rein to teach
martial arts classes, and she’s enjoying it. But the training field, the outside
ring, and the semi-enclosed area near the pool are all vacant. Romulus and
Remus are still by the back door, standing guard. I pat their heads.
“Where’d she go, boys? Target range?” They only lick my hands but don’t
betray Violet’s whereabouts. Figures.
I look to the target range, but it looks undisturbed. I open the door just to be
safe, but it’s cold and dark when I enter. Vacant.
“Violet!” I call her name, hoping she’ll answer, but the wind picks up and
swallows my voice. Clouds part, brilliant light bathing the ground in front
of me. Down by the private beach that flanks my home, I look for
footprints, but find nothing.
I know where she is.
I walk down a hidden walkway built from rocks, so discreet and functional,
it’s as if the side of the mountain where my home’s built was designed
primarily for this function. I walk down to the beach, hang a left, and head
for the large, private open field where I’ve set up her training station.
My men use it, too, but we all know it’s Violet’s.
It took a solid week of construction, and the equipment needed would buy
me a new truck, but it was worth every penny. The waterproof, outdoor-
proof training station is suitable for stretching and boxing. Featuring cables,
a dual stack functional trainer for combat and rebounding, two pull-up
stations, and monkey bars, it’s state-of-the-art.
Violet calls it “going out to play,” but the intensity of the equipment and
how she uses it is anything but. To the left of what looks like a souped-up
playground, we set up a secure shed to house heavy sandbags, strength
bands, medicine balls and kettlebells. We have a fully equipped indoor
exercise room, but Violet prefers working outside. She thrives in the
outdoors with nothing but the sky above her.
I can see her tiny, petite frame, dangling from a pull-up bar, suspended in
the air like she’s weightless. I stand against the rocky wall that leads to her
workout area. Watching.
I cross my arms on my chest and lean back so she doesn’t see me. I love to
watch the way she curls her body upward, then down again, her slim figure
taut as she stretches and elongates her muscles. She pulls up then lowers
down once, twice, three times, then swings from the bar, preparing to vault
herself toward the parkour station I’ve set up behind it.
I watch as she gracefully leaps over and under the bars, vaulting herself
forward before she swings herself with ease to a platform at the very top.
I’ve set up a ropes training course here as well which she navigates with
ease, keeping her instincts primed, her body strengthened, and her reflexes
sharp.
She lands barefoot on the springy landing platform at the foot of the highest
bar, crouches, and looks my way. Her right side drops lower, her knuckles
grazing the ground, a primal look if ever I saw one.
She scowls. “Stop lurking in the shadows and tell me why you followed me.
Hiding’s so unlike you,” she says with disdain.
“I’m not hiding.” I step into the light, arms still crossed. “And you’re
getting mouthy as fuck.”
“Getting?” she says with a sneer. “You knew when you kissed this mouth
what you were getting into.”
It doesn’t really bother me that she’s impossible to break, impossible to
understand, and headstrong as they come. I fucking love that about her.
She turns away from me as if to dismiss me, and heads to the singlesticks,
otherwise known as cudgels. She lifts one and weighs it in her hands. A
slender, round stick nearly three feet long, it’s thinner at one end and thicker
at the other, a suitable weapon for someone of her slim stature.
“You’re better than this, Violet,” I say, heading toward her. I grab a cudgel
myself and kick my shoes off.
I face her, stick in hand. I want to bend her over and smack her ass with the
damn thing.
“Better than what?” she says, eyes narrowed. Behind us, the waves crash on
the shore. Violet shivers with a sudden gust of wind, then shrugs it off with
impatience, like she doesn’t have time for that bullshit.
“Running,” I tell her, just before I swish my stick through the air. She easily
deflects the blow, then throws her weight into sending another one my way.
“I’m not running.”
“The hell you aren’t.” Thwack. My stick hits hers with a thud. “You lost
your shit in there, then stormed off like a pouty teen.”
“You go to the target range, I come here. So shoot me.” She rolls her eyes,
swivels, and strikes again. I deflect the cudgel.
“I just want to know why you ran.” I swing back at her.
She scowls at me, swings the bar, and nearly knocks me on my ass. “I. Did.
Not!”
I deflect the blow, then toss her one of my own. She curses under her
breath, stumbling with the effort of deflecting. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” she
growls when she falls to one knee. She’s down long enough for me to set
her off balance with another whack of my stick on hers. She ducks, and
seconds later I’ve got her pinned beneath me, the cudgels forgotten. Her
wrists are in my grip, and her furious gaze is pinned on me.
“My, my, my,” I tease her. “You’re in an interesting situation, now, aren’t
you? In fact… I do believe this is almost familiar. Do you feel déjà vu or is
it just me?”
“Get fucking off me,” she says uselessly, still pinned in my grip. I’m so
much heavier than she is, it’s almost unfair how easily I pin her.
“You promised, Violet.”
She wilts a little, the smallest flicker of fire dying down in her eyes. “I
made several promises to you, Mr. Master,” she says through gritted teeth.
“But you made promises as well.”
Ahh. So now we’re getting somewhere.
“So this is about promises.”
She holds my gaze, her jaw clenched. “Yes.”
“Tell me, Violet. Tell me the promises we’ve made each other.”
My heart feels like it’s been stabbed when her eyes water. Violet only cries
when she’s angry, and now she’s fucking furious. I hate that it’s come to
this. A part of me wants to hold her to me, kiss the tears away, and promise
I’ll make it better. And another part of me wants to toss her over my lap and
spank her until she cries real tears, for being so goddamned infuriating and
stubborn.
“I… I promised I’d never try to fight you again,” she says, somewhat
abashed. One could easily argue she was trying right now.
“Right. We work together. As a team,” I say pointedly. “What promise did I
make you when we found Skylar together?”
Her eyes flit away from mine, but I grab her chin and force her gaze back to
me.
She blinks, a steely note coming back to her voice. “You promised me
you’d find my parents’ murderer.”
I knew it was only a matter of time before we had this discussion.
“I did.”
She pushes my wrists, but she can’t move me. I double down and hold her
more firmly. “And what, Cain? Here we are, and it’s almost Christmastime,
and what have we done along those lines?”
Ah. It makes sense to me now.
“Did we talk about a timeframe, Violet?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Stop being an asshole and get the fuck off of
me.”
“Answer me.”
I hold her harder until she growls and reluctantly admits, “No.”
“And you forgot something else, sweetheart. Didn’t you?”
She tries to look away again, but my fingers on her chin yank her eyes back
to mine. “Didn’t you?”
She inhales, then pushes her breath out and juts her chin. “I did.”
“Tell me, Violet.”
She clenches her jaw and doesn’t speak.
I lean in closer, my grip tighter. “You fucking tell me or I’ll make you, and
you know exactly how.”
She shivers. She won’t admit it, but even angry she’s aroused when I
threaten to dominate her.
“Fine. Fine. I… I promised you that…” she blinks, and her voice is a little
choked. “I promised you that I was yours.”
I lean down closer and kiss her cheek. Her eyes flutter closed, and a cool
breeze stirs over us.
“We made a deal, Miss Price. And I won’t let you forget it.”
She opens her eyes. The look she gives me stabs my heart. “You won’t let
me forget my promise to you, but what about your promise to me? Cain, I
can’t stand it anymore.”
“Can’t stand what?”
Her eyes plead with me. “Let me up, and I’ll explain. You’re heavy.”
I let her go and sit on the ground beside her. She pouts, rubbing her wrists.
“I’ve had it. Every fucking job we do that has nothing to do with why I
came here. Fucking check the identity of a new hire. Done. Follow the
cheating ex of your millionaire playboy’s bestie. Done. Vet the legitimacy
of a potential business partner for some god-awful billionaire and his
harem. Done. Find the arsonist responsible for a crime. Done. I half
expected Fontaina to ask you to babysit her daughter on her next goddamn
tour, and the worst of it? I would’ve expected you to accept!”
When I cringe at that, she nods. “Exactly.”
“My bad, then.”
She drags her knees to her chest and buries her head on them. “I remind you
why I’m here, and all you’ve got is ‘my bad?’ No apology?”
“I don’t owe you an apology.”
She leaps to her feet, and I half expect her to smack me upside the head
with the cudgel, but I’m quicker than she is. In one quick movement, I’ve
swept her off her feet and I’m carrying her back up to the house.
“Put me down! Put me fucking down!”
“No. I have to show you something.”
“You can’t show me while I’m on my own two damn feet?”
I don’t say anything for long minutes while I carry her back to the house.
“Violet.”
Sometimes the sound of my voice when I call her name is enough for her to
settle down. She sighs, a little of the fight draining out of her. “What?”
“I asked you if you trusted me.”
She nods, again trying to look away. Her face turns away from mine. “Yes.”
“And do you remember what you said to me?”
We’d sat in bed, her curled up on my lap after target practice, a week after
we found Skylar. “Do you trust me?” I’d asked her.
She blows out a breath. “I said there’s no one in the world I trust more. But
that was before.”
“Before what?” We’ve almost reached the top of the hill. The bright beam
of yellow light from the kitchen casts a welcoming glow on the path before
me.
“Before I… knew you would take so long.”
I almost laugh at that. I would, if she wasn’t so damn serious.
“Do you trust me now?”
She thinks before she speaks, but it doesn’t disappoint me. I like that she
only speaks the truth. It gives strength and merit to her words.
“I do.”
I wasn’t ready to show her anything. I wanted more information before I let
her in, because I don’t want to give her false hope. But it’s time.
We reach the back door. I settle her to the ground and take her by the hand.
“Then follow me.”

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Violet
DAMN right he should’ve talked to me.
He’s got to go and play the damn trust card on me.
No fair.
Of course I trust him. There’s no one in the world I trust more than him, but
I’m not a patient girl. I’ve never even pretended to be any different than I
am.
I don’t trust people easily, but when you’ve been through what Cain and I
have together… things are different.
I knew it the first time I looked into his eyes after he’d killed a man. There
was a stark honesty and fearlessness I’d never seen in another human.
Ever.
And yes… I trust him.
But down in the living room, with the cinnamon-scented pinecones
decorating the mantle, and pumpkin spice everything being cooked up in
the kitchen… it reminds me that Christmas is coming.
My parents were killed at Christmas.
I feel as if the days are passing like sand through an hourglass, and I’m not
sure where we’ll be when the last grain of sand falls.
After we secured Skylar, I made a promise to Cain, and I always keep my
promises.
I remember the conversation well. He was sitting in his office when he
beckoned to me. He explained how he would help me find my parents and
what he’d ask from me in return.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?”

“I want you.”
“Me?”
“You. All of you. Carte blanche to do whatever I want to you, whenever I
want to. Anytime, anywhere.”
“I have the distinct feeling I’d… both hate and love every minute of what
you’d do to me… yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, Cain. I accept your terms. I’m yours.”

AND I’VE GIVEN HIM… me. All of me. Over, and over, and over again,
and no, it hasn’t been painful. Ours is a unique relationship, unlike anything
I’ve ever experienced before, and it honestly goes far beyond mere sex.
There’s an intensity to Cain I crave. A fearlessness. One might label him an
“alpha male,” but that only scrapes the very surface of who he really is.
What he really does.
Cain Master is a man in a camp of his own.
And I prided myself on understanding that. On understanding him.
At what cost?
Has he used me? Has he kept me here with him for companionship, never
fully intending on helping me find my parents’ killer?
Or… has he found that there’s nothing but dead ends?
I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know what to hope for.
I don’t even know if I’m ready to face my parents’ murderer, but I know it
was what brought me here, right to his doorstep, ready to barter.
I didn’t have the money he charged for a job like this. All I had to offer him
was me.
My skills. My talents.
My body.
I never planned on whoring myself out, but now that I’m here…
No. No, I won’t let my mind go there.
Cain’s huge, rambling mansion of a house overlooks the Salem waterfront
north of Boston. This time of year, the leaves have mostly fallen, leaving
stark branches that warn of cold winter days and impending snow and ice,
but a few brilliant orange maple leaves still cling with tenacity to low-
hanging limbs. Cain brushes past them, and a few more flutter to the
ground.
He yanks open the back door, and the smell of roasting chicken, potatoes,
and Alma’s homemade bread wafts through the door toward us.
I hate the thought of leaving here. I hate the thought of starting afresh when
I had the promise of everything I wanted right here. I hate the thought of
leaving Cain.
But I’m too independent to wait on a man. Even the huge, hulking, alpha of
a man plowing his way to his office right now.
“Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes, Mr. Master,” Alma calls from the
stove, where she’s stirring a large skillet of greens.
“Might not be down tonight, Alma.”
Interesting. How much does he have to show me?
She looks over her shoulder at me, and I shrug at her. “Would you like me
to keep the food warm for you?”
He shakes his head. “No, thank you. I’m not sure when we’ll be down.”
“I’ll send it up then.”
“Perfect.”
Well that’s promising. Maybe he’s got more to tell me than I expected he
did.
We walk through the house, him a few paces ahead of me. My senses are
assaulted by everything Skylar’s done to decorate. Scented pinecones on the
mantle, rustic wooden orange pumpkins on the bookshelves, and a
smattering of scented candles in yellows and browns on a little side table.
I should be happy she’s enjoying herself. The weeks following her
abduction and assault were dark for Skylar. At first, she wouldn’t get out of
bed or talk to anyone for days on end. I pushed through. I made her talk to
me. I would bring her breakfast in her room and chatter away, even though
she sometimes didn’t respond at all. It was days until she began to talk to
me, and once she did, it seemed she had quite a bit to say.
Cain likes that we’ve befriended each other. He’s told me we’re the two
women who mean more to him than anything in the world, and he likes that
we’re here, under his roof. Can’t be that way forever, though, and we both
know it.
Eventually, Skylar will have to be independent again. She’ll find a love
interest, or a job that requires her to travel, or… something.
And me? I don’t belong here and never have.
I’m here to fulfill a mission. I’m here to fulfill my end of the bargain. And
when that’s over… my heart hurts at the thought.
Henri’s in the living room, on his laptop, when we enter. Older than I am
but a bit younger than Cain, Henri is pale, with a receding hairline, but wiry
and strong. He lost eyesight in one eye during a fight overseas, and now
swears off any formal office arrangement.
He nods in greeting to us, but never takes his eyes off the screen. He says
he’s allergic to a desk. I think it has something to do with his poor eyesight
and the bright lighting in here by the large picture windows.
Henri opens his mouth but, seeing that Cain’s on a mission, he slams it shut.
Joe’s gathering a few men in the hall for a training of some sort. They’re
wearing camouflaged gear and boots, and standing at attention like soldiers
in boot camp. When Cain passes, they all watch him with wide-eyed
wonder and admiration.
He inspires that type of response no matter where we go. It’s got something
to do with the way he carries himself, I think.
“Cain,” Skylar yells from her room on the third floor. “When can we get a
Christmas tree?”
“Christ,” he mutters and rolls his eyes. I’m guessing that won’t be an after-
Thanksgiving special for him then.
His phone beeps with a text, then again with a call. He glances at the screen
with a scowl, then powers it off.
Oh. Oh, wow. I’ve never seen him shut his phone completely off.
He really is giving me his undivided attention.
I wonder if I’ve read him wrong all this time…
When we reach his office door, he drops all semblance of being Mr. Nice. I
watch, with more than a little trepidation, as he yanks open his door, then
gestures for me to go in. “Please,” he says with a frown. “You first.”
I walk ahead of him tentatively, as if waiting for him to pounce on me at
any minute or at the very least smack my ass.
I have no idea why. I can’t really put my finger on it. I don’t know if it’s the
predatory look in his eyes, or his take-no-prisoners tone of voice. I don’t
know if it’s because he’s basically told everyone who works for him to
leave us alone, or because I threw down the gauntlet by the training field.
But he has plans for me, and I have no idea what those plans are.
The door shuts behind us, and I let out an audible gasp.
“Why so scared, Violet?” Cain asks, in a tone that tells me he’s fucking
pleased with himself.
“You just have that look in your eyes.”
“What look?”
He stalks to his desktop like he’s about to wrestle it to the floor, and when I
don’t respond at first, his narrowed gaze cuts to me. I open my mouth, and
I’m about to respond, when there’s a sharp knock at the door.
“Who is it?” Cain practically fumes.
“Joe.”
“Come in.” He points to a chair for me to sit in, and I glare right back at
him. No, you do not, Mr. Master. He shakes his head at me, his frown
promising that we’re going to have a serious talk when Joe’s gone.
The tension in the air must be palpable because Joe freezes mid-step and
looks from me to Cain. “Bad timing?”
“No. What is it?” Cain asks. He fires up the laptop.
“Got another call from Robbins.”
“Fucking hell,” Cain mutters to himself. “What now?”
“Wants an update?”
“I’ll give her a fucking update,” I volunteer, but Cain slices a hand in my
direction as if telling me to knock it off. The goddamn nerve of him…
“She says it’s been three days, and she wants to know when you’ll have the
information.”
“You can tell her, per our contract, that I need a week or more before I
respond, but that I always try to respond within a week. It’s been three
days.”
He grimaces, then nods. “She’s impatient.”
Cain’s eyes narrow. “So am I.”
He’s got that right.
The door finally shuts with a bang when Joe leaves. Cain stands, storms
over to the door, then throws the deadbolt.
My heart beats faster.
I let my eyes rove over him for a few seconds, and I don’t breathe while I
do. He’s wearing one of those long-sleeved faded tees in a dark gray that
brings out the blue-gray storms in his eyes he gets from time to time. It’s
tight across his chest and arms, like most clothes designed for normal
humans typically are. He’s wearing faded jeans, frayed at the bottom. One
might think they’re stylish, but if I know Cain, it’s because it’s one of only a
handful of pairs he owns, and he’s owned them for decades.
His heavy, thick boots are planted on the floor, and his hands are on his
hips. I sit in his huge, leather desk chair, absolutely dwarfed by it, and
nonchalantly plop my feet up on his desk.
I like poking the bear.
He growls low.
“What?”
“Strip.”
I stare at him in surprise, not expecting that command. “Strip?”
“You heard me.” He doesn’t move.
Oh, great. He’s pissed, and now he’s either going to fuck me to remind me
who’s boss or use my body in some way to punish me.
“Okay, so let’s get this straight. You made me a promise. I made you one. I
kept my end up, and now you’re… getting mad at me or something?”
“Do I look mad?”
I nod. “You look fucking pissed.”
He frowns slightly, then nods. “I am.”
I throw up my hands in exasperation. “You’re maddening, you know that?”
“Takes two, babe.”
“What? You think I’m maddening?”
“I do.” No reaction. He glances at the clock on his desk. “You have two
minutes, starting right now.”
“Or what?” I throw back at him, even as my hands fly to unfasten my shoes.
“Or I’ll strip you myself, and I’ll strip more than your fucking clothes.”
Oh God.
My hands tremble as I remove my shoes, then stand up and quickly disrobe.
The rest of my clothing falls to the floor in a crumpled heap until all I’m
doing is standing in front of him wearing nothing but my birthday suit.
“You’re beautiful.”
I look away. I can’t handle praise like that. It makes me uncomfortable.
“Thank you,” I murmur. I shiver, though I’m warm in here. He pulls out his
phone and talks into the speaker. “Tell everyone I don’t want to be disturbed
until further notice.”
He slides his phone into his pocket.
“Come here, baby,” Cain says. He walks to me, sits at his desk, then pulls
me onto his lap. Once again, I’m struck by the contrast of him fully clothed
and clothed well, and me stark naked, straddling him.
He lives for an imbalance in power.
Thrives on it.
I’m not so sure how I feel about this.
“Are we… talking about avenging my parents while I’m… naked?”
“We’ll be talking about a lot of things with you naked on my lap like this.”
A glimmer of excitement rushes through me before I can stop it, and it
aggravates the hell out of me because this puts him at a decided advantage.
After only days with Cain mastering my body, I began to be conditioned to
crave more.
And I like it. I like all of it. I love the way he is with me. But I wonder if
this isn’t to his full advantage to “discuss” things when I’m not wearing any
clothes.
“It sounds to me like you’ll be getting the long end of the stick on that
one?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. You might be getting the long end of the stick,
too.”
Oh God. Men.
There’s a smile in his voice though.
He wants me naked and at his mercy, begging for him to touch me or allow
me to come… because that’s when I’m at my most submissive with him,
and he knows it.
I sit up straighter on his lap, as if to remind both him and me that I’m not
going to cave so easily.
“I know there doesn’t seem to be a pattern about the cases I’ve been taking,
but there is. You think I’ve been wasting time or taking random cases, but I
haven’t. Every single one of these cases were related.”
“Were they?”
He nods, gently kneading my shoulders, and my rigid spine begins to
soften. It doesn’t take long before I nestle up against his chest, and he
weaves his fingers in my hair. “They were.”
“How so?”
“I’d like to see if you can put it together like I did.”
“Checking on my intellect and ability?”
“Violet.”
His tone is a warning he underscores with a sharp tug of a lock of my hair,
but I don’t back off. I want to know.
“I’m serious. Are you checking to see if I’m as astute as you thought I was
when you hired me?”
He leans in close, gathering my hair between his fingers, and pulls me to
him so that his eyes bore into mine. “No. You’ve blown every fucking
employee I have here out of the water. I want to go over the facts, because I
want to be sure I didn’t miss anything.”
“Alright, then,” I say, very, very aware that I’m naked, and he’s not, and I’m
at his mercy.
When he’s got me good and secured on his lap, he wraps his hands around
my waist like a seat belt. The concept amuses me, even as my body thrums
with need. His thick fingers graze the very edge of my sides. As he talks, he
strokes the pad of his thumb down my side.
“You assumed I’d forgotten about your parents.”
“Well… no, I wouldn’t go that far.”
He stills the gentle massaging. “Why the tantrum then?”
I sputter. “I didn’t have a tantrum.”
“Babe, you stormed out of the house. You went to the training field. You
grabbed a fucking cudgel.”
“I love working out with a cudgel.”
He holds still, his fingers still wrapped around my body before he
continues. “You like working out with a cudgel when you’re angry.”
I don’t deny this.
“And you’re angry because something set you off today, reminding you that
we’ve made no headway with your parents.”
I’m glad his back’s to me since I don’t really want to look in his eyes right
now. He has a way of peeling back every defense mechanism I have with
his eyes alone. If he had a superhero talent, I’d hazard a guess it would be
x-ray vision.
I stare at the painting on the wall that hides his safe. When I speak to him,
my voice is low, tremulous. “I know how to move that painting, Cain. The
one that hides your weapons. I know the numbers to push to unlock the
safe. I know when the safe door opens, the exact pile of weapons that will
wait for me, the heft of the knife or the barrel of the gun when it slips into
my palm. To others, the closed safe looks like a work of art. I, however,
know it’s only a doorway.”
His arms tighten an infinitesimal amount. He doesn’t speak.
“Anyone else would think it’s only something pretty to decorate your wall. I
know better, though.” I draw in a deep breath. “Do you know that you’re
the only one in the world who’s ever found me out? The only one who
knows how to manipulate me so that I open up, revealing my inner truth.”
My eyes flutter closed when he kisses my bare shoulder before he grazes
the sharp edges of his teeth along my bare skin. A pulse of arousal thrums
between my legs when he licks the place he bit.
“Don’t I fucking know it,” he says in a low whisper. “And feel honored that
you’d trust me with that.”
I close my eyes, trying my best to hold onto the truth, to really push him to
reveal everything he knows to me. I decide to let him in a little more.
“Today, when Skylar began pulling out the decorations, it reminded me that
Christmas is coming. Every time the door opens, and the freezing cold air
rushes in, it reminds me that Christmas is coming.” I draw in a breath,
before I release it slowly. “My parents were killed at Christmas.”
I can still see the bloodstained carpet in front of the tree, the flash of
brilliant red that told me they were gone. I had been only four years old and
remember hardly anything else about that time, but I can’t forget those few
details.
He nods slowly. “I know.”
He knows. What else does he know? My voice is quiet, but I’m slightly on
edge when I respond. “You have done research, then.”
“Every damn night, Violet. I haven’t said anything to you because I didn’t
want to give you false hope.”
My heart soars, then sinks, that quickly. Elated that he’s done this, that he’s
given himself over to doing exactly what he promised—then deflated again
when he admits he may not have much to go on. False hope?
I square my shoulders. “What have you found?”
Nestling me square in the center of his lap, he pulls me slightly to the left so
he can get a better view of the computer screen. “First, public records.”
He double taps an innocuous icon on the bottom right corner of the screen,
and several police reports come up. They’re poorly written in scratchy
handwriting and the details are hard to read with the darkened page, but
they are neatly organized. My throat feels tight when I see my parents’
names alongside mine… or the name I used to go by, anyway.

RUSSELL AND ANYA BATES, murdered on Tuesday. Found dead.

Buried in a funeral mass celebrated by Pastor Descamps at the First
Church of Christ, Salem

“WHY DID you change your name, Violet?”

I don’t know why it surprises me that he knows I changed my name.
Security and investigation are his bread and butter.
“How did you know that?”
He doesn’t answer at first, then scrolls further down. “When I began
investigating, I found no local deaths for anyone by the name of Price. And
there aren’t that many Violets in the world, you know.”
He hasn’t really answered the question.
“I know.” It’s why I changed my last name. I couldn’t bring myself to
change the name that my mother gave me. I have this strange feeling that
it’s the only part of me that’s unique, the only part of me that no one else
can ever replicate.
“Once I found out my parents were killed, I felt it best to hide who I was.”
It feels awkward that he knows my history, this small part of me that no one
has ever really truly seen, but in order for us to find the real truth, he has to.
He nods. “Now it’s time to tell me everything. I can’t help you piece
together what you need to find if you don’t.”
I knew this was coming. I’m prepared.
I nod.
“Violet, you told me when you came here, your father was an assassin. How
did you find that out?
“I was only four when I first went into foster care, so I don’t remember
much about the first few couples that had me. I was thrown around like so
much baggage, really, but it wasn’t until I was much older that I realized
someone fabricated a story around me. By the time I was ten, it was well
accepted that my parents were killed in a car accident during a rainstorm. I
didn’t argue with what people thought they knew. By then, I knew there was
a reason for the lies and discrepancies.”
“Understood. I’m not surprised you were clever even as a child.”
I shrug. “I tried. Sometimes I succeeded and other times I didn’t. I was
terrible in school…”
“Let me guess. Not because you weren’t academically gifted, but you had a
hard time doing as you were told.”
I smile at the sardonic lilt in his voice. “How’d you know?”
He pinches my bare ass. “Doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out,
baby.”
I smile. “So anyway… I was finally taken in by a minister and his wife.” I
can’t keep the bitterness out of my tone. “They made no pretense about
liking me but had no qualms about taking me into their home. Their kids
were sheltered and judgmental, and the years I spent with them were the
most miserable of my life.”
Cain’s quiet while I tell him this. I stare at his screen, at the old police
reports, and imagine I can see the police station, the officer who’s likely
retired by now, filling out all the details and leaving so many blanks. “Tell
me what they did to you.”
I can’t stop the shudder that runs through me, that runs through him, at the
memories he pulls from me with those few little words. The memories I’ve
tried so hard to keep hidden.
“No.”
Again, his arm tightens around me. No one says “no” to Cain, so when I do,
it always seems to throw him for a loop.
“Violet.” Another warning tone, but the gentle caress of his thumbs across
my thighs softens the rebuke. “I want to know.”
And just like that, I’m ten years old again, locked in the dark closet where
they punished me. I didn’t have to do anything wrong to make them put me
there. It was who I was they were trying to cleanse from me. It was the wife
who beat me, when her husband wasn’t home. I wasn’t the only one—she
beat all her children, quoting scripture as she did. None dared to cross her,
and even the littlest one would flinch when her mother turned her way. But
I bore the worst of it.
“Look at my back and tell me what you want to know,” I say. “That bitch
told me she’d scourge the devil out of me and God, did she try.” I flinch at
the memory.
I feel Cain’s fingers along my back. I don’t see them, but I never forget
they’re there.
“Their names.”
“Cain, no.”
I know him. I know what he’ll do. He’ll make it his mission in life to
punish them for the harm they did me, over a decade before he ever met me.
His justice is swift and merciless. I’ve stared into his eyes after he’s killed,
and I know when he feels it’s justified, there’s no remorse. My grim reaper
in the flesh.
“I’ll find them, Violet. You know I will. I just wanted your buy-in before I
do.”
I blow out a breath. Now that he knows, I can’t stop him.
He strokes my back until I relax, until I’m slumped against him.
“Now, baby. Tell me the rest, and we’ll get started.”

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Violet
IT’S late into the night when we’ve compiled everything we know between
the two of us.
It’s admittedly not much to go on.
I’ve known since childhood that my father was an assassin because I
overheard the minister’s wife talking to her husband. They knew, somehow,
and used the knowledge as justification for the way they treated me.
We scoured everything we could together; he’d made some progress before
we even talked.
We have the names of the people who fostered me, all of them, including
the ones who had me for the longest time.
As an orphan in the system, someone could’ve adopted me, and it was a
question I struggled with for most of my childhood.
Why not? Why not me? Why were other kids in foster care adopted into
homes, but never me?
I didn’t want to be part of the families that took care of me, not until I was a
much older teen and found myself in the care of a family that treated me
like a human being. But by then I was independent and headstrong and
wanted nothing to do with ties to anyone.
I’m still on Cain’s lap, snuggled in like I belong here. He lazily strokes his
hand across my shoulder. Behind me lies the tray with the dinner we ate a
while ago, the remains of chicken and potatoes that filled our bellies.
“It’s time to come up with a summary. You’ve filled in more blanks than I
have. Took me four fucking weeks just to compile the list of foster parents.”
“Why?” I shake my head. “That doesn’t make any sense. And for God’s
sake, if you’d only asked me…”
“You’d remember the name of the family that took you in when you were
six?”
“Well, no, but I could remember some things.”
“You did, baby, but not the details from when you were a child. Hell, Violet,
I think you blocked half of them from your fucking memory.”
Maybe I did.
He pulls up a screen and begins to read the notes we’ve compiled.
“Your dad was killed when you were four. Your name at the time was
Violet, should’ve been Violet Bates, but nowhere in any record do you
exist.”
According to public record, my parents had no children. “That’s odd, isn’t
it? How was someone who didn’t exist put into the foster care system?”
He nods. “But you needed something to graduate high school, to get a job.
What did you have for paperwork?”
I shrug. “My social worker gave me everything. But if there’s no record of
my birth, where did she get it from?”
He makes another note to find her, then taps something onto his phone to
Joe before he continues summarizing everything we’ve found.
“You believe your father was an assassin, because your foster parents at one
point mentioned to each other they had you in their care because they were
trying to right a wrong, and we can assume that wrong was your father’s
history.”
“Well, yes. They said my parents.”
He pauses. “Is there a chance your mother was an assassin, too?”
I sit with this for a moment. “I… remember her being gentle. I remember
she liked to sew. She didn’t eat meat, but she’d make me chicken tenders.” I
shake my head. “How could a seamstress vegetarian be an assassin?”
Cain spins me around to look at him. “Never, ever assume.” He bends down
and kisses me, a gentle brush of his lips to mine, before he looks away. “I
can be gentle, too, Violet.”
I shiver. I know Cain’s called The Executioner, and he’s told me a bit about
his past, but I never really put the words assassin and executioner side-by-
side.
“Do you consider yourself an assassin, Cain?”
He doesn’t blink or look away. “I do.”
I’m falling in love with a murderer. Someone who takes the lives of others
without regret, and I don’t know how to stop.
He holds my chin so I can’t look away. “You knew when you came here
who I was, Violet. You knew when you offered to work for me what I do.”
“I know some of what you do, yes, but not all of it.”
“You knew that I killed for hire, and that I’ll do it again.”
My voice is hoarse with emotion. “I do.”
“But this isn’t about me. Soon, I’ll tell you everything I learned about how
to be a good assassin, since this knowledge will help us find more about
your parents.”
I straddle him, reach for his face, and frame it in my hands. My fingers
graze his stubble. “Tell me now.”
He lays his hands over mine. “We go through the rest of what we know, and
then I’ll tell you.” He bends and kisses the very top of my left breast, then
the right. Shivers skate down my spine. “I want you in bed when I tell you.”
Ah. So we’ll have one of those conversations. His specialty.
My sex clenches, eager to be filled by him, manipulated by him, eager for
what I know he could give me and will.
With reluctance, I turn back to the computer screen.
“These are the names of some of the people who fostered you. Most seem
innocent enough. They fostered several dozen kids spanning several
decades, and still have solid relationships with some of them. Joe
researched them for me. This family, though… the one you were with when
you were ten. They’re problematic.”
I can still see her glaring at me over the top of her glasses before she hauled
me to the closet. Bitch. “Yeah. I know.”
“I can’t find them on record anywhere. No names. No history. It’s why I
asked if you knew if they were alive, because there is no record of where
they are now.”
“How strange.”
“But there’s one single thread that unites all of the families that took you
into their homes.”
I look over my shoulder at him. “Really?”
“Yeah. They were all married at the same church, by the same minister.”
Okay, so he really did do his research. “Yeah?”
He nods. “Guy by the name of Gray Descamps. Still stationed in the First
Church of Christ, North Shore.”
“Huh. Well, that’s weird. Anything odd about him?”
Cain frowns, scrolling down the document he’s saved with names and dates
and details. “I don’t know… there is, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
“Are there any other details?”
He shakes his head. “I think we need to pay the minister a visit.”
Oh, dear.
“He’s got to be ancient by now, doesn’t he?”
“Suppose. Doesn’t matter.”
“Cain, you can’t go in and threaten an old guy with torture or death.”
He straightens. “Why not?”
“You just… can’t. It isn’t right.”
He spins me around to face him, gets this wicked gleam in his eyes, then
bends and licks one of my breasts. My nipple peaks, and he gathers it into
his mouth to suckle before he releases it. I stifle a moan. “According to
whom?”
“Oh no you don’t,” I say, but I’m already panting when he leans me over
the desk. My head nestles against the padded top. I thrust my fingers in his
hair as he makes his way down my front. I’m still straddling him, so my
legs are on either side of his torso, my body laid out like an offering to him.
He licks my nipples and weighs my breasts in each hand, fingering one
hardened bud while he laps the other, until my body’s slick with arousal and
need.
“Come upstairs with me, baby,” he whispers against my ear. “I’ll tell you
everything else I know, but I want to be in you when I do.”
He doesn’t have to ask me twice. I throw on my discarded clothing but
leave the bra off. He scouts the halls, and in less than a minute, we’re back
in his room.
“Grab the fucking headboard,” he orders, in that tone that means he wants
in me, and he wants in me now. He follows up on his orders with a solid
whack to the ass.
“Ah, so we’re in that sort of mood,” I say, as I grasp the sturdy headboard. I
gasp when his palm slaps against my ass again, hard. Who am I kidding?
Playful Cain is the exception to the rule. Boss Cain’s the norm.
“Yeah, baby.”
I’m already undressed, losing my clothing the minute I stepped over the
threshold, and he’s making quick work of undressing behind me. I hear the
rustle of fabric, the swoosh of his belt, then he taps it against my thigh.
“Behave yourself.”
I make a choked sort of sound and get on my knees. My fingers grasp the
headboard, my legs splayed for him. I hear the sound of a match being
struck, then the scent of warmed cinnamon. His favorite candle, one bought
expressly for the purpose of torturing me.
I love it.
“The rules of an assassin,” Cain begins, when he kneels behind me. “Repeat
them after me so I know you’re being a good girl that listens well. If you’re
going to get the revenge you need, you’ll learn these rules.”
My heartbeat spikes.
I nod. “Yes, sir. Of course.”
He loves it when I submit to him. This is the only time he gets it. Cain has a
rules kink—when he gives me rules to repeat, he loves to dominate me. My
first taste of this particular kink was on the target range when he punished
me for shooting a gun without permission. He’s done it several times since,
so it doesn’t take me by surprise now.
“Assassins have plans to succeed, Violet. They never take on a job they
think they can’t handle, for failing at their job has dire consequences. They
take on what they can do, and don’t commit to anything they can’t.”
I nod. “Got it. Assassins plan to succeed.”
I gasp when he snaps a towel out on the bed for me to kneel on. He has
plans for me tonight. Dirty, naughty plans, and I’m here for it.
When the towel’s secured to catch anything messy, warmed oil licks down
my back. The cinnamon candle. Heated through, it melts into a massage oil
that can be used anywhere on the body, and I do mean anywhere. I close my
eyes at the glow the heat creates across my skin, then moan when I feel him
rub it into me.
“Assassins get paid up front. No credit. No payment plans. Cold, hard
cash.”
The oil seeps into my skin, and I’m enveloped in the scent of warmed spice.
My grip loosens on the headboard from my palms slick with sweat. His
palm cracks across my ass.
“Hold onto that headboard like I told you.”
I quickly obey and repeat the rule. “Assassins get paid up front.”
“Good girl. Next rule, and this one is vital. Are you paying attention?”
“Mhm,” I say absentmindedly, just to get him riled up.
“Violet.” He tweaks my nipples.
I gasp. “I’m listening!”
When he’s satisfied he has my attention, he continues, speaking deliberately
so his words hold weight. “Assassins kill with their heads, not their hands.”
That’s so hot. Oh, God, why is that so hot?
He strokes between my legs, then pumps two fingers into my core.
“Oh, God,” I moan. “But you do know what to do with those hands don’t
you?”
“I do,” he says with a low chuckle. “Now repeat the rule before I take my
hands away.”
“No,” I moan, rocking my hips against his hand. “Don’t go.” I’m panting.
“Assassins… kill… with their heads… not their hands.”
“Good job. We don’t need brute force, though proficiency with a weapon
works well. We need to be astute and on point, prepared to pull the trigger
when the time is right. Taking a human life isn’t as easy as it sounds,
because we’ve muted our responses to such things with video games and
movies. It’s a hairline fracture we walk, and we always, always have to be
alert, ready, and mentally prepared.”
I nod. “Understood.”
“Any numbskull with a knife can kill someone. To be a professional, you
have to know your shit.”
He stops stroking, and my temper flares.
“Is that a rule, or are you just elaborating?” I say tightly, earning me another
slap to the ass.
“Watch your tone of voice. You wouldn’t want to be punished by going to
bed without your dessert, now, would you?”
Goddamn.
“No,” I say, as repentant as could be. He continues his perfect, brilliant
stroking, until I’m panting and nearly begging him for more.
“Assassins trust no one.”
What an odd rule, considering he’s asked me to trust him over, and over,
and over. Could it be that he’s gone so long without trusting anyone that he
needs to know there’s still someone who can?
I moan at the feel of the head of his cock at my entrance. He swirls the hot
tip through my swollen, slick folds, releasing a moan of his own.
“Assassins don’t get fancy,” he says. “This isn’t the movies. This is real life.
We don’t use car bombs or poison fucking appetizers at a ball when a
simple bullet or slit throat will do.”
“Got it.”
He shoves in me, a thrust that takes my breath away and makes ecstasy
erupt in every damn cell. I moan, pushing back against him just to feel his
thick, hot cock pulsing in me again.
“Fuck, baby,” he groans.
My fingers tighten on the headboard as he pumps his hips and makes little
sparks of electricity dance across my skin.
“You’re so tight,” he whispers in my ear, as I near release.
“Is that another rule?” I lower my voice but have a hard time concentrating.
“Be tight.”
His dark chuckle washes over me as my eyes flutter closed against the rush
of emotion. “Don’t you let go,” he orders as he comes inside me, filling me
with his hot release. I come when he does, giving in to the pressure and
release that fills me as I shatter into ecstasy. “Don’t you ever fucking let
go.”
We collapse on the bed, tangled in each other. His words echo in my ear.
They should make me feel special. Wanted.
Instead, I hear them as a threat.
What happens if I do?

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Cain
“BOSS.”
Joe’s pounding on the door to my bedroom. Violet’s wound in the sheets,
her head on my chest and hair all around me. I extricate myself with a
groan. The door’s locked, and it’s likely urgent.
Cursing, I tug on a pair of boxers and walk to the door. I yank it open. Joe
stands on the other side with an apologetic look on his face.
“I’m sorry.”
“Have you ever tried texting? Fucking calling me?”
“Don’t kill him, Cain, your phone’s been off for hours,” Violet mumbles
behind me.
“She’s right,” Joe says with a grimace. “I got a call from the Salem P.D.
They’ve got a warrant for the arrest of that Robbins woman. Seems she’s
been dabbling in counterfeit money.”
“Fucking hell.”
“Yeah.”
“Get Henri down there with Claude. Find out what you can. I can’t close
this case today; Violet and I have a job to do.”
He nods, takes down some further instructions, then shuts the door. I turn to
find Violet sitting up in bed, frowning at my phone.
“He is a persistent motherfucker, isn’t he?” she says teasingly.
“I only hire persistent motherfuckers.” I toss her a pair of jeans and tee.
“Get dressed, woman. We’ve got work to do.”
She tosses off the blanket, stretches, and yawns. “Coffee on the road?”
“I’ll take you to Java Witch.”
In Salem, various restaurants and locales are named after witches, our
signature mascot, one could say. Known for the infamous Salem Witch
Trials, we now wear what should be shame like a badge of honor. Violet
does love the Java Witch brew, though.
“Can I get one of those twisty cinnamon things, too?”
“Babe, get whatever the fuck you want.” She knows I don’t give a shit what
she gets, but she still likes to ask me. For a ballsy woman, she’s fucking
cute.
I sling my holster on and pack my favorite Ruger.
“Jesus,” Violet moans behind me. I look over my shoulder at her.
“What?”
“There’s nothing that makes me want to fall to my knees and suck your
cock more than seeing you suiting up for a job.” She feigns swooning
before she sits on the edge of the bed to tug her boots on.
“Wish I could say the same for you,” I say, as she slides her new knife into
her ankle sheath before she reaches for her new Wilson.
“I know, I know,” she says with an eye roll. “Watching me get my weapons
makes you want to… I dunno, handcuff me to your bed or something.”
“Don’t need the threat of a weapon to bring out the handcuffs.”
She smiles and gives me a coy look.
“Alright, where to first?” she asks, as she heads to the bathroom and
quickly fixes her hair and makeup. “Pastor What’s-his-name?”
“Yep. See what he has to tell us.”
Suddenly, she pops her head out of the bathroom, her toothbrush shoved
into the side of her mouth. “Way a mim,” she mumbles.
“Huh?”
She takes her brush out of her mouth. “Wait a minute. Now wait a minute.
Cain, what’s the typical payout for a hit?”
I shrug, testing the safety on my Ruger. “Hugely varied. Could be ten
thousand, could be ten mil. Why?”
“Your rules went through my mind while I slept.”
I nod, pleased. It’s partly why I went over the rules before we went to bed.
She’s fucking brilliant, and her mind works even when she’s at rest. I knew
she’d wake and have them memorized.
“Yeah?”
“Assassins get paid up front. Right?”
“Yes.”
“Like there’s no assassin layaway plan or credit or anything. Cash only.”
“Right.”
“And… they get paid lots. Last I checked, the average annual salary of a
typical assassin was about eighty million dollars a year.”
I nod. “Right.”
She throws her hands up in the air. “Then… where’s my parents’ money? If
my father was an assassin… he was worth money. Big money. Right?”
I nod. “And if you weren’t supposed to exist, and no one knew they had a
child…” my voice trails off.
“Right?”
“I’ll call Joe. Put him on it.”
If she has money owed to her and someone fucking took it…
She nods, heading back to the bathroom, and soon we head out. She takes a
minute before we go to get to her knees and pat Romulus and Remus,
kissing each of their furry heads.
“You are crazy about those dogs.”
“You know I love them.”
I watch as the two dogs moon over her when she leaves. Hell, everyone
moons over her.
We all love Violet.
I hate the thought of her leaving. When she’s found what she needs to…
when she’s completed the job she was supposed to… what then?
My phone rings, and I go to silence it, when I see it’s the Salem police.
“Hello?” I answer the phone as I open Violet’s door.
A loud, high-pitched voice comes over the speaker.
“Mr. Master. It’s me. I’ve been trying to reach you for three days.”
For fuck’s sake, I forgot the PD puts calls from the jail through their secure
line, no doubt so they can tap them.
“Have you?” I don’t miss the way Violet’s eyes narrow as she snaps her seat
belt shut and mouths who’s that? I shake my head and head to the driver’s
seat.
“I told you I couldn’t help you immediately and would need some time.” I
hear something in the background, and a series of clicks.
“I paid you all my inheritance for your help!”
I blow out a breath and try to speak patiently, though I want to hang the
fucking phone up. “And I’ll help you as best I can, but allow me to remind
you, you’ve been taken into custody, have you not?”
“I have! And I need you to get me out of here. You’re the only one with
enough clout that you could do it.”
“I’m sorry. That’s way beyond my pay grade. My team will be in touch.”
“Mr.—”
I hang up the phone.
Violet stares out the window for a moment in silence while I type in the
minister’s number on my phone.
“Desperate much?”
“Tell me about it. Jesus.”
“Something’s off about her, Cain.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re just jealous.”
“I am not just jealous. And holy shit. What is that?”
I look in my rearview mirror and groan. Doesn’t anyone listen to me?
“You… weren’t supposed to see that yet,” I say, shaking my head. “Jesus.”
Her jaw drops. “You are holding out on me! Oh my God. You bought
another truck and didn’t tell me?”
She doesn’t know because the goddamn truck’s for her.
“They weren’t supposed to bring it yet,” I say, backing up so we can leave.
“Oh my God, I want to touch it. Plllleeeease. Pretty, pretty please, can I
touch it?” She runs her hand along the dashboard of my truck, as if to
appease herself.
“When we get back,” I promise, then add in a teasing voice, “if you behave
yourself. Now tell me where to go.”
“I’ll tell you where to go,” she pouts. I pinch her thigh, and she squeals.
“Okay, alright. So we’re heading south of the historical district.”
“Perfect.”
“So back to what I was saying earlier. Where on earth is that money?”
“That’s a very good question, and I think it would be worth our while
asking Gray Descamps that very question.”
“Agreed. If I’m no one, and my parents made all that money… their income
has to be hidden somewhere. It can’t just be like… under the mattress.”
“It’s pretty hard to hide millions under a mattress.”
“But it could be done.”
I snort. “Have you actually seen what a hundred million dollars looks like
in cash?”
She raises a brow to me. “So we’ve gone up to a hundred million. I have
not. Have you?”
“I have. I was once contracted to assist with a drug bust that ended up
revealing the largest amount of cash ever confiscated in the history of the
East Coast. We apprehended the drug dealers who’d kept two hundred and
fifty million in cash in a bedroom.”
“So that’s why your bed’s the size of a small island?”
I laugh out loud. “I knew you’d find out eventually.”
“Two hundred and fifty million is a lot of fucking money. And if your father
was as successful as you thought he was… well, that money’s definitely
somewhere, isn’t it?”
She looks out the window. I wonder if she’s imagining herself wealthy,
what she could do with that money. What she doesn’t know is that
everything I have is hers for the taking, and there’s a reason she couldn’t
afford my services.
Violet’s mine. I won’t ever let her go. And everything I own is hers.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she says.
“You’re a mind reader now?”
“You could say it’s one of my talents.”
“And?”
“You don’t like the thought of me being wealthy.” There’s a pained sound to
her voice I don’t miss.
She couldn’t be further from the truth.
“Why wouldn’t I want you to be wealthy? Of course I do. Things are easier
when you have money. I don’t like the thought of you going without at all.”
“No, Cain,” she says in a softer voice. “You don’t like the idea of me not
needing you.”
I scoff. “I’m not that insecure, babe.”
She doesn’t reply. We’ll battle her goddamn insecurities until she knows
exactly who she is and how much she’s worth.
“We’re only five minutes out now. What’s our plan?”
“He might suspect who you are as soon as he sees your eyes. Maybe we
should’ve put your contacts in.”
She has color-changing contacts for times like these, when I don’t want
anyone to remember her or identify her in a line-up.
“Nope. I want him to know exactly who I am when I interrogate him.”
“Wait, just last night you were saying that you didn’t want to hurt an elderly
man.”
“Perhaps I’ve changed my mind,” she says decidedly.
“Oh? And what did that for you?”
“I want answers, Cain. I didn’t come to you for the good food and better
sex.”
I reach for her hand but can’t help but smile when I give her a squeeze. “I
know, baby.”
Violet blows out a whistle as we near the address on the map. The tight
houses around us spread out to orchards, sprawling mansions atop massive
cliffs that overlook the water.
“I thought ministers were poor?” she says curiously. “This guy lives in the
lap of luxury.” Her brows knit together. “That doesn’t bode well, does it?”
“Not all ministers live in poverty, and not all rich ones are corrupt, but...”
I have my suspicions about him. I tap my phone. “Call Henri.”
“Hello? What can I do for you, Mr. Master?”
Henri’s like a brother to me but has never lost his Southern charm and
formality.
“Henri, we need what you’ve found on Gray Descamps, the shortened
version.” I’ve had him working on it since last night.
“I see you’re almost there.”
“I am.” I have my team track my whereabouts and Violet’s at all times.
“I’ll make it quick, sir. Gray Descamps has been married four times, has
seven children with various women, and is the second wealthiest minister in
New England.” Violet curses under her breath.
“Court cases?”
“None, sir, though there are a few allegations of sexual misconduct in the
workforce that were settled out of court.”
Violet cringes. “Could this guy get any more predictable?” She sighs.
“What does he drive?” Violet asks.
“What does he drive?” I repeat and give her a curious look.
She shrugs. “We’ll need to find out what he values. What matters to him. If
he’s wealthy, it’s likely his possessions.” She looks out the window with a
scowl. “If he has that many children with that many women, it will be hard
in this short timeframe to find out which we could use to threaten him
with.”
“God, I love how your brain works.”
Henri clears his throat. “Sir, you’re three minutes out.”
I wink at her, and she sticks her tongue out at me. She’ll pay for that. “Go
on.”
“Four years ago, he had a paid television show that was very popular. He’s
known for his fire-and-brimstone sermons on repentance and good works,
but his show was shut down during the allegations of sexual abuse.”
“Does he have any known phobias?” I ask.
Violet tips her head to the side. I’m not going to walk in and bloody the old
man up, but I’ll have to get answers, and something tells me he won’t make
it easy.
“None obvious, but perhaps… water, sir. He had a pool in his backyard he
had filled in a few years back, and all his vacations are on land.”
It’s not much, but it’s something to go on.
“Does he have any ties with any known criminals?”
“No, sir, he—no. Wait just a minute.” He’s silent for a moment. “Four years
ago… just around the same time his television show was cancelled, there
was a threat to his life. Rumors of ‘organized crime’ made the press, but no
names and no details.”
“Of course,” Violet says. “No news press is going to name a mafia group,
would they.” She curses under her breath again and pulls her knife out. I
watch as she runs her finger along the sharp edge of the blade. Thinking.
“We’re here.” At least, we’re in the neighborhood. GPS puts us at the foot
of a hill. At the top of the hill stands a wrought iron gate and an intercom.
“Stand by, Henri. May need you to work a lock remotely.”
“Yessir.”
“Cain, is it wise to just go in the front gate like this? Won’t he be waiting
for us?”
“I want him waiting.”
She shifts on her seat and squeezes my hand in silent approval. I lift her
fingers to my mouth and kiss them.
I press the button on the intercom, and a man’s voice answers immediately.
“May I help you?”
“We’re here to see Gray Descamps, please.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
Violet rolls her eyes and chimes in. “It’s about the salvation of my soul. Are
such appointments necessary?”
The intercom is quiet for a moment, and I shake my head at her. The
woman’s fucking unpredictable.
“I’m sorry, you’ll have to make an appointment. Mr. Descamps is
unavailable for the next four weeks. You can find his assistant’s email listed
on his website.”
Apparently, saving someone’s soul can wait a month when you’re sitting on
property worth millions. I want at this motherfucker.
“Please tell him it’s urgent,” Violet says from the passenger seat. Her tone is
also urgent , with an edge I know all too well. Violet’s about to lose her
temper.
I reach my hand to her thigh and give her a gentle squeeze, a reminder that
keeping our tempers will work better than coming in guns blazing. She
narrows her eyes at me. She doesn’t like those reminders.
“I’m sorry, you’ll have to make an appointment on the website. Have a
good day.”
There’s the sound of a click, the lock securing. Pretty much what I
expected. There’s a long, curving driveway. Uniformed guards make their
presence known.
“Count them,” I say in a low whisper to Violet.
She nods as I back out of the driveway.
We drive along the main road, but we aren’t leaving this property until we
get what we came for.
“Take a right,” she says quietly. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her pull
out her gun and shine the handle on her shirt.
“Not sure we’ll need that.”
“Shame.”
Violet’s a fucking good shot, and I know she wants an opportunity to use
her skills and her new toy.
“An elderly minister has to be approached a certain way.”
She sighs. “I know. So I don’t get to see you beat anyone up today.”
I can’t help but smile, because I know she’s only half-joking. Every
goddamn time I train with one of my men, she’s practically dragging me to
bed afterward. It’s part of how she’s wired, and I love her for it.
“Nope. The way to get to someone like him is to really, truly determine
what he’s afraid of. We need to know what he fears most so we can make
him tell us the truth.”
“Perhaps he’s afraid of heights,” she says in a bored tone before she makes
a sound of disgust. “So plebeian.”
“Or spiders.”
She rolls her eyes. “Cliché.”
“Or maybe….” her voice trails off as she taps her chin thoughtfully. “Let’s
think about this. What would a wealthy man who preaches from the Bible
fear above all else?”
“Slander to his reputation. Losing all his money.”
“Precisely. Oh, Cain! There!” She points to a rusty gate that leads to the
back of Descamps’s property. I pull the truck over to the side of the road,
leaves crunching beneath the heavy tires.
“Perfect. Good eye, baby.”
In minutes, she’s disassembled the lock. She faces me with a look of
triumph. “Ready?”
Before we go, I reach down and loop my fingers along the nape of her neck,
pull her head back, and capture her mouth with mine. “I’m ready, baby.
Let’s do it.”
For all his riches, Descamps has gotten lax when it comes to security. My
property’s heavily guarded, with video surveillance. We don’t have so much
as a squirrel that crosses the perimeter of my home without our knowledge.
Descamps, however, is either lazy or stupid.
The gate leads to the back of his property, everything so overgrown here
there’s not a chance security would see anything even if they had cameras
positioned here. No guard dogs, no armed men. Nothing.
“Wow,” Violet says. “Bet you’re about to burst a blood vessel imagining
how shitty his security is.”
I snort. “I’d burst a blood vessel if it were my home so easily compromised.
With him, I’m more than happy to make myself at home.”
“Agreed.”
It’s difficult to walk quietly through a wooded area in the fall, as crunchy
leaves and branches snap with every step we take. But the wind rustles the
leaves, masking the noise we make, and by the time we get to a clearing,
thunder rolls overhead.
“What do you see?” I ask her. I’m your man for brute force, but when it
comes to hawk-eye vision and strategy, Violet’s unparalleled.
“He’s got a barn to the right that looks neglected. Roof’s seen better days,
hay bales sloppy and unkempt. That’s where the pool used to be, and a…
hot tub? There’s a pool house, too.”
“Any entrances from the back?”
“Lots. Looks like there’s a door by the pool house which leads to a back
entrance, as well as a bulkhead, and there’s an actual open door on the
property as well.”
“Let’s try the pool house.” It’s chilly enough this time of year, that part of
the house likely doesn’t get much use.
“Let’s do it.”
We move as one, silently and quickly, as several yards of bare ground
before us leaves us uncovered and more likely to be seen. In less than a
minute, we’ve made it past the pool house and to the door that leads us into
his home.
“Locked?”
Violet frowns at the digital lock on the door while I ring Henri.
“Boss?”
I quickly whisper what I need and send him a picture of the lock. He has
data on how to unlock everything from a padlock to a jammed door, and
quickly finds not only the year, make, and model of this lock, but succinct
directions on how to disable it.
“Let me do it?” Violet asks.
I nod and step back. She’s small and lithe, so she easily maneuvers her way
into situations just like this.
“Told you it’d come in handy having someone small like me on your staff.”
“You did.”
“And was I right?”
I hold her slender hips with my hands. “You were. I could pick you right up
and tuck you into my pocket.”
“Cain. Your timing sucks.” Then she quickly nods her head. “I know, I
know, I agreed. Now please, let me focus before I lose my concentration
here. You and I could take the six security men he’s got that I counted, but
I’d rather not break a sweat while we’re here.” She frowns. “I don’t want to
have to wash my hair again.” It’s adorable what crosses her mind
sometimes.
“Alright, alright,” I concede, as the lock clicks open. “But I go in first.” I’m
happy to let her work her magic with a damn lock, but there’s no telling
what waits for us on the other side.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Violet
GOD how I love working with Cain. I love the way his brilliant mind
works. I love the way his eyes narrow, sharp and determined, when we need
to do something that requires concentration. He unravels mysteries with a
fearless resolve that makes me goddamn wet.
It’s dangerous, sometimes, how deeply he affects me.
“Go on,” he says in a low voice, his hand on my lower back. It took me a
while to get used to his protective nature around me, but I’m getting there.
I’m so used to taking care of myself, I had to remind myself at first that it’s
okay to let a guy touch you, it’s okay to let a guy want to lift heavy things
for you, it’s okay to let someone… take care of me for once.
Not sure I’d let anyone but Cain do such things, though.
“Jesus,” he mutters. “Not a single person in sight.”
I shouldn’t be surprised there’s no one here. Nothing but an empty hall and
the dank smell of an abandoned basement.
“It’s almost as if he wants someone to break in,” I say, shaking my head.
“Why hire all that security only to have it be so easy to get in?” I lower my
voice and retrieve my knife. It’s quieter at times like these. “Unless…”
“It’s intentionally too easy.”
“Right.”
It’s likely Descamps’ security’s absolute shit.
And it’s just as likely we’ve been set up, and they’re only biding their time
before an ambush.
We walk, weapons ready, to the doorway that leads to the basement
hallway. Old houses like this on the North Shore were solidly built, some at
the turn of the century, with large, roomy basements for both storage and
safety in the event of a hurricane or storm. The ceilings are low, but the
walls tight, not a draft or wisp of cold air escapes even on the coldest of
days.
We walk silently, waiting for a sign that we’re seen, that someone’s nearby.
I hear nothing but the distant dripping of water and wonder idly where it’s
coming from. A clock chimes.
It smells like an old library down here, slightly musty but familiar. The
basement’s finished, with a thin Berber carpet, and tidy, even the wooden
beams on the low ceiling gleaming. It’s dark, though, with only a few small
windows letting any light in.
We both freeze at the sound of voices and footsteps overhead.
Then a thin, reedy voice travels to us from above. “Then find them. I don’t
want anyone coming here unannounced. You know that.” The voice quickly
dissolves into a hacking cough that morphs to a coughing fit.
“I think we’ve found our man,” Cain whispers. I nod. They’ve taken our
bait.
To the left is a staircase that leads upstairs, but to the right, there’s a door.
Cain opens the door, and his eyebrows raise. If we weren’t avoiding being
found, he’d probably whistle. I peek around him to see what he does,
surprised to find what looks like a mini spa, complete with a jacuzzi and
sauna and fluffy white towels. It smells vaguely of lemon and mint, and tiny
white fairy lights dance around a table with a tea kettle and teacups. It’s a
perfect paradise of relaxation, right here in the minister’s rambling home.
“Someone enjoys himself here,” I mutter to Cain.
He nods but doesn’t reply. His lips are set in a grim, thin line, his brows
knitted together. I know before he tells me exactly what’s on his mind—this
is the room he’ll use to get our answers.
“We draw them out,” he says in a whisper. “Get security locked down, then
bring our little friend down here for some answers.”
“Perfect. I always wanted to do an interrogation wearing a fluffy white
robe. If only there were a pair of slippers nearby…”
Cain gives me a lopsided smile, takes my hand, and gives me a firm
squeeze.
“Make some noise, baby.”
“Shouldn’t we secure the security exits first?”
“Already done.”
I glance quickly at the door where we came in to see the deadbolt’s been
thrown from the inside, then quickly look to the windows. They’re so tiny
even I couldn’t climb through, and I’m used to getting through tight spaces.
These windows are no bigger than a shoe box.
Cain’s made sure no one’s getting in from this entrance.
“We need to get the stairs situated. Can you do that, baby?” he whispers. I
know why he wants me to handle that part of the job. I’m half his size, so
it’s much easier for me to climb the stairs without making them creak like
aching bones. I nod.
I tiptoe up the stairs as quietly as possible, and when I get to the top, I check
all the locks. There’s one that bolts from this side, as well as another lock.
We need to lure Descamps down here, then lock the door. Once we do, no
one will get to us.
“Now, Violet,” Cain says in a whisper, his gun in hand and ready to shoot.
“Go.”
I grab a metal can filled with screws from a nearby shelf, yank open the
door, and whip it as hard as I can toward the stainless-steel dishwasher. It
explodes on impact, making a deafening noise. In seconds, we can hear
shouts and yells, but I’m already down the stairs behind the staircase with
Cain when they finally come.
It takes him three shots of the gun to take them down. One on the left, bullet
to the leg. One on the right, wound to the left shoulder. Last one he shoots is
the third target, and he’s prepared. He ducks, then lunges for me, acting on
instinct. The son of a bitch must know Cain would lose his shit over me
being hurt before he would himself.
Doesn’t matter. I’m glad to have the chance to get at one of them. With a
quick duck and jab, I nail him straight in the solar plexus. He doubles over,
and I waste no time, my knife to his throat before he can even blink.
“Stay right fucking there and I might let you live when all this is over,” I
whisper in his ear. He freezes, not even breathing. I have him on his knees
while Cain secures the others, and in one minute flat, we’ve got all three
tied to chairs, secured with duct tape. Not the most original tool, but damn
does it get the job done.
Three. Only three. Cain nods to me, eyes on the stairs, then jerks his chin at
the guy I secured. I hold my knife to his neck.
“Any more security on today?”
He shakes his head.
“He’s lying,” Cain says. I trust Cain implicitly. I don’t question or give it a
second thought, but press my knife to the guy’s neck until he bleeds. He
pants, sweat dripping off his forehead.
When I first began working for Cain, interrogation intimidated the hell out
of me. I still don’t like it, but I’ve come to see its merits. I don’t fucking
like it when someone lies to me.
I lean in and give him one more chance. I’m shaking with anger. I want
answers. “If I find you’re lying to me, I’ll find whatever it is that matters to
you, and you’ll wish you’d told me the truth.”
“One more,” he gasps out. “Didn’t count the personal bodyguard.”
Cain nods, both accepting this and giving me permission to let this guy go. I
secure his mouth like the others and walk quietly to the stairs. Listening. I
don’t have to wait long.
“Who’s down there?” Cain’s eyes cut to me. The voice is the high-pitched,
nasally one we heard before.
Cain and I stand as quietly as we can, side by side under the stairway. From
the stairs, no one can see the guards we’ve secured far to the right.
A foot hits the top stair. A worn, ancient leather moccasin. I wish this guy
wasn’t an asshole. I usually sort of like old people.
Cain squeezes my hand. He knows how I feel about interrogation.
“I get him secured, and you’ll go upstairs and look for the other guard.” His
lips press in a thin line, and I know exactly why. He’d much rather have me
babysit while he runs interference, but in this case, it isn’t the wisest
decision, because I’m smaller and faster.
“Got it, boss,” I say with a teasing wink. I’m the only one of his staff that
doesn’t usually call him “boss.” He gives me a wry smile back, making my
heart thump a little faster even now.
I wait, crouched, while Descamps makes his way further down the stairs. In
seconds, Cain’s got him fully restrained in his arms. Descamps shouts and
kicks, but Cain easily secures him.
“Go, babe. Meet me by the sauna.”
I knew that’s what he was thinking.
Taking the stairs two at a time I race to the top, my Wilson tucked securely
in my palm. I don’t have to wait long. I turn the corner, gun at the ready,
when I hear someone move behind me. I duck and swivel just in time,
missing the meaty punch of Descamps’ personal guard. I step back, giving
myself room to maneuver, and quickly let loose a roundhouse kick to the
gut. I’ve trained with both knife and gun and use them well, but when push
comes to shove, I’ll always prefer to use my own body as a weapon.
He’s bigger than I am, though, so my body won’t be enough. He’s winded
and on his knees from the kick I gave him, but I have to make sure he
doesn’t hurt me. I slice at his thigh with my knife, ignoring the fresh, hot
blood that cascades onto the tiled floor. He screams like a little girl,
whimpering, but not before he gets a good solid punch to my cheek. I see
stars, my head spinning, but don’t lose my concentration. I slash again,
striking his arm, then again, until he recoils in pain.
A minute later, he’s secured with duct tape as well. I’m not sure I’d have
been able to hold off a man as large as he is if I hadn’t had the element of
surprise on my side.
“You’ll stay right here,” I say with a patronizing pat on the head. Any son of
a bitch who defends that guy we’re about to interrogate deserves absolutely
no mercy. “Anything we need to know about your boss before we begin?” I
ask pleasantly, in the same tone as one might ask, ‘Do you want fries with
that?’
He shakes his head vehemently from side to side, glaring at me like I just
killed his puppy. Likely embarrassed he was taken down by a girl.
I, on the other hand, am pleased as punch and can’t wait to haul this asshole
down to Cain.
I leave him secured at the top of the stairs where I can see him and go down
to Cain.
What I see when I enter the room would’ve chilled me to the bone a year
ago.
Gray Descamps, with a generous belly and meaty jowl, sits, secured in a
chair beside the jacuzzi. He eyes the tub with terror. Score for Henri.
“Gray,” I say pleasantly, taking the folding chair Cain hands me. I sit across
from him. “I’m sure I’m not familiar to you.”
He stares at me, unblinking, and at first doesn’t respond. He opens his
mouth to speak, then clamps it shut. I don’t tell him not to. I let him look
into my eyes. He won’t be able to hide his recognition of me if there is any.
His eyes hone in on mine, narrowed with suspicion and anger, but when I
lift my chin so the overhead light shows the color of my eyes, he freezes.
“I know you. I—I knew your parents, too, I think. Is that why you’re here?”
I look to Cain. He nods. Sometimes he has an agenda. Today, we just need
answers.
“It’s one of the reasons. Why don’t you tell me about my parents and how
you know who I am.”
“You’re the girl with the violet eyes. Name’s Violet, isn’t it?”
I nod. “It is.”
“Your mother had the same color eyes.” His voice is high-pitched with fear.
“I remember her. That was a long, long time ago. A lifetime ago.”
A cold shiver runs down my spine. No one in my entire life has ever told
me that. “Did she? What else can you tell me about her, Gray?”
My voice is not my own, sounding distant and disembodied like I’m a ghost
speaking to someone on Earth.
“I—I didn’t know her.”
Cain shakes his head like a disappointed father. “Now, now, Gray,” he says,
while he pushes himself to standing from his seated position. “We won’t
allow lying. We’ve gone to a lot of trouble to come here today, and we want
answers.”
His phone buzzes. He glances at the screen and scowls. Cain’s voice drops
to a menacing octave. “And the intel my men just sent me makes it a lot
easier for me to put the screws to you if necessary.”
“Tell me.”
His eyes quickly dart to mine, then back to Gray. “Those accusations?
Some were true. We have court-verified intel and eyewitnesses. And some
of the women were minors at the time.”
Fucking hell. My hands clench into fists when I see the wide-eyed terror
Cain’s words bring out in Gray.
He’s guilty as fuck.
“Now tell us, please, before we have to get a lot more unpleasant. Did you
really not know my parents?”
Gray clamps his jaw shut and looks away. Cain moves as if by instinct. He
walks to the jacuzzi, flicks the chrome handle, and water begins to pour into
the tub. “Something tells me you don’t like water, Gray. Is that true?”
His face is red, his eyes beady as he shakes his head from side to side.
“He’s lying,” I tell Cain.
The water in the jacuzzi’s already a third of the way to the top. Cain shuts
off the taps and steps toward Gray, who shakes his head from side to side.
“I didn’t know them! I swear, I didn’t⁠—”
Cain ignores him, picks him up bodily, chair and all, and drags him over to
the jacuzzi.
“No! No, don’t, please!”
“Tell me, Gray,” Cain says, his lips a thin line of fury. “Is that what the girls
you molested said to you when you took them into your home?”
Without another word, he dunks the minister’s face in the pool of water. I
want to look away, but I don’t. What Cain does and who Cain is are
inexorably intertwined. If I love him—and I do—I love all of him, even the
cruel, vindictive parts that lurk in the shadows. Those are the parts that
make all of him whole.
I watch Descamps struggle, thrashing in the chair he’s secured to until I
know he can’t breathe. My own air’s constricted in my lungs until Cain
brings him up. He hasn’t even broken a sweat.
“Anything more to tell us, minister?”
A pause. He’s breaking. When he doesn’t say anything, Cain submerges
him in the water a second time.
The first time I saw Cain torture someone, I had to look away. I hated that I
did. I wanted to face the cruelty he inflicted, because it was always, always
justified. With ruthless determination, he gets what he wants when he wants
it, but he always has good reason. He doesn’t torture for sport and never
without a damn good reason.
This is why I hired Cain. This is what we came for. I need these fucking
answers.
Bubbles emerge from the water. He’s got Descamps right on the edge.
Cain looks in my eyes as the minister faces his own mortality, and I feel
that stark, honest truth to my very soul. We don’t speak. We don’t blink. We
stare in solidarity of a shared purpose, and I love him for it.
He lifts Descamps out of the water. A rivulet of water floods his eyes and
face, his hair dripping onto the cold concrete floor below. The light blue
dress shirt he wears is soaked from the collar to the first three buttons, his
pants still untouched. Cain slams him back on the floor.
“Answer.”
“Fine! Fine,” he says, crying softly to himself. He glares at Cain, and his
words feel like venom. “I had an affair with her mother when I was newly
ordained.”
Now that, I didn’t expect.
Ew.
“And?” Cain stands with his arms crossed on his chest. “If you think we
have all day, minister, I can speed things along⁠—”
“No! No,” Descamps whimpers. “I… I knew her well. We ended what was
between us and went our separate ways. I began my ministry and she… she
married Violet’s father. They had her less than a year after they married, but
I always kept in touch with Anya.”
Anya. I’ve never heard anyone use my mother’s name.
Cain nods. “Go on. I know you’ve got more to tell us, Gray.”
“You were the one that married them,” I said.
Gray nods.
“And you were the one that knows why they were killed.”
Gray looks away, not answering, but when Cain lifts the chair, Descamps
screams. “I’ll tell you more!”
Cain thumps the chair back on the floor. “Go on.”
Gray shivers and looks out to where his team sits, but every one of them’s
restrained. Still, just to be sure, I walk over to the door with my Wilson in
hand, half hoping someone will give me a reason to shoot. Cain continues
the interrogation.
“Her parents did some work for them. For… for me.”
He hangs his head and looks at the floor.
He didn’t say my father… he said… my parents?
I turn back to him just as something crashes behind me. My gun’s raised
and pointed in seconds. A huge, muscled guy with a gun comes straight at
me. My finger hovers over the trigger. I’ve shot the target at the range so
many times I could do it in my sleep, but I’ve never shot a human. In a
split-second, I imagine the torn flesh and blood, the pain in his eyes. My
hesitation costs me. He tackles me to the floor before I can shoot, as a
gunshot blasts.
He screams, grabbing at his shoulder, and as crimson blood spurts to the
floor, he rolls, and Cain’s deadly voice echoes in the small room.
“Move again, and I shoot you between the eyes.”
I want to kick myself. Goddammit, I couldn’t pull the trigger and Cain had
to come and clean up my mess. I want to cry.
Instead, I make up for my hesitation in the only way I know how. I swivel,
propel myself forward, and grab his wrists to secure him in place. Cain
comes up beside me and ties him down.
“That’s my girl there, buddy,” he warns in a tone that’s anything but
friendly. “You fucking try to hurt her and you’re dead.” The guy stares at
Cain like he just saw the devil himself. Cain has that effect on people.
“You were saying, Gray?”
Gray shakes his head, crying, but when Cain reaches for his chair, he
screams like someone’s bitten him. Cain drops the chair to the floor. Blood
spurts from Gray’s temple.
He’s shot. Someone shot him.
Adrenaline courses through me while I look for who could’ve possibly
killed him. Cain looks to me, then immediately dismisses me. I stare at my
own gun as if it shot him without my permission.
It makes no logical sense and takes half a minute to really register with me.
Someone shot Gray.
That someone was not me, and it was not Cain, nor was it any of the
bodyguards we have restrained here.
Someone shot him because he was about to reveal a truth they didn’t want
known.
Cain curses and pulls out his phone.
“Get down for cover, Violet,” he grates, as tires squeal. Whoever killed
Gray just took off. I fall to the floor and lay flat as Cain makes a phone call.
“Team Alpha,” he says with resignation. His clean-up crew will have to
come and clean this shit up.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Cain
I PRIDE myself on knowing what’s happening and when, of being one step
ahead of any of my enemies. But today… today, someone pulled a fucking
fast one on me.
I thought everyone was secured. Never fucking dawned on me a sniper
would off the one witness I need. I’d interrogate the rest of his staff, but I
need to get Violet the hell out of here before she’s hurt.
Team Alpha shadows me only minutes away during a detail, and today is no
exception. They sweep in with the ease and practice of a well-oiled
machine, while I secure Violet.
“Do exactly what I tell you. Keep your head down. Follow me. Don’t
respond to any bait, and if I tell you to shoot, you fucking shoot.”
Could be one sniper, could be a goddamn team, there’s no telling, but I
don’t want her here for another second longer.
We got some information, but not enough. We’ll have to keep digging, but
I’ll have my team get cracking on that.
Violet’s my priority. And I know she’s here to find the people that killed her
parents, but none of that matters if she’s dead.
I leave my team with strict instructions to find whatever they can from
who’s left. Henri, Claude, and Joe are the ones I trust with my life. Today
will be no exception.
We walk straight to the front door, my reasoning being that no one who’s
actually going to attack us would be so bold as to attack us here, though
I’ve honestly been wrong before and don’t take any chances. I cautiously
open the door and tuck her against me, using my body as a human shield.
“I can cover myself, Cain,” she says, glaring at me, but I know she’s really
mad we have to cut this shorter than we hoped.
“I know you can but do not try me now, woman.” She’d better not fight me
on this.
Violet’s a force to be reckoned with, but so am I.
We walk out the front door where a ride’s waiting for us, brought here by
my team. Someone watches in the distance. This whole operation’s gone to
shit. I peer over the hood of the car to see who it is, but only see a flash of
green before that’s gone. Jesus.
We get into the car and head back to my place, but it isn’t safe anymore.
“Dammit,” I swear under my breath. “We need to get you somewhere safe.”
“Your house is Fort goddamn Knox,” she says, scowling.
“Not if we’re followed by a sniper.”
She shrugs. “Then lose them.”
“That easy? Just lose them?”
She nods. “Yeah. We won’t be any safer anywhere else.”
I know she’s right, I just hate taking chances. Just the same, I nod. She has a
point.
“Fine. We’ll go home. You’re right, I’ve got more resources there than
anywhere else, but first I need to make sure we aren’t followed.”
“Naturally. I’ll make sure, too. Let me drive, and you can do surveillance.”
If I could drive and do surveillance at the same time, I would. I curse under
my breath, making her grin. She knows I don’t give up the driver’s seat
lightly.
“You just saw me torture a man, and now you’re damn near grinning? God,
you need a spanking so fucking bad.” I slam the door as I reluctantly take
the passenger seat.
That only makes her grin widen.
“You’re just so cute when you go all alpha.”
“You’re out of your fucking mind.”
“I know, it’s what you love best about me.”
“Wouldn’t say best, but it’s up there.”
She giggles like a little girl, a rarity for my Violet. I take one second, just
one second, and yank her over to me so I can plant a kiss on her forehead,
before I shove her back in the driver’s seat.
“If we get into a car chase, I will never forgive you for making me do this,”
I say with a growl.
She shakes her head. “Aw, baby, you do say the sweetest things.”
“Buckle up,” I grumble.
She’s already snapping her belt.
I see no signs of anyone following us at all. Whoever it was took off in the
green car. Fucking wimp. Pussy. Who takes off like that?
We’re heading back as I watch the road.
“No one’s tailing us, Cain, I’d have seen them.”
I nod, while I run my hand under the seats and visors of the car. “I don’t see
anyone either. However…” my fingers clasp around something secured to
one of the visors. I yank it down and lay it in my hand.
She looks over out of the corner of her eye and whistles. “So even this is
tracked, eh? Did you have the car we drove in checked?”
“With what time, babe? We literally just left.”
“Bet my left boob that thing’s got a tracker then.”
“Your left boob? Jesus.”
“Guys say left nut, what’s a girl supposed to say?”
“Nothing. You say nothing.”
She glances out the window, and the smile fades from her face. “Something
bothered me about what he said during your questioning, Cain.” I don’t
know why the tone of her voice sends alarm bells clanging in my mind. It’s
like a warning bell, like the wailing of a siren before a storm. I shake my
head, willing myself to stop acting like a pussy.
“What?”
She frowns, and hits the gas, her speed creeping up as she heads onto the
highway.
“Babe, watch the speed.”
“We have to get back to the house.”
I stare at the mirror to see if we’re being tailed. Still, nothing. “Doesn’t do
us any good if we arrive in body bags.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”
“Slow down, or I’ll make you pull this car over.”
She glares at me and punches the gas again. Oh, this woman is in so much
goddamn trouble. Before I can respond, something catches my attention in
the rearview mirror. A flash of green.
“Keep it steady, Vi. Someone’s behind us.”
I flip the switch on the side of the seat so it reclines, fold the headrest back,
and kneel, gun in hand. I don’t care if anyone sees us. I don’t care about
fucking anything but making sure we get home safe and sound.
Hardly any cars are with us on the road, but Violet zooms past every one of
them. I’m not telling her to slow down now.
I kneel on the folded-down seat, gun in hand, my eyes on the target. If this
is anyone of importance…
The green is gone. I wonder for a second if it was only my imagination,
when a flash of green appears a second time.
“Come at me, bro,” I whisper. Violet’s peal of laughter makes me smile.
God, I love this woman. She just watched me interrogate an old man,
almost kill another, and now I’ve got a gun trained on someone following
us, ready to pull the trigger. And she makes jokes about her left boob and
laughs.
“You’re either perfect or psychotic,” I mutter.
“Aw, you do say the most romantic things. Do you need me to maneuver in
a way that gives you better vision?”
“No, babe. What you’re doing is perfect.”
The flash of green is only a speck, so far behind us I can’t see much. I don’t
want her to slow down because that could put us in a compromising
situation, but I want to see the motherfucker up close.
“Can you see anything at all?” she asks.
“Looks like a sunroof… but I can’t see much else.”
Violet frowns. “That sounds familiar, but I can’t place it.”
“Me neither.”
“Fuck, they took an exit.”
I watch as the green car slows and gets off the highway behind us.
“Maybe they weren’t following us?”
I shake my head. Doesn’t make sense they weren’t. Doesn’t make sense at
all.
My phone rings, and I quickly answer it. “Yeah?”
“Boss.” Henri. “I’ve got some information for you that may prove useful.”
Violet takes the exit that brings us home.
“I want to hear it but first, I want you to notify the team at the house that
Violet and I are almost there, and we are pretty certain we were followed by
a green car.”
“Green, sir?”
“Yeah. Ring a bell for you?”
“I don’t want to point fingers or raise unnecessary suspicion, sir. Is that all
you have to go on?”
“Yeah. Henri.” My voice is tight. “Spill.”
“Armand had a green car, sir. Would he be so foolish as to follow you
without bothering to get another car?”
“I don’t know.”
Foolish, maybe. Lazy, definitely.
“What did you find, Henri?”
“I’ve found a record of Violet’s mother, sir. And it’s… let’s just say it’s
interesting. I have to investigate further though.”
That tells me nothing. “You have nothing else to tell me?”
“Not yet, sir.”
We’ll have to double down our efforts. But we’re making progress. We’re
getting somewhere. I hang up with Henri, and Violet looks my way.
“What?”
“Armand drove a green car.”
“Well that doesn’t mean anything. Lots of people have green cars.”
I nod. “Yeah, but I’ve heard it on good authority that he doesn’t let shit go.”
She blows out a breath. “Of course not. That would be far too simple,
wouldn’t it?”
Oh yeah. It truly would.
Her stomach growls when we pull into the drive at the house. I check on
security, and all confirm—no one followed us here. Surveillance has been
doubled. We’re safe here.
“Inside.”
“Cain, you’re acting like a sniper’s just going to jump out at us at any
moment.”
“They did at Descamps’ house.”
She snorts. “They weren’t at Cain Master’s private house, were they? Cain,
when I hired my first ride here, the driver wouldn’t even come this far.”
“No?”
“No. He found out who lived here and he was done. Dropped me off a mile
away and made me walk.”
“Now that’s a form of bullying. I want his name.”
“You can’t beat up everyone that isn’t nice to me.”
“Watch me. And how did you know that’s what I wanted to do?”
She rolls her eyes. “Because you’re super fucking predictable.”
Oh she is in so much trouble.
I practically kick open the door to the house and usher her in. “Get in
there.”
“Yes, sir,” she says in that sickly sweet tone reserved for nothing but
sarcasm. I slap her ass.
“Cain,” she says, abashed.
“Violet,” I mimic. I take out my phone and dial Henri. “You find anything
else out?’
“Was just about to call you.”
“Yeah? Why?”
“We found out some more information. It wasn’t Violet’s father who killed
anyone. He was their I.T. guy, not an assassin.”
I blow out a breath as I meet Violet’s eyes. This intel challenges something
she’s held as truth for years.
“Any more intel?”
“We’re working on it, sir. I’ll let you know as soon as we have anything.
Joe’s got one of the security guys to talk.”
“Excellent.” I don’t ask how. I don’t need to know anything at all.
When we enter the house, the rest of my security detail swarms around me.
Violet’s swept out of my arms and inspected; someone swabs antibacterial
ointment onto a cut I didn’t even know I had. I grunt my way through
updates and get another call from Team Alpha. The investigation is under
full swing, and Henri’s trying to get camera footage from the chase we had.
“Okay, kids,” Violet says, shooing away anyone else who tries to come
anywhere near her. “Leave mama be.”
I shrug off Skylar, who’s holding gauze in one hand and glaring at me.
“Sky, babe, leave him be,” Violet says over my shoulder, but we both know
what Skylar’s been through and sometimes we don’t know what will trigger
a response.
Skylar’s eyes fill with tears. “You guys scared the shit out of me,” she
sniffs, angrily wiping her eyes. “I saw that car come after you, and I⁠—”
“Wait, what?” Violet says.
Skylar’s eyes widen. “What? Did I do something wrong?” She’s not
normally this skittish, but something’s got her worried.
“Skylar, how did you see us? What footage?”
“There’s that camera in your car, Cain.” She flushes. “You told me I could
play around with the surveillance footage, get familiar with it, so I did. That
one wasn’t turned on, but…” her voice trails off as a cold trickle of sweat
falls down my neck. The surveillance footage. Skylar’s been able to access
it because I gave her permission and the password. I thought it was the
easiest job to give her, one that wouldn’t trigger any response…
But there’s more than our standard footage on those recordings.
Goddammit, I’ve got every video I ever took of Violet on those. If she saw
them…
“Cain!” Violet turns to me. “We have to go see what she found. If there’s
anything on there that gives us a better view of the person following us, we
need that intel, and now.”
“I’ll get it.” I give Skylar a sympathetic look, as she’s staring at me as if I
have two heads. “When Henri’s done with what he’s doing right now, I’ll
have him contact you. Thanks, Sky.” I tug a lock of her hair and give what I
hope is a reassuring grin. “I need to talk to Violet alone.”
“Why?” Now Violet’s giving me the confused look.
“Vi. Upstairs,” I say, and I feel like a total douche when I actually feign
limping. “I have to get off my feet for a bit.”
Douche.
DOUCHE.
Violet nods and takes my hand. “Alright. Sky, I’ll be in touch. And thank
you.”
“You guys need something to eat?”
“Yes, God, please,” Violet says with a smile. I grunt in agreement. “Send up
sandwiches or something?”
We head upstairs. I quickly shoot Henri a text.
Sky found our archives. Delete. You know what.

I slide my phone in my pocket.

“You know… some days, I feel like we just met. Other days feel like we’re
an old, married couple.”
My mind is focused on the footage, what’s on there, what Skylar could’ve
easily found if I wasn’t careful.
Did she already find it?
“Yeah?” I’m distracted.
“Yeah.” On the landing, she spins to look at me, her voice wary. “Okay, Mr.
Master.”
My heart does a little leap.
“Yeah? Violet, move.”
“Move? Now I’m your employee?”
Her voice takes on an edge.
“I am not letting you bait me.”
“Oh, don’t I know it,” she says, her violet eyes snapping at me. “You’d just
as soon haul me over your knee, wouldn’t you? Hmm?”
“What the actual hell has gotten into you?”
“The better question is, what the hell got into you?”
Oh no, she does not turn this back around on me. “I’m warning you. Knock
it off, or you do not like where this is gonna go, babe.”
She stands her ground, hands on her hips. “And now you’re threatening
me? Oh, no sirree.”
I’ve had it. I bend, yank her over my shoulder, and finish walking up the
stairs. She predictably scissors her legs and slaps my back.
“Don’t you dare use your big, huge body to overpower me!” A door opens,
and our housekeeper Alma holds it wide. “Oh, my, my, my,” she says, then
goes right back in and closes her door again.
I slap Violet’s ass perched over my shoulder, hard.
“Don’t you dare!”
“Just did. Or what?” I spank her again.
“Or I’ll scream!”
“Then what? Scream to be rescued?”
She howls and smacks my back. I walk past my bedroom to the library,
slam the door behind me, and lock it.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her tone laden with panic. “Caiinnn…”
I’m driving her to distraction while Henri does what I asked him to. I don’t
want to fucking fight with her anyway.
“Cain, are you doing what I think you’re doing?”
The wind howls outside the window, raging with the threat of freezing rain.
But here, in front of the fire, the wood crackles and burns with the ferocity
of a dragon.
“What if I don’t want to?” she says, even as an edge in her tone begs me to
take her, dares me to make her.
“You promised me.” I’m already unfastening her jeans and shoving them
halfway down her thighs. “Hands over your head.”
With a whimper, she wriggles but obeys. My jeans tighten when she makes
me hard, that angry but obedient side to her the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
She wars with herself. She fights it. There isn’t a submissive bone in
Violet’s body, but she wants this.
Needs this.
Craves this.
And she doesn’t like to flat-out defy me. She’s done it a few times, but most
of the time, Violet does what she’s promised … to give herself to me fully.
I reach for the top she wears, fitted to her body like a glove, and yank it up
and over her head. She wears nothing but a little red bra with cotton cups
and tiny satin laces. In one flick of the wrist, the bra is open and her breasts
fall free. I take a moment to lick and nibble, kiss and worship each of them,
until her back arches and she releases a low moan.
“Yes. Mmm. God, yes, I love it when you torture my nipples.”
I take that as an invitation, and sink my teeth into one hardened, throbbing
bud, while I stroke between her legs. I flick my tongue over the very tip,
making her moan and gyrate her hips. The fire flickers in the hearth, as I lay
her on a soft rug.
“You put… this rug… here just for this, didn’t you?” she pants, bracing
herself on her palms before the fire.
“No, I put it here for show.” I bite her other nipple. “Of course I bought it
for this. Who else ever comes in here?”
The library is at the end of the hall past my bedroom, and Violet’s really the
only one who frequents this area of the house, which is why it’s the perfect
spot to keep her occupied while Henri does his work.
God, I hate myself for this. All this time, I told myself I was trying to build
trust with her, but am I doing the one thing that might cause her not to trust
me?
What will she do if I tell her?
I watch as her lips part, and lose myself to pleasuring her. I’ve never been
one who was eager to please, but with Violet… God, with Violet, I’ll give
her anything she wants. Anything.
I immerse myself in her, in the way she tastes, her intoxicating smell, the
way her body moves when I touch her. I inhale her fragrance and lick her
breasts, I smell the salty-musky scent of her seduction wrapped around me
like a cloak, and I’m lost.
I tear the rest of her clothing off and ignore the vicious rip sound when I
tear her panties. Her clothes are in the way, and I want them off now.
“Me, too, Cain, let me,” she whispers, her fingers clasping my belt buckle
and quaking. I nod, while I yank the hem of my tee and tug it over my head.
Violet’s eyes go half-lidded, and she runs her tongue along her lips.
I shove every other thought out of my mind. I won’t dwell on fear. I’ve got
Violet, and that’s all that matters to me right now.

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 CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Violet
I WAKE in the middle of the night with something so clear to me, I can’t
stay in slumber. I sit up in bed and blink my eyes.
My mother was the assassin.
It wasn’t my father.
I close my eyes, but I’m wide awake, going over every detail.
I thought everything added up to their being assassins. Weapons had lain
hidden in armored boxes under their bed. I was forbidden to touch them, but
knew that’s what they held when years later one of my foster parents had a
hushed conversation about the “evil weapons” my parents held. I overheard
enough hushed conversations to know that someone—I assumed my father
—was responsible for the death of so many.
But now…
I need to read the cryptic notes in her diary again. When Cain rescued me
from my apartment months ago, I made sure he wasn’t looking, then snuck
into my closet and brought her diary with me. I’d read it over and over
again, and there were entries that never made sense to me.
I wonder if they will now.
Before I get the diary, however, my mind is playing tricks on me. A sinking
feeling takes root in my belly.
If my mother was an assassin… what does that make me?
I quietly pull back the covers and walk over to my phone. It’s sitting on the
charger; I stare at it before touching it.
Somehow… I already know what I’ll find when I look into the details of
my mother. For reasons I don’t quite understand, I often work things out in
my sleep. I’m not sure why. Some might say it’s a hidden talent of mine.
When I was in school, I’d sometimes go to bed with a math problem on my
mind and wake up with the detailed answer.
So when I’d gone to sleep, I’d known full well that the answer to this riddle
would be my mother’s true identity. I sort of expected something would
reveal itself.
I just didn’t know it would happen like this.
I pick my phone up from the charger, then clench my fist when I realize I
never plugged it in last night. Ugh, it’s almost dead. I gently put it back on
the base and plug it in for real this time, then reach for Cain’s phone
instead.
He never cares if I use his phone. He’s given me his bank credentials and
passwords, and even got me a charge card on one of his accounts to use. He
insisted I use it, so I finally did. He laughed when I told him I bought
something for Romulus and Remus so it was easier to justify the expense.
So I don’t think twice about taking it. I take his off the charger—totally
charged of course—and silently fire it up. I don’t want to wake him.
I look over at him. He’s still dead asleep with his arm slung over his head.
God, did he give it to me good tonight. It’s rare that he knocks himself out
this hard. Poor guy. I turn with my back to him and walk to the little sitting
area in the living room attached to his bedroom.
I nestle into the corner of the couch and pull a tattered blanket from the
back. He says this was the blanket he used when he bought his first office,
so he’ll never get rid of it. I like using it. It makes me think of a younger
Cain and feel an imagined connection we didn’t have when we were
younger.
I flick on Cain’s phone and enter his password.
Wrong password.
I frown, and enter it again, slower this time so it’s more deliberate.
Wrong password.
I stare unblinking at the phone.
Did he change his password? I’m not going to wake up the poor guy to ask
him that. I frown and try one more time.
Phone locked for fifteen minutes.
I didn’t think twice about using his phone before, but now… an odd sense
of guilt consumes me.
Is he deliberately trying to get me not to use his phone? I try to think when
the last time was that I used his phone and can’t remember. I wasn’t paying
attention.
Sometimes people change passwords and just forget about it, I reason. But
not Cain… Cain’s a creature of habit, and has very, very deliberate
passwords that he never changes.
I go to the closet where I keep my personal things. It’s filled to the max
with clothes, shoes, bags, and jackets Cain’s bought me. He loves to spoil
me, and in recent months has realized that what I like above all is guns and
trucks, so the clothing purchases have tapered off. I smile to myself sadly,
running my hands over soft, silky tops and luxurious leather shoes and
boots.
I don’t want to look at my mother’s diary. I don’t know if I’ll like what I
find if I finally figure out those mysterious entries.
Cain doesn’t know it’s in here. I tell him everything else. It feels odd hiding
this one thing from him.
I take down a heavy, sturdy shoe box and pull out a slim book—my
mother’s diary, nestled into paper wrappings I’d repurposed from a pair of
leather boots and wrapped around the diary to protect it. It’s been a few
weeks since I’ve read it. I sit on the closet floor cross-legged and open it up.
The front of the book is just a normal diary. She talks about my father, but
mostly about me. Violet had her first steps today. Violet called me mama.
She was an infrequent writer, so the entries are spaced widely apart, the last
one just before my fourth birthday. I can’t believe my baby is four.
Though those are the pages I’ve looked at more than anything, that’s not
where I look now. Hands trembling, I turn to the very back of the book
where there are tally marks and initials. They fill two pages.

ST. 10/3 150k.

JL. 1/3 500k.
MO. 3/8 1 mil.

HENRI SAID he didn’t think my father was the assassin, yet everything I
unearthed when I was younger pointed to my father being the murderer.
My father wasn’t the killer. My mother was.
A cold chill washes over me as I look at the log in her perfect handwriting,
slightly slanted right. I’m looking at the log of her murders and the payouts.
I let the feeling consume me for about one full minute. I close my eyes and
feel the tingle in my nose, the tightness in my throat, the constricted
weighty feeling in my chest, and wrestle with the question that plagued me
before, that I can’t eradicate from my mind.
If my mother was an assassin, what does that make me?
There is no question in my mind that I was called to find the person that
murdered my parents. I’ve always loved weapons and strength, more than
anything really.
And Cain says I’m the best fucking natural he’s ever trained.
Why? Why?
Is it in my blood?
I take the diary with me and put it on the bedside table.
I return Cain’s phone to his charger and go back to bed.
When the bed creaks, he says, “Morning, beautiful,” in that sleepy-sexy
drawl that usually makes my heart thump faster. Today, though, I’m in a
different world.
“Morning.” My voice sounds distant.
Why would he change his password? Last night, he seemed distracted, but I
thought it was only because he often retreats after an intense day at work.
He hasn’t even opened his eyes yet, but lifts his arm to beckon me to come
to him. I slide under his arm and nestle my cheek against his chest. He
wears a clean, crisp white T-shirt. I close my eyes, the fabric warm under
my cheek, as his arm settles heavily on top of me.
“Cain.” I’m not one to let things fester and simmer. I want shit out in the
open where I can deal with things.
“Yeah, baby?”
I don’t want to have a hard conversation. I don’t want to sound like I’m
accusing him of anything.
I love this man.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that. To profess my love and tell him
I want to be his not just now… but forever. But I can’t distract myself from
the truth. I can’t ignore the feelings that settle around me like murky water,
hiding what lies in the depths.
“I went to use your phone just now.”
Is it my imagination, or did his body stiffen? He doesn’t stop the slow,
gentle brushing of his hand down my back.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I wanted to look something up. And the password was changed. You
remember what it was?”
“Of course. Sorry ‘bout that, babe. Henri told me it was safer change
passwords every once in a while, but I forgot to tell you.”
“Oh, okay.” Something feels off, though. It’s unlike Cain to hide anything
from me.
Isn’t it?
I haven’t known him that long, the logical side of my brain reasons. He
could be hiding… a lot more than I suspected.
“So… what’s the password?”
He opens one eye and gives me his crooked smile. “Violet1.”
My heart warms. My name and his lucky number.
“Tell me again why number one’s your lucky number,” I say, smiling
against his chest. I like this story. His hand comes to nestle at the nape of
my neck.
“Number one is the alpha. Alpha as a Greek number represents the number
one, so as both a symbol and a phrase, it refers to the first, the head.”
I don’t know anyone else whose favorite number is one. For Cain, it makes
sense, though.
“Got it. May I use your phone, please?”
“Of course.”
I don’t move.
“Aren’t you going to go get it?”
“Actually, I’m quite comfortable.” It’s warm and cozy here by his side, his
huge body enveloping me like a weighted blanket.
“Careful, baby,” he says with a groan, as he reaches for me and yanks me
over his chest. My legs straddle either side of his, my body pressed to his.
“Yeah?”
“Morning wood,” he says, only one eye open. I bend down to him, frame
his face with my hands, and kiss him. His lips are full and warm, and his
hands come to rest on my hips while we kiss. My heart beats faster, my
pulse racing, when he licks my tongue and rolls over. In seconds, I’m
pinned beneath him and he’s very, very awake.
Without a word, he releases my mouth and drags his lips along my chin,
then my neck, and as he kisses his way down my body, my legs part of their
own accord. I groan when he glides his hard cock, silk-wrapped steel,
against my throbbing clit.
“In me,” I beg. “I want to feel you in me. But you’re half-asleep,” I
whisper.
“Doesn’t matter. Dreamt of this when I slept.”
I lose myself to our lovemaking. I push aside all thoughts of my mother…
his passwords… us… and just enjoy what we have right here, right now.
We’re in the shower together, and I’m lathering up his back—one of my
favorite parts of his body—reveling in the way his muscles turn me on,
when his phone rings.
He leans out of the shower and hits a speaker that connects his phone to
Bluetooth.
“Sir?” Henri.
“Yeah. I’m here with Violet.”
I freeze, my hand still covered in lather, staring at his back. Since when
does he tell anyone he’s with me? They know who I am and why I’m here. I
listen in on every conversation, especially as the details to our current
investigation involve my parents.
“Sir, we found the owner of the car that followed you yesterday. You were
correct, sir.”
“Armand?”
“Yessir.”
Cain curses, turns around, and I lather his chest and arms, half-distracted.
The man’s an exquisite masterpiece of male perfection, and that’s hard not
to notice when you’ve just made love and he’s covered in steam and lather.
I kiss one perfect bicep.
“What else?”
“He hasn’t moved. Still living in an apartment in downtown Salem. Looks
like he’s out of work, but that can’t be true because his bank account says
otherwise.”
I don’t always like that Cain has such easy access to private details, but I’ve
come to expect nothing short of a full investigation.
“Why was he following us?”
Henri doesn’t answer at first. Cain’s jaw is clenched, his eyes not meeting
mine as he glares at the wall behind me.
“I’m not sure, sir.”
“Find out.”
“Yessir.”
I lather up his legs, enjoying the feel of the soap and water on our skin. He
takes a fresh washcloth and squirts my light green body wash on it, then
makes the swivel motion with his finger. His glare cuts like a laser. I know
he’s not angry with me, but at whatever’s on his mind.
I spin around and let the water caress me as he washes my body.
“I want a full report by lunch. Going to debrief everyone in about ten
minutes.”
“Yessir.”
Cain reaches out and hangs up the call.
“You just give them orders and they all ‘yessir’ you.”
“Mhm.” He brings the showerhead down and rinses my body.
“I always think that’s so hot.”
He smiles. Is it my imagination, or is the smile a bit sad?
“You’re fucking gorgeous,” is all he says. He still sounds angry.
“Thank you?”
“Why the question?”
“You sound really angry. Furious. It’s just distracting me.”
He shuts the water off and reaches for a towel, hands it to me, then grabs
one of his own. I wrap myself in the fluffy terrycloth and step onto the thick
bathmat. Like everything about Cain, the shower’s huge, with plenty
enough room for both of us.
I weirdly feel we need that distance right now.
I can’t put my finger on why things are off or what’s going on here at all,
but I know that something isn’t right.
We dress in silence, and I watch him suit up with his weapons, again, in
silence. I tug on a pair of jeans and a fitted tee, then my boots, but don’t feel
fully dressed until the knife’s in my sheath and my Wilson’s secured in a
harness.
“We’re gonna find shit out today, Violet.”
I nod. We’d better. We have to move forward on our investigation.
Descamps was involved, he knew things, and the people he was involved
with knew more.
“Cain…”
His eyes shoot to mine. “Yeah?”
Why does he look panicked?
I stare at him a moment, not sure how to respond. “What the hell is wrong?”
I finally ask. That’s not what I intended at all.
He doesn’t deny there’s anything wrong but doesn’t speak for long minutes.
I watch him tug on his boots and secure his holster. When he doesn’t speak,
I do.
“That’s not what I was going to say. I know you get distracted sometimes.”
“I don’t want to lose you, Violet.”
I freeze. I didn’t expect his response to hit me so hard. I turn and give him a
curious look. My heart beats rapidly, and my palms are sweaty. A sudden
feeling of nausea fills my belly.
“Why would you lose me?” My voice sounds distant, as if it isn’t my own.
“Shit’s about to hit the fan. We’re going to find the people responsible for
your parents’ death. And after that…”
The same thought’s occurred to me. What happens when the purpose of my
being here’s resolved?
“You’ve never killed anyone, Violet.”
I look at him in shock, cold fear trickling down my spine. “You don’t know
that.”
I watch him slide his hands on his hips and fix me with a curious stare.
“Have you?”
“I… haven’t killed a human.”
A small smile spreads across his face. “You’ve killed… what, aliens? Sea
creatures? Ghosts?”
“Well, no. I killed… I killed a rabid dog once.”
He looks a bit stunned. “Did you? A rabid dog?”
“It was harder than it looks, and it was only for safety reasons. I was
fifteen.”
“Why did you kill it?”
“It was… I was staying at Candi’s house.” Candi, my best friend, is a local
Salem police officer who can hold her own with a gun these days. Back
then, though, she was terrified. “Her dad had guns, but he was traveling,
and her mom was out. They lived kinda far from the city. We were
babysitting her younger brothers. There was this crazy dog, foaming at the
mouth. And I just… shot him.”
Cain’s brows rise, but he doesn’t respond. Finally, he nods.
“So when it comes to protecting the people you care about, you can pull the
trigger.”
I swallow. “Yes.”
I think?
“I’m ready. I’ll handle this just fine.”
He faces me, his gaze so intense I can’t look away. My mouth goes dry, and
I lick my lips. He’s got something to say.
“Come here.”
Of course he gives me an order. I refrain from rolling my eyes.
“Yeah?” I walk to within a pace of him. He reaches one large hand around
my lower back and drags me closer to him, then tips one finger under my
chin.
“Violet, I…” his voice trails off. Is that fear in his eyes? I’d have sworn a
few weeks ago there was nothing Cain feared, but I know now that’s untrue.
He fears the people he loves getting hurt. He fears letting people down. He
fears my being in trouble and not having the ability to help me.
And now… he’s afraid I’ll leave him.
“Cain, I—” I’m not even sure what I’m going to say. “Can you…” His
mouth slams on mine, and I moan into it. The frissons of awareness that
light my body ignite, and I respond without thinking. My hands on his neck,
his hands on my ass, I reach for his belt to anchor myself.
Too soon, we break our kiss. His forehead meets mine, and his voice drops.
“I love you, Violet.” He breathes a sigh as if relieved when he finally says
it. “God, woman, I love you. And I don’t want anything to come between
us. Not now, not ever.”
He loves me. He loves me.
My throat gets tight and my nose tingles. I feel hot and cold and light and
heavy all at once. I want to cry, long and loud and ugly, and I don’t know
why.
“You love me?” I ask, and he smiles that crooked smile. “I know, I know,
that’s not what a girl should say after a profession of love.”
“You’re not just any girl.”
And that’s why I love him.
“I love you, Cain.” I’ve never told anyone I loved them before. No one, not
anyone in my entire life. I wish it felt better than it does, but for some
reason, it makes me ache inside.
Loving someone makes you vulnerable. So fucking vulnerable. And I don’t
like that.
He holds me to him, his fingers tangled in my hair as if to keep me here.
“Why are you shaking?”
“I don’t like the way it makes me feel and I wish I did. If I’m honest… and
I always want to be honest with you… it scares me.”
“I know, baby. Me, too.”
He holds me in silence for a moment, and I can’t help but give thanks that
he gets that this is hard for me. I love that he doesn’t question me, or act
defensive, or make me feel like shit for admitting that loving him scares the
living shit out of me. Cain has too much integrity to act like a pussy when
we face hard things. It’s one thing I love about him.
“Violet… what does that mean for you?”
I never expected a question like this.
“To love someone?”
“Yes. Tell me, Violet. Tell me what it means to you.”
“It means… accepting someone no matter what. It means loving them for
who they are. It means… it means working through everything that’s
difficult and threatens to tear you apart, because if you love someone, you
make it fucking work. It means helping the other person become the person
they were meant to be.”
“Yes, baby.” He kisses my cheek. “All of that.”
He releases me with reluctance, concern in his eyes. “Violet, I—” He
pauses.
“Yeah?”
His phone rings. Henri.
“We’ve got intel, sir. Serious. You on your way?”
“On our way.”
He hangs up the phone and nods.
“Cain,” I say in a little voice. “We need to bring something with us.” I reach
for my mother’s diary. He holds my hand and at first doesn’t respond. Then
he takes it in his free hand. My heart pounds harder knowing that my two
worlds have somehow strangely collided.
“No matter what, Violet. No matter what happens, trust me. And remember
what you just said.”
I can’t help the feeling of foreboding that builds in my belly.
“Of course,” I tell him, but my words feel hollow.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Cain
I WOKE UP WITH A PLAN.
Violet needs to know everything.
I’ve put this off long enough, and now there’s a threat to her finding out in a
way I do not want her to. She has to know, because I’m not letting her go.
She has to know I’ve wanted her from the first time I ever saw her. She has
to know I knew she was the one for me.
But Jesus, the timing on this…
I told her I love her because I do. And when the truth comes out, I need to
believe that it’s enough, even if I have to fucking grovel on my knees for
her.
We walk hand-in-hand to my office. The house is oddly quiet today, and it
isn’t until we get to my office that I see why: all hands are on deck.
Claude, Henri, and Joe, as well as all of my new hires and trainees, and
even our damn doctor, wait for me in my office.
Violet whistles. “Whoa. Now this is quite a greeting, you guys.”
I meet Joe’s eyes. He looks grim, goddammit. I run my fingers through my
hair and grit my teeth.
Claude stands and gestures for Violet to take a seat, but I shake my head.
“She’ll sit with me.” I want her to be as close to me as possible when we
hear whatever it is they tell us.
I sit at my desk chair and she perches on my knee, alert and focused, but her
hand rests on my thigh. My fingers wrap around hers.
“Not gonna waste time, boss,” Joe begins. Everyone quiets and looks at
him. “We found Armand tracking you last night. Seems he hasn’t gotten
over being let go, and he’s got an ax to grind.”
I nod. Figured as much. All of my men, like me, were former military. We
all have a history together, too. But when Armand threatened Violet’s life
last year, I’d had enough. I wanted her brought here, but safely and on her
terms. He got her in a car accident and could’ve killed her.
He was the first one I’d ever fired.
“Understood.”
“Armand was the one who got into an accident with me,” Violet says. She
frowns. “Kinda thought he was a douche.”
“I seem to recall you calling him that, didn’t you?” Joe asks, his eyes
twinkling.
She shrugs. No regrets.
I love this woman.
Claude speaks up. “Armand wanted to be number one with Cain. Never
really stepped up enough to get there, so he wasn’t happy when we let him
go.”
“Got it.” Violet nods. “Does this have anything to do with what happened at
Descamps’ house last night?”
“I’m getting there,” Joe says.
“We don’t have all day, Joe.” Violet’s eyes snap at him, her anger evident.
She needs to be patient. I keep my voice low. “Violet.”
She frowns but nods.
“We interrogated Descamps’ team. They’ve been taken care of. They were
all ready to talk once he was out of the picture.”
I nod.
“He’s in with the Rossis.”
I blow out a low whistle.
“They’re organized crime, right?” Violet asks.
“Yeah. They’re the biggest mafia group in New England. Practically run
Boston, oversee all imports in the Northeast. They practically own every
harbor from here to Newport. Got a family home just north of Boston, too.”
Violet blinks. “Wow.”
“Yeah,” Joe continues. “It seems your parents did some work for them.” He
clears his throat and looks to me.
“She knows they were assassins, Joe.”
I wince. Here it comes.
Henri looks to me before he speaks, and I give him a nod. “Her father
wasn’t. He was a bookkeeper for them but not a made man. Neither of them
were actually in with the Rossi family. Both were contractors that worked
for them.”
“She contracted hits,” Violet says in a low voice. She winces. “Didn’t she?”
“Your mother did, Violet,” Joe says gently. She nods. She’s already figured
this out.
“So she was an assassin for the Rossis. Then why were she and my dad
killed?”
“The Rossis were not responsible for their deaths. They did a hit for the
Rossis, but the hit was on one of their rivals. We suspect the Rossi target
brought vengeance back to them.”
“You suspect?” Violet’s voice holds a note of anger. “I want more than
suspect.”
“We’re working on that, Violet. Descamps’s men gave us everything they
knew.”
She nods. “So we go to the Rossis.”
A murmur goes up in the group, and Violet gives a questioning look.
“You don’t just… go to the Rossis, Violet.”
She tips her head to me. “No? And why not?”
“They’re the most notorious crime ring on the East Coast, that’s why.
They’ll blow your head off and bury your body, then pour a glass of wine
and call it a day before we’ve gotten anywhere.”
“Well that’s rather drastic,” she mutters. “I can play nice.”
“I’ll go with you.” My men all look my way. Claude shakes his head slowly
from side to side, and Henri’s mouth drops open.
“Sir,” Henri says. “They can’t be trusted.”
“I’m not trusting them. We have questions, and they have answers.”
“They do. And we’ll go together.” I turn to Joe. “Bring Armand in.”
He holds my gaze but doesn’t respond at first. I know he’s worried about
what Armand will say to Violet, but I can’t hold back the truth any longer. I
need her to know exactly where we stand.
There’s a knock on the door. “Yes?” I answer.
The door opens, and Skylar comes in. She stares at me with accusation in
her eyes, her arms crossed over her chest. “Excuse me. There’s an all-
hands-on-deck staff meeting, and no one invited me?”
“Come in, Sky.” One of the guys stands to let her sit, and she waves him
off.
“I’m one of the team now, since I looked through all that footage.” Her gaze
swivels to mine, and she clears her throat. “And I do mean all the footage,
Cain. That wasn’t my initial plan, but it’s how things worked out. And it
seems there’s lots that needs to happen and be brought to light, no?”
Shit.
“There is, Skylar, but in time. Right now, we have to move on the Rossis.
They were likely the ones that sent someone to silence Descamps. They’re
onto us, and we need to be proactive.”
“Right. Is Violet going with you?”
I nod. “We’ll go together.”
She blows out a breath. “Take me with you.”
The room goes so quiet, I can hear the slow ticking of a clock on the wall.
“Excuse me?”
“Take me with you.” There’s a note of steel in her voice that’s unlike
Skylar.
Is my baby sister quietly blackmailing me?
“Sky, you haven’t trained with him,” Violet says gently. “We’ve worked for
months on my knife and gun skills.”
“No, but I’ve trained with you,” Sky says, holding her own. The first time I
ever saw Violet, she was training young kids in martial arts. Skylar’s been
working with her for months, but is still very much a novice.
“It’ll be a dangerous situation, though,” Violet says, her voice tighter now.
“Listen, I have reasons for wanting to go, okay?” Skylar says. “Plus, I know
them.”
“You know the Rossis?” I ask.
Skylar shrugs. “I used to read Tarot cards with the youngest Rossi girl. And
I maybe had a little fling with… one of her brothers,” she says in a rush.
I swear under my breath. “You had an affair with one of the Rossi
brothers?”
“Cain, honey, take a deep breath,” Violet says, running her hand along my
arm. “That vein’s pulsing in your temple again…”
“My sister slept with one of the Rossi brothers, read Tarot fucking cards
with the sister, and you want me to calm down?”
“Now wait,” Skylar says, her brows coming together. “I didn’t tell you I
slept with any of them.”
Violet rolls her eyes. “Kids, kids, settle down.” She gives Skylar a pointed
look. “Sweetie, you hang your laundry on a sex chair. There’s no shame.”
Skylar shakes her head. “It’s a tantric chaise. Fine. Are you going to take
me with you or what?”
Violet looks to me. The room’s gone silent, as if everyone’s holding their
breath waiting for me. “Could be really helpful having someone with us that
knows them, even if her history is a bit… dubious.”
“Did you cheat on any of them?” I ask sternly.
“Cain!”
I need to know. “Did you?”
“Of course not,” she huffs out, offended.
“Did any of them cheat on you?”
“No. The only reason we didn’t see each other anymore was that he went to
college internationally and we just sort of lost touch. In fact, he was quite
the gentleman in bed.” Oh, God, I do not need to hear this.
“And his sister’s lovely. We still keep in touch.”
“Boss, might be a good idea,” Joe says. “They’re a lot less likely to attack if
there’s a friend between you.”
“Honest to God, Skylar, you cannot ever do something so stupid again.
Seriously.”
“Cain, I’ve grown up now. You know that. I can handle myself just fine, and
with the skills Violet’s teaching me, I’ll be even more prepared than ever.”
“Fine. Fine. But don’t do anything without my permission, is that clear?”
She nods eagerly, while Violet takes out the diary. She hops off my lap and
speaks in hushed tones to Henri, who takes the diary with a nod and jots
down notes. I know it will all come clear in the end.
I hate that the two women that mean more to me than anything in the world
are in a dangerous situation like this. I hate that I can’t trust the people
we’re going to see.
And I hate that I haven’t told Violet the truth. Skylar knows, I know she
does.
I can’t hold this back anymore.
“Sky, I need to talk to Violet alone before you come with us.” I don’t look
at Violet. I can’t. Not yet.
“You do,” she says with a nod. “I understand. I’ll wait for you in the truck.”
I shake my head. “I’m not sure how long this will take. I’ll call you when
we’re ready to go.”
I feel like I’m going to be sick. I don’t like the way Violet’s face has paled,
or the way she gently tugs her hand out of mine and wraps her arms around
her body.
“Okay,” Skylar says with a nod. “Violet, just remember you love him,
okay?”
Violet looks sharply at Skylar, and I groan. Seriously, Skylar? Seriously?
“Skylar, go read a book or something, and stop interfering,” Violet scolds.
Skylar shrugs and heads to the truck. Maybe I should send her to the house.
Who knows how long this will take.
When the door shuts behind her, Violet turns to me. Her amethyst eyes glow
with fire, and she stands up straighter. My girl may be a tiny thing, but she’s
powerful and potent, and I feel that straight in my gut right now. She raises
one brow at me. “Spill, Mr. Master.”
“Target range.”
She slow-blinks, then nods. “Do you plan on seducing me after you tell me
whatever the hell it is you need to tell me?”
“No, babe. I’m not planning on seducing you.” I can’t keep the melancholy
out of my tone.
Jesus. I’ve waited months and months to get Violet to myself. I’ve worked
my ass off building trust, establishing what’s between us. I want Violet, and
I don’t want to share her… not now, not ever.
But I’ll have to give her a chance to walk away.
I’ve never felt so helpless in my life.
We get to the target range, and the world seems eerily silent. It’s as if the
entire planet is waiting on the conversation I’m about to have with her.
A part of me hopes there will be a distraction of some sort, that a meteor
will fall to Earth, or a bomb will explode, or… something. Anything, to
keep me away from having the conversation I have to have with her.
She shuts the door with finality, then turns to me. “Cain, I feel like I’m
going to be sick waiting for this.”
“Me, too.”
Her voice is pained when she pleads with me. She places her hands on my
shoulders, nearly standing on her tiptoes. “Then tell me, babe. Please.”
I bend down and brush my lips to hers. It might be the last time I ever do. I
want one more chance with her, one more taste of her, before I lay out what
could destroy us.
When I pull away, her eyes are filled with tears. “That felt like a goodbye.
Why did that feel like a goodbye?”
I’d flay the very skin off my back to keep her happy. To keep those eyes
from filling with tears like that.
There’s no more time. I have to man the fuck up and tell her.
I have to tell her everything.
“Violet, when you first came here, that day you came and asked me to help
you find your parents’ killer?”
She nods slowly. Waiting. There’s no easy way to say this.
“I already knew who you were.” I watch her eyes grow troubled, but she
doesn’t speak.
“It was my intent from the very beginning to bring you here. I… had been
obsessed with you for months.”
A look of confusion crosses her features. I’m sure she’s replaying
everything in her mind, trying to figure this all out, trying to decipher my
meaning. “What do you mean?”
I sit heavily on a chair by the door and tug her down to my lap, but she
gently extricates herself from me and sits beside me instead.
Jesus.
“I was doing surveillance with Armand and Joe. There was an asshole
cheating on his wife, and we were monitoring people at the mall. We had
cameras set up, and we recorded everything to get evidence. And…well,
there you were.”
“At the mall?” She looks perplexed. She needs a full view of things before
she can make any judgment call. It’s her way. “Oh. Oh, wait.” She pales.
“Cain, that was… back in the spring. I did a demonstration at the mall. That
was… months and months before I met you.” Even her lips look paler.
Jesus.
“I know.” I clear my throat. “I saw you there, and I had to have you. You
looked at the camera. You didn’t even know that you did, and I… saw your
eyes. They mesmerized me. I remember thinking they looked like amethyst
caught in moonlight.”
She looks at me sadly. “You had me followed.”
“I followed you myself. I watched you. I looked into you.”
“You stalked me, Cain.” Her voice sounds distant and hollow. I reach for
her hand, but she pulls back. I feel stung. She hasn’t yelled or gotten angry
or hurt me in any way.
A part of me wishes she would.
I’m not going to sugarcoat this. “I did, baby.”
Her voice is a whisper. “Don’t call me that.”
My gut clenches. “I was obsessed with you, Violet. No. I am obsessed with
you.”
“You never told me. If you’d only told me…”
“You would’ve run from me.”
“You don’t know that!” Now, I see the anger. Now, I feel it. She stands, but
I quickly tug her back down so she doesn’t run. We have to talk this out.
“I don’t, but I know you well enough to know that vulnerability scares the
living hell out of you. I knew I had to show you that you could trust me.”
“By lying to me?” She laughs mirthlessly. “Tell me how that works?”
“God, babe, no. By showing you I was a man who had your best interest in
mind.”
“And in your mind, stalking me, luring me here, and acting like I was a
perfect stranger the first day we met was somehow the right thing to do?”
My phone rings, but I silence it.
“Go ahead. Take it,” she says, looking away. “I need a minute.”
“No.”
She looks at me and purses her lips. “Suit yourself.”
“Listen to me, Violet.”
“That’s all I’ve done is listen.” Her arms are wound across her chest as if to
wall herself off from me. As if she wants to ensure I don’t touch her.
“So when Armand got into that accident with me… it wasn’t an accident at
all? You put him up to it? How, Cain?”
I blow out a breath and go for broke. “You’re the kind of woman who
values independence. You need to know that things are on your terms.”
“So you thought it best, in that omniscient mind of yours, to make those
decisions for me? Oh, I get it now. Lovely.”
She blinks, and a tear rolls down her cheek. Fuck.
Fuck.
“I knew I could help you. I knew you’d want me to. But I had to make sure
you were doing things on your terms.”
“Cain, how could I ever trust you again after this?” She stands and shakes
her head. I reach for her, but she bats my hand away.
“I deserve this,” I tell her honestly. Jesus, I deserve this and so much
fucking more. I wish she’d yell at me, or hit me, or throw something at me
for fuck’s sake. I wish she’d slap me or even come at me and fight, which
she absolutely could do. She hasn’t really, other than the little spat with the
cudgels, since that first day she attacked me and I warned her never to try to
fight me again. I wouldn’t defend myself, though. I’d let her hurt me and
know I deserved more than whatever the fuck she gave me. “Sorry seems so
futile, babe.”
“Don’t call me that,” she says, and when her voice wobbles a little, my
heart breaks. I’ve done her wrong, and I’m paying the price. I’d give up my
goddamn kingdom to erase the hurt in her eyes. I’d give up damn near
anything.
“Violet—” I reach for her, but she throws her hand up, palm facing me.
“No, Mr. Master. I’m Miss Price to you. I came here for your help in
finding my parents’ murderer, and now we’re on the cusp of a
breakthrough. We’ll finish this job.” Her voice is cold and distant, as hollow
as an empty shell. “And then we’re over. I can’t be with a man I can’t
trust.” Her voice breaks, and fresh tears spill down her cheeks. “You were
the only one I thought I could.”
I expected her anger. I even half-expected her to react like this, hurt and
distant and angry. But a part of me hoped we could talk it through. That
she’d forgive me. That we had enough trust between us that we could work
through anything.
My phone rings again, the only sound in the soundproof target range. I look
at this place that holds so many memories for us. It’s become the place of
our trysts, the place that belongs to just the two of us. The others rarely
even come here anymore, since they know it’s sacred to us. In seconds, I
take in everything that has meaning in here, unsure of what to say or how to
respond.
“You should answer that, Mr. Master,” she says in that same cold, distant
voice I don’t ever want to hear again. “It could be important.”
I yank the phone out of my pocket and see Joe’s name. “Yeah?” It isn’t his
fault everything’s gone to shit, but I’m pissed that anyone’s got the nerve to
interrupt me right now. My sun has disappeared, leaving me in bleak, cold
darkness.
I put the phone on speaker so Violet hears.
“Boss, you gotta move. The Rossis leave this afternoon for their home in
Tuscany and won’t be back for another month.”
I curse, gripping my phone so hard my fingers hurt. “When do they leave?”
“Two hours. Skylar’s waiting by the truck. She’s rigged up, and we’ve got
you on surveillance. Anything they say or do will be recorded. Go now, and
Henri will fill you in on what you need to know on the way.”
Violet nods. “Thanks, Joe. We’re on our way.”
The furious energy in me boils and simmers to a dangerous heat. Someone’s
left a velvet-lined box of throwing knives, Violet’s weapon of choice, on a
nearby table. I grab the nearest one, pull my arm back, and whip it at the
target at the end of the range. Violet flinches when it sinks straight into the
heart. She grabs a second one from the box and I half-expect her to throw it,
too, but she slides it into to her ankle sheath. My girl loves her throwing
knives.
My girl.
My woman.
My everything.
I don’t even remember the last time I cried but fuck if it doesn’t tempt me.
Throwing the knife hasn’t helped at all.
A brisk wind kicks up when we step outside, flecks of snow and ice raining
down. This time of year in Salem it’s rare for snow, but the occasional
freezing rain isn’t out of the question. My instinct is to drape my arm
around Violet to protect her from the cold, but the way she holds herself
tells me that wouldn’t be welcome right now. She doesn’t want me
anywhere near her, and I don’t fucking blame her at all.
Skylar waits for us.
We have a job to do. I gave her my word, and even if everything’s over
between us—even if she wants to leave forever—I made her a promise, and
I intend on keeping it.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER THIRTY

Violet
I HATE that I’m in this truck with Cain and Skylar, knowing that I have to
leave. I hate that he’s told me all this now, right when we’re on the cusp of
doing what I came here for. A part of me reasons that he didn’t tell me
before now because he didn’t want to jeopardize this operation, but… I
know better.
It kills me to know that everything I had here—the friendship, the family,
the love of a man a woman could only dream of—is now gone.
I look out the window and see Romulus and Remus staring at me, their eyes
hopeful that I’ll come home. They wait for me in the window when I leave
and wag their little butts when I return. But this time… I’m not returning.
How could I? How could I trust anything at all after what Cain told me?
I’d had sneaking suspicions, but all this time figured it was only in my
head. Someone was following me. Someone was trailing me. Back when
we hunted for the man who abducted Skylar, he was after me, too, and I
assumed that those feelings of being followed were only because of him,
because I didn’t feel that way anymore after we apprehended him and the
brother he worked with.
But I know the truth now. I didn’t feel like anyone was following me
anymore because I was with Cain, and he had no reason to track me when I
was in his fucking house.
All people react differently when they’re angry. Some scream and throw
things, and I have vivid recollections of a foster mother who’d done just
that. After being on the receiving end of one of those adult tantrums, I’d
made up my mind that would never be me. Ever.
Some people cry. Some drown themselves in cookie dough and ice cream,
and others in alcohol or drugs.
Me? I shut off my emotions. I can’t feel anymore when I’m angry. I retreat
to a place of practicality, a pragmatic approach, I suppose. I think of what I
can control, what I can do, and I throw myself wholeheartedly into that.
Sometimes that means cleaning the hell out of my bedroom, my car, or a
closet. Sometimes that means running until my feet feel like they’re on fire
and sweat drenches my body. Sometimes that means a boxing workout, no
gloves, that tears the skin off my hands because for some reason, that feels
damn good.
And I can’t do any of those things right now. I breathe in through my nose
and out through my mouth, willing myself to stay calm.
Cain takes the driver’s seat, and I don’t argue. This truck’s hard to
maneuver, and I don’t trust myself not to wreck it in the state of mind I’m
in.
Skylar looks at me, then Cain, then blows out a breath. “So, I’m guessing
you all had that conversation that I suggested?”
“You knew?” I ask, my eyes flashing.
“Not on purpose,” Skylar says. “Recently stumbled on some incriminating
evidence, but I wanted Cain to be the one to talk to you.”
“Oh yeah. Well he did, and I don’t want to talk about it, Sky.”
“Violet…” her voice trails off.
I grunt in reply.
“I mean it was a shitty thing to do, but I⁠—”
“I literally just said I don’t want to talk about it,” I snap.
“But Violet, seriously.”
Cain makes a growling sound. “Skylar, enough. Knock it off,” he says in
that big brother tone that means business.
“Don’t yell at her.”
He looks at me in disbelief. “I was defending you.”
“No, you weren’t defending me, you were getting all bossy and telling her
what to do, which, I might add, is like your favorite thing to do anyway, so I
shouldn’t be surprised.”
“Oh for the love of fucking God,” he grumbles.
“Ew,” Skylar says, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Watching you two
fight is like when someone throws one bone to Romulus and Remus.”
“Did you seriously just make that analogy?”
“It is! They growl at each other and act like they’re going to snap each
other’s damn heads off and gouge their eyes out, but you know they’re
inseparable and will end up sprawled all over each other come bedtime.”
I grimace at the mental image of me sprawling all over Cain. I don’t want to
even look at him, much less touch him.
I’ve got something to say. “Okay, so I’m here for a reason, and I shit you
not, it has literally nothing to do with getting relationship advice or even
discussing anything that doesn’t have to do with our meeting with the
Rossis. Got it?”
Skylar nods and Cain sighs. “What she said.”
Cain’s phone rings. Henri.
“Answer it on speaker.”
Normally, I love Cain’s commanding attitude. Hell, I crave it and even find
it hot. Right now? He is pissing me off.
“Anything you say, Mr. Master,” I mutter in a singsong voice. Apparently
when I’m angry I get petulant, too. Skylar shakes her head slowly from side
to side, and I finally just flip her off to shut her up. I hit the speakerphone
on Cain’s phone.
“Henri here. I need to fill you in on the Rossis.”
“On it,” Cain mutters.
“Family home north of Boston, not far from here. Oldest brother’s Romeo,
youngest Mario. Grandfather’s Giorgio Rossi, nicknamed The Iron Fist, do
with that what you will.”
Excellent.
“Mother’s Tosca Rossi, seems she’s tight with her kids and her husband, but
she has a reputation as a flirt. Those should be the only ones you see today,
if my intel can be trusted.”
“Got it. Thanks for that, Henri.”
“Sir, you know I don’t like to give you advice.”
“Right.”
“But this time, just one quick word of warning, sir. I think you should have
Skylar reach out to her connections. I’ve only researched the Rossis briefly
and updated our files on them, but they are not what one might call
approachable by any stretch of the imagination.”
“Excellent,” Cain mutters, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Anything else
we should know?”
“They have guard dogs by the front gate. Bring the treats Violet keeps in the
truck for our boys.”
Cain looks at me. “You keep dog treats in my truck?”
“‘Course I do.” I pull the dog bones out of the glove compartment.
Cain exhales audibly. “Thanks, Henri. We’re not far out, so text me with
any updates.”
Skylar taps her foot on the floor, her fingers flying over her phone. She
mutters under her breath.
“Any luck?”
“Marialena just woke up, she isn’t going away with her family. She says it’s
fortuitous for me to reach out to her, she read her cards last night and found
she would be approached by an old friend.” Skylar smiles. “D’aw. Isn’t that
sweet?”
Cain rolls his eyes. He has no use for anything outside of the physical
realm, placing all things spiritual and otherwise in the same category as the
Loch Ness Monster or the Boogeyman.
“Very sweet,” I say, placating Sky. “Can she get us in?”
Sky frowns. “Unfortunately, she’s finishing up her classes and won’t be
home until later. She isn’t going with the family to Tuscany because she
needs to finish a few finals.”
“Got it. So that leaves Loverboy?”
Cain makes a choking sound I dutifully ignore.
“On it,” Skylar says in a singsong voice, apparently very excited that she
has been brought into this. She taps happily away on her cell phone, and at
least I'm relieved that she isn't trying to interfere in our fight.
We drive in silence for long minutes, as Skylar waits to hear back, and Cain
and I have nothing to say.
So this is it. We’ve come this far with one purpose in mind, and if
everything goes well with the Rossis, we’ll close in on finding the people
I’ve come for. The answers we need.
Skylar’s phone chimes. “Score!” she says with a grin, making Cain flinch.
Apparently, he doesn’t like the idea of his sister scoring anything. If I
wasn’t so fucking furious with him, I’d reassure him. Right now, I am more
than happy to let him handle this on his own.
We’re over. We are through.
I want to sob and break things into little pieces. I want to run to the cliffs
that overlook the ocean and scream until the wind carries my anger and hurt
away.
And that’s it. There’s the rub. I’m more hurt than I am angry. I trust hardly
anyone in my life. I can count those I do on one hand, and Cain was one of
them.
But now… now after everything, I can’t trust him anymore. And what’s a
relationship at all if it isn’t built on trust?
“He says come on over. Meet him at the back gate, and he’ll get us in.”
“Excellent.” I nod. We’re one step closer.
We pull up to an actual, bonafide castle, the biggest estate I’ve ever seen,
bigger even than Descamps. This one strangely doesn’t have a security gate,
though.
“Um, why did no one tell me this family lives in an actual castle?”
Skylar grins. “It’s amazing, isn’t it?”
I shake my head in disbelief. “And yet, no security gate? Or…moat?” I ask,
curious about this one detail.
“They have dogs and snipers,” Cain explains. “And they trust their
reputation. They’ve got a security team that rivals any on the East Coast.”
I whistle. “Damn.”
“Yeah.”
“So where’s your guy, Skylar?”
We drive slowly, our tires gliding over the black paved driveway with ease.
She points to a large mansion up on a hill. “There.”
A tall, good-looking guy with short black hair stands, wearing nothing but a
T-shirt and jeans against the bitter cold wind. He looks like he could be a
throwback to the James Dean era, his dark hair falling over his forehead
giving him a bad boy vibe. He scowls when he sees me and Cain, his eyes
narrowing.
“You did tell him we were coming, right?”
“Welllll,” Sky says with an apologetic shrug. “I mean, I told him I was.”
“Sky,” I groan.
Cain parks the truck and exhales. “Violet, you stay here. I’ll go with Sky
and tell you when to come.”
“Fuck. Off.” I slide over and get out of the truck behind Skylar. She giggles
softly to herself, and Cain slams the truck door so hard I’m surprised the
windshield doesn’t break. But I don’t work for him. I don’t take orders from
him. I did for a time because we liked it that way. Because I told him I was
his. But now… now he’s lost that privilege.
“Mario Rossi,” Sky says under her breath, “is loyal to the core. Keep that in
mind. Say nice things about his family.”
I see the dark eyes of his dogs lurking behind him and pat my pocket
reassuringly. These treats are going to come in handy.
“Skylar.” His voice hasn’t ripened with age, and I’d guess he’s probably a
junior or so in college. Early twenties, though men in organized crime like
this likely age a lot quicker than your run-of-the-mill boy. “You didn’t tell
me you were bringing company.”
“Missed you, too, Mario,” she says with a charming grin. “This is my
brother Cain and…” she pauses, unsure of what to call me. “His co-worker
Violet.”
Ouch.
Mario doesn’t respond.
“They need to talk with your dad or brother.” Violet says unassumingly.
“Please?”
“They’re packing, heading to Tuscany. They don’t want company right
now.”
Skylar sidles up to him and kisses his cheek. He rests his hand on her hip,
and Cain’s whole body tightens.
I don’t care I don’t care I don’t care.
Mario grunts, whispers something in Skylar’s ear, and she giggles like a
little girl. God.
She whispers back to him. “Alright,” he says with a nod. “Five minutes. I’ll
bring you in, make sure you don’t get shot, then you’re out of here, but all
I’m giving you is five minutes.”
“That’s all we’ll need,” I assure him.
Storm clouds roll in overhead, as the large front door opens. A pretty
woman, probably old enough to be my mother, stands on the front step. Her
figure’s impeccable, and her clothes are high-end. She wears torn jeans, a
black fitted top, and boots to her knees, but it’s the calculating look of
charm she gives me I notice most of all.
“Skylar! How lovely to see you, my sweet. Come, come in, Skylar.”
Skylar trots up the steps and kisses the woman on each cheek.
“Mama, this is Skylar’s brother Cain and his associate, Violet. This is my
mother, Tosca. They need to talk to Dad or Romeo.”
The woman escorts us in. “Ah, of course. Come in,” she says warmly. “My
husband’s busy preparing for our trip this afternoon, but my son should be
here. Please, make yourself at home.”
Four armed guards in suits stand nearby, their faces stoic and unmoving.
One steps to the front.
“Weapons, please.”
Cain and I don’t balk, but hand him our guns without question. I don’t
move, hoping they don’t notice the knife sheath. I give Cain a quick look
and he shakes his head so casually, one might not notice. I don’t take out
my knives.
“Is that all?” he asks pleasantly, though his posture tells me this man knows
how to shoot a gun and he isn’t afraid to use it.
I nod. Probably not a good idea to lie, but it’s a worse idea to go into the
Rossi family home unarmed.
Though they seem friendly and their house is gorgeous, there’s something I
can’t quite put my finger on in the air.
Skylar and Mario are gone. “Where’d Sky go?” I ask Cain.
His lips thin, but Tosca Rossi’s all charm. “Ah, they went off a bit by
themselves. Come, have a seat. Can I get you a drink, Mr. Master?”
I catch Cain’s eye. She knows exactly who he is.
“Hot tea would be fantastic, thank you.”
She smiles. “Of course. And you, Violet?”
“The same.” Neither of us will drink the tea, but I know why he’s asked for
it. I’m surprised Tosca’s fallen for it. A hot beverage makes an excellent
makeshift weapon if push comes to shove.
She busies herself with preparing our tea, and even serves it on a gorgeous
platter nestled by a plate of homemade cookies.
“Please,” she says. “Help yourself.”
I take a cookie, only to be polite, and thank her. We sit and stir our tea while
she asks us about our travels, if we’ve been to Italy, and tells us all about
how she loves their home in Tuscany but prefers the modern conveniences
of living in Salem.
A few minutes into our conversation, the tea’s grown cool when the door to
the study opens and a tall man, older but resembling Mario, enters.
Tosca stands and plucks our cups out of our hands and puts them on the
platter sitting on the table. “Now, now, Mr. Master, you didn’t think I was
so naïve, did you really?”
She places a hand on his leg, and I want to slap her away. How dare she flirt
with my—no. No, he isn’t mine. She can fuck him for all I care.
I ignore the way my belly churns with a fiery, volcanic heat.
Cain stands and extends his hand. “Cain Master. This is my associate,
Violet.”
Romeo Rossi shakes both our hands with a grave nod. “Welcome. Please,
have a seat and tell me why you’re here, though I’ll thank you to keep our
conversation brief. You’ve arrived just before we leave for a trip overseas.”
“I apologize, Mr. Rossi,” I say, as politely as I can. “Our matter’s rather
urgent, and thank you in advance for anything you can tell us that would
help us.”
He sits, crosses one leg over the other, and nods. Though he’s attractive—
one might even say hot, with his large physique and presence that fills the
damn room—he’s no Cain. There’s a ruthlessness in his eyes I haven’t seen
in recent years, something that tells me he’d kill me just as soon as look at
me. I imagine he inspires fears in his enemies and respect in his friends. I
wonder idly if he has a lover. I glance at his hand and see no ring. Married
to his work, then. I mentally roll my eyes. Aren’t they all?
“Go on.”
Cain sits beside me, his back ramrod straight. Tosca sits right beside him, so
close her leg touches his. I focus on Romeo.
“My name is Violet Price, though that’s a new name. I was born Violet
Bates.” No recognition in his eyes. “When I was four years old, my parents
were murdered. For years, I labored under the assumption that my father
was killed because he was an assassin, but recently I found further evidence
that it was actually my mother who was.”
He nods patiently, not a glimmer of emotion on his stoic features. “You
understand my time is valuable, Miss Price. I’m happy to do a favor for a
friend, but for you, we’d need more than an act of good will.”
“If you give us the answers we need, we’ll pay you.”
He smiles at Cain. “From what I know about you, Mr. Master, you could
well afford my services. But I don’t need your money.”
Oh, to have the luxury of not needing money. What privilege. I don’t even
want to think about what he’s done to reach that position.
“What can I give you, then?”
He eyes me with a wicked smile I feel down to my toes, a predatory look in
his eyes I’ve seen before.
Seems the Rossi family currency is sex.
Cain’s voice is a deadly growl. “Violet herself is off the table.”
I stand, prepared to tell him to fuck off. I open my mouth to speak, and I
swear I might just offer to bed this man to get what I want and screw with
Cain. “That isn’t for you to say,” I snap.
Cain’s on his feet. Romeo draws his gun.
“Does he have you here against your will?” he asks me, gun cocked.
Oh my God.
I look at him in surprise. He thinks Cain has me here against my will?
Would he shoot him?
I shake my head. I’m angry at Cain, but not so much that I wouldn’t fight
for him, even now. We might be over, but we have a history together I
won’t ever, ever forget.
“No. We’re associates and no more,” I say, my words laden with ice. “Mr.
Master assumes a level of familiarity he no longer can. Now,” I say in a
pleasant voice. “Let’s sit down and stop with the pissing match. Deal?”
I feel my words cut through the tension in the room.
We all sit down. Tosca never even stood. She glances at her nails and picks
at an invisible cuticle, like this type of conversation is just par for the
course.
“Perhaps we can barter services. Master Enterprises has the most reputable
name you’ll find in the Northeast.”
He nods. “While I’m disappointed I can’t have you, Violet, I thank you.” He
gets to his feet with a bored yawn. “And thank you for your offer to barter. I
will tell you only this. Yes, I knew your mother. Her eyes were
unforgettable. She worked for us for a time until her demise several decades
ago. We suspect we know who was responsible for her death, but
unfortunately, I can’t give you that name since you’re an outsider. I do wish
you the best with your endeavors.”
“But I—” It isn’t enough. We need more.
He inclines his head. The door to the room opens and Skylar, looking a bit
disheveled but wearing a shit-eating grin, comes in with Mario. The men
nod at each other, and Romeo leaves.
“So sorry you couldn’t get what you came for,” Tosca says. She places a
well-manicured hand on Cain’s shoulder. I want to slap her so badly my
fingers tingle. How dare she touch him?
Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter!
“Do come again?”
Cain bends and kisses her cheek. “Thank you for your hospitality. And we
will.”
I clamp my jaw when I realize it’s unhinged. I’m staring at him as if he’s
sprouted a second head. How could he kiss her cheek like that? With me
standing right here?
I look to Cain. Is that it, then? We just leave without getting what we came
for?
“Thank you,” he says, turning his back to me and heading for the door.
“Please tell your husband I said hello.”
She freezes. “I will, thank you.”
We make it to the truck before I lose my shit. “How could you… just…
leave?” I nearly scream at him. “We came here for a reason. And you
promised me!”
“Hush, Violet,” Cain says in that stern voice I normally heed. “Get in the
truck.”
“Fucking no,” I hiss. “I need answers. I’m not leaving here until I get them.
I didn’t come here for a cup of fucking tea and a trip to what feels like a
damn escape room or obstacle course. I swear we just left a goddamn
insane asylum.”
“Get in the truck, Violet, or I will pick you up and strap you in myself,” he
says through gritted teeth.
“Babe,” Skylar says pleadingly, her eyes wide. “Please. Do what he says,
okay? Just this one time then you can ignore him for eternity.”
It’s then that I realize every one of the Rossi guards stands in a semi-circle,
their hands on their weapons, waiting for us to go.
I get in the truck and close my eyes. It’s all gone to shit. Everything.
Everything.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Cain
I HATE the way Violet looks at me, somewhere between fury and hurt; it
makes me sick to my stomach. I hate the attitude she’s giving me, though I
freely admit I deserve it. Hell, earned it even.
We have a job to do, and I can’t think about us right now.
“Violet, we left because the Rossis asked us to, and when Romeo Rossi asks
you to do something, you’d better have a goddamn good reason if you
don’t. We also left because I’m confident that Skylar has exactly what we
need.”
“So, folks,” Skylar says. She props her feet up on the dash with a wicked
grin. I know she’s got intel for us. “I do indeedy.”
Violet blinks. “Go on, then.”
“Your mother was hired by the Rossis for a variety of hits over the course of
a decade.” Violet nods. I wish I could read her expression, but her face is a
mask. “It was before Mario’s time, but the family has secret records, and he
was able to access all of them. For a price,” she says with a nod. “But it was
not a hard price to pay, believe you me. He has this thing where he⁠—”
“Skylar.” Violet and I both say in unison. She looks at me briefly, then flips
her head away so she doesn’t have to look me in the eyes.
“Okay, right. You guys don’t like to think about sex even though you’ve
probably christened every single place in that entire mansion of yours but
whatever. So anyway, he says that there was a priest or minister or
something by the name of Descamps who got into big trouble with a rival
mafia group, the Castellanos. As a favor to Descamps, Rossi hired your
mother to do this hit. Rival mafia group found out, paid back the Rossi
family with a hit of their own, but then tortured one of the cousins until he
gave them your mom’s name…” her voice trails off until she finishes in a
voice that hints at a whisper. “And the rest is history.”
“Castellano,” I mutter to myself. “Castellano.” I know I’ve heard it before,
I just don’t know where. “Where have I heard that before? I know I’ve seen
it. Read it, even… and something tells me we need to know more about
this.”
“Babe,” Cain says, then shakes his head. “Violet. How did you discover that
your mother was an assassin?”
“She had this book…. That I keep. The one I gave Henri just now. It’s
partially a diary, but she also had all sorts of things scribbled and scrawled
into it. She liked to draw and color little doodles and things like that. I took
it with me that day you took me from my place and brought me to yours.”
Ah, right. She distracted me and asked me to take something she never used
out of the drawer in her bedside table and didn’t think I saw her take a book
out of the closet and tuck it into her bag. My job is to not miss details. I
rarely do.
“Right.”
“And in the book… well, she has a few strange things. Like she has pictures
she drew of me as a baby, sitting by a crib, sitting in a highchair, eating
baby food. But then there’s one with my eyes colored violet, and next to it
she’s written in cursive, Violet Price. It’s why I took that name…” her voice
trails off.
“I gave it to Henri and gave him my theory on the names and payouts. She’s
mentioned Greenlief, Whittier, and Whitman.”
Skylar frowns. “You know Greenlief Whittier’s a private bank in Salem?”
Violet blinks. “No, I didn’t know that.”
Skylar whips out her phone and starts typing away. “Whoa. Babe. We need
to go there next.”
“Why?”
“The CEO of the bank’s name is Whitman. He knows something, Vi. He
knows something big.”
“Hit the GPS, Sky.”
“Are they following us?” Violet looks out the rearview mirror, and I follow
her gaze. About thirty yards back, a sleek black Town Car’s behind us. I
frown and take a quick left then a right, and half a minute later, the Town
Car’s behind us again.
“Oh yeah.”
“From the Rossis?”
“No… I don’t think so. But let’s keep an eye on them.”
“God, I hope someone attacks us. I would kill to beat the shit out of
someone right about now. All this pent-up energy.”
“Same,” I mutter. She frowns.
“We’re five minutes out, but I don’t trust this guy following us,” Sky says.
“Anyone got a weapon for me just in case?”
“Yeah, you can borrow this.” Violet reaches into her bra and pulls out her
tiniest throwing blade. “Remember how I taught you to throw it at the
jugular to kill, side of the neck to injure and incapacitate.”
Skylar squeals like Violet just gave her a box of her favorite chocolates.
“Oooh, you didn’t have to. Thank you! Can you teach me⁠—”
Violet shakes her head. “No, Sky. Not now. I’ll be moving out once this is
finished.”
My gut clenches.
Skylar nods, her face downcast like a girl who just lost her dog.
The bank sits on the corner of Oak Street and Institution Drive, a stately-
looking building complete with red brick walls. The cold of autumn’s struck
the tree branches bare, but a few brown and orange leaves have fluttered to
the ground around us as we enter the bank.
Violet looks at the names on the walls. “Ah, there he is. And look, the little
indicator says he’s here today.” I look to where she points, to a red and
green lighted workstation indicating who’s in today and their hours. He’s in.
“You two go outside,” Violet says. “I need to do this alone.”
“Like hell you’ll⁠—”
“I mean it,” she says in that voice that means business. “Don’t you dare try
to patronize me or help me. It’s important that I do this.”
I nod. I understand. Skylar’s jaw drops, and she starts shaking her head.
“Skylar,” I say warningly. Skylar sighs. “Alright, alright.”
Violet continues in as we step back outside. We watch as Violet approaches
an elderly man sitting at a desk, tapping away on his keyboard. She stands
in his doorway and says something, and he looks up at her.
“Wish I could hear them from here,” I mutter. “Can’t hear a damn thing.”
Skylar groans. “Same. I wanna know what the hell is going on in there.”
“You’re just as nosy as I am.”
She snorts. “Hardly. Okay, so listen. While she’s in there, you have to listen
to me.”
I nod.
Skylar continues, “I saw the videos. You know I did. I didn’t want to be the
one to tell her so I let you do that dirty work. You spied on her, huh?”
I nod, still watching Violet. The man at the desk pushes himself to standing
and reaches for something. I feel myself tensing. I want to go in there and
protect her so badly, my body aches from the tension.
I release a breath when he reaches for an envelope and pushes a button, then
gestures for her to come with him.
“Stand down, Cain,” Skylar warns. “Stand. Down.” She squints and looks
over my shoulder.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head. “Thought I saw something just now.
Huh. Okay, so listen. You fucked up, dude. Big time. You watched her on
video and I’m gonna guess you didn’t tell her about those.”
“You’d guess correctly.” Like I want to stand here and listen to my younger
sister lecture me about relationships? Hell no. The thought of Violet
leaving… and she always does what she says she will… I can’t.
I watch the door close behind Violet.
Looks like he recognized her. He didn’t send her back out here. Therefore…
something’s going on in there.
“Aw, man, Cain. The most important thing in the world to Violet is trust.
You know that.”
“I do, it’s why I feel like an ass and really don’t need reminding of this.” I
don’t want to talk to my sister about relationships. Instead, I’m watching
everything in the bank, my mind roving over the name again. Castellano.
Castellano…
“So how’d you get her to come here, then, if she didn’t know you were
tracking her?”
With a grimace, I tell her everything that matters. By the time I get to the
end, her head’s buried in her hands. “Nooooo,” she moans. “You didn’t.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Ugh. Where the fuck are they?
“Alright, then. There’s nothing left for it but to grovel, brother.”
“Grovel?”
“Ohhh, yeah. You have to pull out all the stops. Like all of them. She
doesn’t want you to buy her things, but that monster truck she’s been eying
might be nice, and perhaps a wee mini pit bull puppy would also be great.
Maybe some of those killer high-heeled boots she’s wanted…”
She’ll have all of them by the time we’re back. I’m texting Joe now. I’m not
sure it’ll make a damn difference.
“Noted.”
“Now, none of those things will actually get her to forgive you, though, you
know that right? It’s just like an act of goodwill.”
“Right. So how do I get her to forgive me?”
She frowns. “This might be harder than I thought.” She taps her chin
thoughtfully.
“I believe in you,” I mutter.
“Well… Violet really needs to know she can trust you, so I think the single
best way for you to establish that trust?”
“Yeah?”
“Back off and let her handle this. You don’t need to swoop in and save her,
no matter how tempting that is. Okay?”
I groan. “Okay.”
My phone rings. Joe. “Yeah?”
“Boss, my tracking says Violet’s in the GWW bank.”
“She is. I’m outside.”
“I see that as well.”
“Something I need to know, Joe, or you just miss me?”
“That bank’s owned by the Castellanos.”
There they are again. Motherfucker.
“Tell me again why that name means something.”
“Castellano—Armand’s mother’s maiden name, sir.”
I look sharply at the bank, willing Violet to emerge. “Fuck. You guys find
him?”
“No, sir.”
“I’m going in. Spot me.”
“On it.”
Skylar’s opening the door, her eyes sparking. She hasn’t trained to my
satisfaction but damn it if I don’t need a second pair of eyes and hands right
about now. As we enter, a mother with two little kids sucking on lollipops
exits, and Skylar nearly loses her balance. The bank’s crowded, people
milling about in line and at various windows. It’s hard to get a read on
where Violet is.
“Where is she?” I ask Sky on a whisper. “Do you see his room at all?”
She shakes her head, frowning. Nothing. I feel the tension in the air, and I
know we’re being watched. Armand… fucking Armand. He’s behind this,
but to what extent? For how long? And what does his mother’s family have
to do with this?
“I see her,” Skylar hisses, jerking her chin to the far-right corner of the
room. Violet has emerged from an opening door, her chin held high and a
glimmer of a smile on her lips. I half-expect someone to come up with a
pistol, an alarm to go off… but everything’s remarkably calm. Eerily calm,
even. I see one teller look at another, then look my way. In the corner, a
security guard talks on a walkie-talkie. Classical music plays in the
background.
Skylar frowns, as Violet walks toward us.
“You look down. Why?”
“I wanted a shoot-out,” she says. “In on the action.”
A few people look our way. I roll my eyes and take her hand to tug her
toward the exit where we meet Violet. “It’s overrated,” I mutter.
“You look as happy as a lark,” I say to Violet. “Good news?”
“Wait and seeeee,” she sings happily, and for one brief moment it looks like
the old Violet’s back. The fierce, independent, indefatigable woman I fell in
love with. I’m still in love with.
I have to let her go.
The door to the bank shuts behind me, and I follow the girls to our truck.
Still, no one comes riding in with a semi, no one follows us with a gun.
Someone’s watching us, though. I know it.
On the street behind the bank, another sleek black car slowly drives by. I
catch Skylar’s eye. She saw them, too.
We climb back into our ride.
“Spill,” Skylar orders Violet.
“Got the money,” Violet says with a triumphant grin. “He knew who I was
when I went in and showed him my I.D. I told him that I was the daughter
of Russell and Anya Bates, and that I had reason to believe they’d stored
their money here, at this bank. And voilà.” She shows me a small gold key
with a flourish, and a bank statement.
I blow out a whistle. “Wow, baby. That’s a shit ton of money.” Violet will
literally never need for a thing. I can’t feel elated, though.
“Why do you look worried?” she asks curiously. “Why isn’t this something
to celebrate?”
“Didn’t say that it wasn’t.”
“Ah, right,” she says with that gleam in her eyes that tells me she’s pissed.
If we were down by the training field, she’d grab a cudgel right about now.
“You’re not pissed, yet you’re not happy, and it doesn’t take a brainiac to
figure that one out.”
My own anger simmers. “Oh yeah? You figured me out before I figured
myself out, did you?”
“Yeah. You want to be wanted. You need to be needed. And the idea of me
being independent and not needing your money makes you insecure.”
“Jesus, no,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s not that at all.”
Why would my mind even go there, knowing that she’s leaving me?
“Then what is it?” she asks, arms crossed on her chest.
“It was too easy. Too damn easy.” I shake my head.
“What was?”
“Going in. Claiming the money. You have to jump through hoops to get any
amount of money that is rightfully yours, never mind money you have to
prove belongs to you.”
She sputters. “Are you implying that it doesn’t belong to me?”
“God, no. That’s not what I’m saying.”
I’ve never wanted to turn her over my knee so badly.
“You two stop!” Skylar puts her hands up like she’s a ref at a football game.
If she had a whistle around her neck, I’d be deaf right now.
“For God’s sake, you’re so fucked up over arguing with each other and this
whole breakup thing you don’t see the forest for the trees, do you?”
I turn down the road that takes us home.
“Spit it out, Skylar.”
“The bank’s owned by the Castellanos. They made a note on that account to
alert them when the daughter of their enemies came to collect their money.
Why? I dunno. But we know that Armand was following you, he’s got an ax
to grind, and there’s a good possibility he worked for them. Yes?”
“Yes.” We both nod in unison, then glare at each other when we realize
we’re agreeing.
“Go on,” I tell her.
“So you have to draw Armand out. The guys haven’t found him yet, but you
know that he’s lying in wait, just biding his time for a chance to come and
ruin everything. Right?”
“Right,” Violet says, warily. “Hard to do when everything’s already ruined,”
she mutters under her breath.
I grip the steering wheel even tighter.
“Listen to me. Armand’s a coward, right? That’s like his trademark, isn’t
it?”
“It is.”
“So what will make this easier for him? What would a coward do? Cain,
what does he have that he can use against you?”
I swallow hard. I don’t want to say it out loud. “Cain,” Skylar prods.
“C’mon.”
“The bullshit I did to Violet,” I confess. Makes me feel like I want to throw
up.
“So, easy solution, then, isn’t it?” Skylar says triumphantly. “Easy peasy.”
Violet scowls. “Let’s hear it.”
“You go out alone. He doesn’t know that she already knows the bullshit you
pulled, does he?”
I shake my head.
“You act like you’re still in love. Kiss or… whatever,” she says with a
wrinkled nose. “And then, separate. Like, Violet goes her way and Cain
goes his. And if my suspicion’s right, Armand will come for you to tell you
the awful truth, Violet. You pretend to be shocked and outraged and to
leave, and boom.”
“Boom what?”
“That’s where you come in, and you get the answers you need. Got it?”
Pretend to be into each other. Pretend to be in love.
It sounds so much easier than it is.
I grit my teeth. “Got it.”

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Violet
THE ROLLERCOASTER RIDE of emotion I’m on today is killing me.
He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me, he loves me not.
It’s hard to reconcile the man I’ve fallen in love with… the man who knows
me, who sees me, really truly sees me for who I am, with the same man
who confessed to me today.
I can’t get past what he told me. I can’t reconcile my need for him, for
us...with the need for truth and trust. How could I ever trust a man who
would lie to me like that?
But at the same time… how could I walk away from everything? From
Skylar and the boys, the house on the hill and my training ground… from
Cain, who’s become my best friend?
My throat aches. I swallow hard and try to stay focused.
And then finding out I’m worth so much money… I can hardly wrap my
brain around it. I’m a merry-go-round of emotions.
I have enough to live on for the rest of my life.
But I have a mission to fulfill, and I won’t rest until I’ve done so. I can’t. I
won’t.
My parents died because someone thought it best to seek vengeance. I grew
up parentless because of someone driven to retaliation. That can’t go
unpunished.
We arrive at the house, operating under the assumption that Armand… or
whoever he’s working for or with… is watching us.
Pretend to be in love, Skylar says.
How can I do that? How can I let him touch me again, knowing I have to
leave? Knowing the truth?
“Cain,” I say, holding myself aloof and hopefully being professional,
because I can’t get personal with him right now, I just can’t. Cain’s made
damn sure neither of us is being bugged, but there’s no telling who’s
following us right now, so I keep my voice low.
“Yeah?”
“He won’t come to your house. He knows that this place is a fortress and
he’d never make it out alive. We have to go to a place to bait him.”
“Right,” he says through gritted teeth. “We could go to the beach…”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “He wouldn’t have the balls. He followed us
on the highway, though, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” he says, stroking his chin. I want to be those fingers, grazing over
the hard stubble on his jaw. Touching him. Stroking him. I swallow the
lump in my throat.
I could get a two-bedroom apartment, far, far away from here. I’ll get a job
teaching martial arts, and maybe a dog…
“…and he’ll have easy access to the highway or more, won’t he?”
I blink, realizing I just missed half of what he said. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t
paying attention. Say that again?”
Normally, when I lose focus, I get that stern look he likes to give me or
anyone on his staff, or some kind of reproach. I’m used to it. I don’t like
when people space out when I’m talking to them either, and I know he’s the
kind of guy who values respect. But this time, he doesn’t look upset with
me. He doesn’t look angry. Instead, his jaw slackens, and his voice softens
when he talks to me.
“Baby, where’d you go just now?”
No. No, no, no, NO.
“You can’t…” My voice is thick and strained. I swallow, clear my throat,
then push through. “Don’t call me that. I told you. I’m Miss Price now.”
Skylar flinches as if someone struck her, then turns away and hangs her
head.
Cain doesn’t react at all for long moments, just looking at me. When he
finally speaks again, his tone is resigned. “You’re right. He won’t come
here. So I’m proposing we go somewhere together where he’ll see us. You
can go on your walk, pretend you’re training or something, alone. If we’re
right… he’ll come to you.”
I nod. We go through the motions in silence. Cain assembles his team in his
office and fills them in, while I mentally tally where I’ll live, where I’ll go.
He dismisses them fifteen minutes later, and we have a full team that will
follow us. We’ll make it look like it’s just me and Cain, but the entire time,
we’ll have everyone with us.
“Violet—Miss Price,” Cain says. “Before we go, there are a few things
I’ve… acquired for you.”
His formal way of speaking makes me want to cry.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s because I told him he had to grovel,” Sklyar says, glaring at him. I
look at her in astonishment.
“What?”
I clamp my mouth shut.
“Because he was an asshole, he has a few things to give you to show you
he’s sorry.”
“What? Do you two think I can be bought with gifts? Seriously?”
I hear a scratching at the door, and I blink in surprise. What the hell is going
on here?
The door opens, and Joe comes in with a sheepish grin, holding a leash with
the most adorable little pit bull puppy at the end of it. He’s tan with large
ears and wide eyes, as big as Cain’s hands.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, and fall to one knee. I open my arms, and he runs
to me, like he knows he’s mine. “Cain…”
The puppy leaps on my knee and laps at my face. My heart melts.
I don’t forgive him. I don’t. I will not be bought with pretty things, not now,
not ever.
“I can’t take him. I won’t be bought,” I tell Cain. But I don’t put him down.
I rise, cuddling the puppy to my chest. The sweet little boy sighs and nestles
in, and my heart explodes.
“I’m not buying you. I’m giving you what you deserve. I’m apologizing for
what I did. Take what I bought for you, they’re yours. You can take them
now or take them when you go, but I’m not taking them back.”
Them?
He sighs. “You’ll see later. We have to stay focused for now, but I’ll show
you everything else in time. For now… we have to go, ba—Violet.”
“I’ll call him Cudgel,” I whisper, handing the sweet boy to Skylar. “Take
good care of him until I get back.”
“Oh, we will have the best wittle time, won’t we? Auntie Skylar will spoil
you with all the best little things she can, sweet thing. You come with me
and we will be good and busy until mama comes back.”
She leaves the office with Cudgel in tow, and when the door shuts, I’m
alone with Cain.
Again.
God.
I don’t like being alone with him anymore.
“Okay, so I know I need to go but what other things did you get me? If you
don’t tell me, I’ll be distracted the entire time. I have to know.”
He sighs.
“Bribery is a really low move. You’re better than that,” I say, crossing my
arms over my chest so I don’t hug him. I can’t.
“This isn’t bribery. Skylar read me the riot act. She was right. I was wrong,
and I should’ve been honest with you. She said to grovel. This, Violet, is me
groveling. You’ll find those high-heeled boots in the closet when you pack
to go.”
“Which ones?” I ask him hesitantly.
“All of them.”
All of them?
He doesn’t sound as if he’s trying to manipulate me, but I can’t help but
wonder… is he?
And this is why we can’t work together anymore. I’ll always wonder if he’s
trying to manipulate me, trying to get me back into his good graces. I can’t
trust the man.
“The team’s assembled at the Willows,” he says in a tight voice, his eyes
trained over my shoulder. It’s highly populated during the summer, but in
the cooler months, there are far fewer pedestrians and civilians nearby.
“It’s so crowded there, though,” I say thoughtfully.
He nods. “It won’t be. Joe’s making sure there will be very few people there
when we arrive.”
I nod. I don’t even want to know how Joe’s planning this.
“Okay.”
“Let’s go. I’ll explain on the way.”
We’re halfway to the Willows when his phone rings. Henri.
“Yeah. What is it?” Cain has zero patience.
“I looked through the diary Violet’s mom left behind. All the initials
correspond to the names of people who were killed on those dates, and I
believe the number next to them corresponds with the payout she received.
There were not one but two Castellano deaths attributed to unnamed snipers
that year, sir. Not on public record, but I have some resources I pulled
together.”
“Good to know. Have we found Armand’s location?”
Silence for a full minute.
“Henri?”
“We did, sir, but you’re not going to like it.”
“Why not?” Cain’s voice is tight. “Why the hell not?”
“Because he’s… he’s been here the whole time, sir. We found a camp in the
basement that we thought was vacant, but now know he’s been using for his
hiding spot. Not often by the looks of it, but he’s come here more than
once.”
I curse under my breath.
“We fingerprinted the place and found for sure he was there. As for his
current location, I suspect your plan to bait him at the Willows is sound,
sir.”
They disconnect.
“He suspects,” Cain mutters. “Well, I suspect my staff’s in deep shit for not
finding out Armand was sneaking around our property.”
I nod. “I understand.”
He looks at me sharply, then turns away again.
We pull up to the Willows, and he parks his truck. He blows out a breath
when he faces me. “So…”
“So,” I respond, wrapping my arms on my chest.
“We’re supposed to pretend we’re in love.”
“Right, if he knows that you and I… aren’t…”
I don’t even know how to say it. It’s utter bullshit that because of his
mistake, I feel wounded and hurt. Abandoned like I did when I was a child,
because the one person I thought I could trust is a liar.
I am pretending, though. Do I have to pretend to care about the man who
knows me inside and out? Who’s taken such good care of me these past four
months? Who drew me out of the shell I lived in?
Who made me whole?
“How does one…” my voice is a little wobbly. “Pretend to love someone?”
His jaw clenches. “We could… kiss,” he says with a frown. “That’s a dead
giveaway… I guess.”
How could I kiss him? How could I do anything with him right now? Is he
frowning because he doesn’t want to kiss me? Knowing that I’m leaving,
does he feel… repulsed by me?
I’m mentally warring with myself, my pulse racing.
He was the one who chose this.
He was the one that put me in this position to begin with.
Argh!
“Or,” he says thoughtfully, “we could… maybe⁠—”
He thinks he won’t kiss me? He thinks I’m not worthy of his attention or
something? Oh no. Oh hell no.
I reach for him. I frame his face with my hands and yank him down to me.
He freezes for long seconds as our lips connect. My own body stills.
Everything but my heartbeat.
The sun feels cold compared to the heat in his kiss. My heart flutters,
sending little bolts of awareness to my fingertips. I melt when his tongue
finds mine. His own deep, male groan echoes through my core, and when
he releases my face long enough for his fingers to stab into my hair, I fade
into heat and warmth and light.
My pulse races with the memory of our bodies joined as lovers. Memories
surface, one at a time, like a photo montage. Cain, standing against the
background of the ocean the first day we met. That stark beauty in his eyes
only I understand, the steady anchoring of hands on hips displaying the
courage he sometimes feigns. For wounded people like me and Cain
sometimes cower. We sometimes hide. We don’t tell the truth because we
fear being left behind.
And isn’t that the crux of it.
As he kisses me, a soft cry escapes my lips, and he makes it his with a deep
inhale. That’s what he does—absorbs my pain, my emotions, my deepest
longings, into his very being. Unites himself with me.
I crave the push of his fingers on my scalp, and the sharp but brief flare of
pain when he tugs my hair. Another tug makes me moan, then I’m on my
back and he’s on top of me, and my body melts beneath him like it knows
what to do.
I’m spreading my legs, already so ready for him a few well-timed thrusts
would break me apart, when I freeze.
I pull my head away. “Cain,” I say. Why is my voice choked? Why are my
cheeks wet?
He doesn’t answer at first, but kisses my temple, my damp cheeks, then my
lips again before he grates, “What, baby? Let me in you, Violet. We’re
alone here. The doors are locked, and if we want fucking Armand to believe
we’re really together…”
I shake my head. “No. We can’t fuck this up. We have to stay focused,
because this is crucial.” My voice breaks. “It’s why I came here.”
With reluctance I feel deep, deep in my belly, he pulls himself off of me, but
not before he brushes his lips against my cheek, then lifts my fingers and
kisses them, too. “Here, Violet. Press your fingers to your lips when you
want to remember me kissing you.”
I watch him go. It feels heavy and dark when he turns away from me.
He flicks on his phone and taps the screen. “We’re going to separate now,”
he says in that deep voice of his I love so much. “Team ready?”
“Ready,” Joe says.
Cain curses and hangs up the phone. “Fine. Now it’s time. Motherfucker.”
He stabs his fingers through his hair and yanks the car door open. “No
matter what, Violet. No matter if you leave me or I get shot or whatever the
fuck happens next… I love you. Keep the boots, and the puppy, and
anything you fucking want, and know I love you.”
I open my mouth to respond just as the truck door slams.
I know what I have to do. I have my whole plan carefully choreographed,
and now I only have to make it work. But my legs don’t want to work, and
my heart… my heart’s still joined with his.
He loves me. And he didn’t have to say it out loud to make it so.
He loves me.
I turn to exit the truck. I will my body to move, to cooperate with the plan.
To make this happen.
I didn’t come this far to fail in the face of victory, knowing I’m so close to
the Holy Grail. I tap the barrel of my gun for reassurance. My Wilson. It’s
the tool I need most right now.
I open my door. Cain smiles at me. It’s all part of our act. “See you at
dinner, baby.” He takes a few steps toward me, gathers me to his chest, then
kisses my cheek.
“Bye, honey,” I say, part of my act again, a role I need to play. “I love you.”
That didn’t… feel like an act, though. It didn’t.
He turns from me and stalks away.
It feels final. It feels real, and I hate that it does.
I lift my chin, remembering the first time here with him, when we rescued
his sister. I shiver when a cold, brisk wind stirs around me, biting straight
through the thin fabric of my top, and briefly wonder why the seasons
change. Perhaps to remind us that the passing of seasons is like the passing
of time, so gradual it’s hardly noticeable until you look up one day and
realize everything’s changed.
I walk with my head down, my gun tucked safely beneath the long coat I
wear. I won’t use it, not now, but I’m ready for if I do. If we were followed,
Cain believes that Armand will approach me any minute now. I turn to an
ice cream shop, closed now that we’re getting closer to winter, and finally
find a hot coffee and cider stand at the very end of the boulevard.
That ought to do it. Order a cup of coffee, pretend all is good… and he’ll
come out of hiding. And if not… plan B.
I go up to the coffee counter and wait behind several customers, my hands
shoved into my pockets. “I’ll take a tall dark espresso, black, no sugar,” I
order, when I feel someone step up behind me. Out of my peripheral vision,
I see a familiar face. I turn with a half-smile as my coffee’s placed in my
hand.
“Hello, Armand.”

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 CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Cain
I DIDN’T IMAGINE that kiss had meaning. I didn’t imagine there was
power behind her profession of I love you. She loves me still, even if she’s
hurt right now, and that is the one thing that will help me get through this
right now. And I’ll do anything, anything to make this better.
I take my position watching her, even though it kills me to stay so far away
from her. I know that the Castellanos have been warned, that Armand is
nearby, and that we still have hurdles to jump before we find what we came
for.
I feign going down a walkway that takes me to some residential housing,
then quickly slip into the car with tinted windows that Joe’s got waiting for
me.
We watch.
The door to a green car opens, and Armand steps out. I’m surprised he had
the balls to drive that car, knowing we have it on file, though he doesn’t
know we’re on to him yet.
He looks older and tired, his cheeks gaunt and his eyes sunken and sallow.
“Jesus,” Joe mutters, mimicking my own thoughts. “He looks about twenty
years older. What the fuck is up with that?”
I shake my head. I don’t fucking care. Violet’s at the window of the coffee
stand, ordering, when Armand steps her way. He looks obviously around
her, over his shoulder, as if afraid that someone will jump out at him at any
moment. I can’t believe I ever hired such a fucking coward.
“No, Armand,” Joe mutters. “We’re not going to attack you… yet.”
I know that Joe’s fucking dying to.
“Can’t shoot from here, boss, and it wouldn’t be wise,” Joe says, raising his
eyebrows at the gun in my hand.
“Just sort of jumped in there,” I mutter, then slide it back into my holster.
“He’s approaching your woman, you know he’s armed, and you know he
fucking tried to hurt her. Of course you want to attack.”
“Right. I’ll kill him. But I’ll take my time.”
Violet turns when Armand puts his hand on her shoulder. My hand clenches
into a fist.
I swallow when she smiles at him, even takes a step toward him. If I didn’t
know any better, I’d think she was… flirting with him.
No.
God, no… would she?
“Good move, Vi,” Joe mutters, then zooms in with the camera we’ve
secured to Violet’s lapel. “She’s smart, your woman.”
“Fucking stop calling her my woman.”
His brows shoot up infinitesimally, but he quickly trains his features.
“Alrighty. Noted.”
“She’s smart, yeah.” I want to change this subject, now. “She’ll know
exactly how to play this.”
“Shit.” Armand’s taken another step toward Violet. Violet retreats.
He pushes closer, physically intimidating her. My hand’s on the door.
“Boss, don’t. If you fuck this up, she’ll never forgive you, and she’s damn
near there already. You do this, and you’re a fucking goner. There’s no
coming back from fucking this up. Trust her.”
Trust her.
It’s the very same thing that I told her. Trust me.
Do I trust Violet? Do I have to trust that she’ll do what’s right and what’s
best, no matter how deeply it hurts me?
I have no choice.
I can’t swoop in and save her.
I can’t fix this for her.
I have to let her go.
Do I love her enough to let her go? Do I respect her enough to let her do
what’s right for her, even if it feels like this decision will kill me?
Can I?
“What are they fucking doing?”
“Looks like they’re just talking. Friendly, even,” Joe says, but he’s
scowling, as if he’s seen something that makes him suspicious.
Armand says something to her. Violet stills, then draws her hand back and
tucks it against her chest. Her face is drawn, and her eyes are wide. This
could be it, when he tells her everything to destroy me, yet the power of the
revelation’s lost its punch.
Violet shakes her head from side to side.
“Fucking audio,” I grate.
Joe smacks a button, and the sound of Violet’s beautiful voice fills the car.
“I can’t believe it,” she says, shaking her head from side to side. “This
whole time, I’ve had no idea that Cain was following me.”
“I’m so sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” Armand says, the fucking liar.
“But I think you deserve to know the truth.”
He’s been waiting for this, we all knew it. We knew he was holding onto
this last card to play to get back at me and regain some sense of power. But
he’s only a player, a pawn in this game of roulette where no one’s the victor.
“Thank you,” Violet says, her voice hollow. Either she’s a good actress, or
she’s channeling the real hurt this revelation gave her. In either
circumstance, it makes me feel like utter shit.
“Anytime.” Armand starts to walk away, but opens his mouth to say
something. Then he closes it, as if thinking better of it. He turns away. She
turns her back to him, her head down. This is where he’ll call the
Castellanos, I know it.
Armand picks up his phone, taps a button, and the car I’m in with Joe
explodes.

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 CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Violet
I’M STILL REELING from processing all of this, but my senses are on
alert, waiting for the attack from Armand’s family. If Skylar, Cain, and I are
right, then he’s planned to manipulate me with this knowledge.
Or did he just come here to tattle on Cain? He did it like he’s feigning
guilt…
I walk away, imagining I’m walking away from… everything. Everyone.
For months, he had me watch you. Stalk you. He has days and weeks’ worth
of footage just watching you sleep. I had to monitor where you were, every
time, and he never planned on telling you. Armand had a look of triumph in
his eyes when he told me this, like he’d been holding the trump card and
now is throwing it down on the table with a flourish. Ta-da!
Cain didn’t plan on telling me? No. No, that isn’t true, because Cain told
me himself. Just because it wasn’t when I wanted him to…
He didn’t lie to me. He hid the truth from me, and one could argue that is
the same as lying, but when I ask for the truth, he’s given me nothing but
truth.
I had to learn to trust.
Would I have run if he’d told me the truth sooner? Hell yes.
Then as soon as I start mentally going there, I force myself to remember my
anger, my frustration and outrage at him.
No. I can’t just forgive him for this.
What he did was wrong, so fucking wrong.
But isn’t that what it means to forgive someone?
I shake my head because I can’t think about this right now. I have to stay
focused right here and now on what I’m doing and where I am. I look
around me but pretend to be distraught. I go to wipe fake tears from my
eyes when I realize they aren’t fake at all.
It takes courage to tell the truth when you fear the outcome.
It takes courage to forgive someone and stay despite wanting to leave.
Cain is courageous.
And so am I.
I take one more step toward the tall willows that line the walkways when I
hear a boom that rattles my teeth. I turn around sharply to see what caused
the noise.
Cain’s car.
People around us scream, running past the fire that erupts like the fire of a
dragon. I push through the people swarming past me and run straight
toward the fire.
“Cain!” I scream, my voice drowning in the sounds of screams around us
and the blast of fire and broken glass. “Cain!”
I see him, slumped over in the passenger seat, Joe sprawled out on the
pavement.
It would take two of me to drag a man the size of Cain away from anything.
It looks like Joe is semi-awake, as he stumbles away from the billowing
flames. I tug uselessly on one of Cain’s arms, but I can’t move him an inch.
“Wake up,” I sob, yanking on him with all my might. “I can’t carry you,
Cain. Wake up!”
Even with the thrill of fear and adrenaline consuming me, I can’t move him
at all. I sob freely, yanking at him. It’s then that I realize he isn’t going to
wake up.
I have to get him out, or he doesn’t survive.
A huge, hulking, beast of a man watches in the shadow of the video arcade,
screaming into his cell phone. “Salem Willows! Come quick, it’s gonna
fucking blow!”
“Get over here and help me!” I scream. The guy stares at me, petrified. Why
the fuck do people freeze in emergencies? Instinctively, I grab my gun from
its holster and cock it and I am fully prepared to shoot. “Get the fuck over
here and help or I’ll shoot you!” I scream.
He runs to me and grabs Cain by the arm, just as Skylar reaches us. I’m
shoving my gun back in the holster when strong arms grab me from behind.
I half-expect police to apprehend me and react by instinct when I see it’s
someone I’ve never seen before. I deck his jaw, and his head snaps back.
The second he releases me, I grab my gun again. I have to help Cain, but
this guy’s fucking attacking me. He lunges for me. I duck and slide my
fingers in place around my gun, satisfied by the heft of it in my palm. “Get
anywhere near me again, and I’ll fucking shoot you.”
“Not if I kill you first,” he growls. He spits on the ground beside me, his
face contorted with fury, then throws himself bodily at me. I pull the trigger.
I never miss.
He falls to the ground with a thud. I don’t take time to check him. I don’t
bother.
The shot I took is deadly…just like every. other. damn. time.
His body lays still in my peripheral vision as I turn back to Cain. He’s been
pulled to the curb. I sag in relief.
Someone at the arcade’s shown up with a fire extinguisher. Sirens wail
nearby.
The world spins around me, and my ears begin to ring. I slump to the
ground.

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 CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Cain
“TELL ME AGAIN.”
I’m sitting propped up in my bed, and Violet’s laying with me, her head on
my chest. She doesn’t know it yet, but the door’s locked up here. I kept my
guards here just in case, and I’ve commanded the deadbolts be drawn
downstairs.
Everyone thinks I’m taking extra precautionary measures now because
we’ve been attacked by the Castellanos. I’m not. I don’t fucking fear the
Castellanos.
I want Violet to stay here, with me.
Right now, she’s lying on me as if she’s exhausted and I’m her pillow, and
I’m not ready for this to end. I’m not ready for the inevitable that happens
next.
“Armand came around the corner, pulled out his phone, and I swear he was
calling the Castellanos when they blew up our car.”
“I heard it, and didn’t know what it was at first. What a terrible sound.”
I nod. “That’s all I remember. Joe doesn’t remember much more than that,
but Henri’s footage is pretty clear. A Castellano blew up the car, likely as a
distraction. They saw me get in with Joe. When you came to rescue me, that
was their chance. They came to get you.”
She nods. “And dude, that was the wrong time to try to kidnap me. He’d
have been better off trying when I was asleep or something.”
I growl low, making her laugh. “I love it when you go all alpha on me.”
“I know, baby.”
This time, she doesn’t tell me not to call her baby.
There’s scratching and a whimper at the door. Violet grins.
“Let him in!” she shouts to the security guard. Seconds later, a freshly
cleaned little Cudgel vaults himself onto the bed, sporting a bright red
ribbon. He laps furiously at Violet’s face until she pulls him up to her and
rolls him over so she can rub his belly.
“You little rascal,” she says with affection. “You missed mama, huh?”
She gets him busy with a chew toy on the floor. I marvel at her grace, the
simple lines of her body like the expert sweep of an artist’s brush. She tucks
her hair off her forehead and behind one ear, and when she catches my eye,
she gives me a gentle smile.
She sits on the edge of the bed, bends, and kisses my bandaged arm.
“You’ve kissed my owies like ten times today,” I say, but I’m hardly giving
her shit for it. I love that she does this.
“And I’ll keep doing it.”
Suddenly, something outside the window catches her eye, and she leaps to
her feet. “Cain!”
“What?”
“Who… how… it’s my truck!”
“Motherfucker.” Again, they screwed up the timing. “I gave specific
instructions for them to wait to give this to you until I told them. Until after
everything had blown over. I didn’t want you to think…” I stop myself
before I say too much.
She tips her head to the side. “Didn’t want me to think what?”
“That I… was trying to buy your affection.”
She smiles sadly. “I wouldn’t ever think that.”
“Why not?”
Her eyes meet mine, and for the thousandth time, I’m struck by the brilliant
beauty of the violet hue. “Because that’s not the man you are. You don’t
demand affection. You don’t coerce love out of someone. You love them,
fiercely, just as they are.” She blows out a breath. “Just as you are.”
My throat feels tight. I nod.
“So, I need to hear everything,” she says, returning to the story. I don’t miss
how she skirts away from the discussion of love. “Henri’s footage shows
that the man that tried to grab me was a Castellano.”
“Yes. And my sources say that he was the very same man who killed your
parents.”
My sources being my men who captured and interrogated Armand until he
begged us for mercy, but I’d rather spare her those details. She’s likely
figured it out anyway.
She sits on the chair, dressed in nothing but my T-shirt, and it puts me in
mind of the first day we met. A storm had been coming in, and she’d ripped
her dress as she was trying to convince me to work with her. I gave her my
own shirt, right off my back, and being the ballsy, fucking amazing woman
she is, she slipped it right on like it was a dress.
I wish I could go back… no. No, I can’t. A part of me wishes I could go
back and tell her everything, but I still fear, even now, that she’d have run
from me if I had.
She pushes herself off the chair and walks over to me. I hold my breath,
uncertain of what she’ll do next, when she sits herself on my lap and drapes
her arms around my neck. She rests her head on my shoulder.
I hesitate for a second, before my own arms encircle her, holding her close
to me. If only I could keep her here, just like this.
“Tell me like this,” she whispers.
“With you on my lap?” My voice is thick with emotion. I clear it.
“Yes, Cain. Just like this.”
No more “Mr. Master.”
I nod. “You killed him, Violet. Team Alpha’s disposed of the body. He
won’t kill another soul.”
She’s quiet for long moments.
“Will they… his group. Will they come looking for him? For retribution?”
“I’ve seen to it that they won’t.”
“Do I want to know how?”
“I’ll tell you if you want me to, but no. You don’t need to know.” It
involved two point four million dollars, an oddly specific number from the
superstitious Castellanos, a convincing argument made by Joe, Claude
demonstrating that Violet acted in self-defense, and the second-in-command
in the Castellano family admitting that their man had gone rogue.
It might have helped that I made it fucking clear that they don’t want to take
me and my team on and that a mutually beneficial relationship would be
more fortuitous for both of us. They agreed, and promised we’d never see
Armand’s face again.
“Alright, then,” she says in that calm, graceful way of hers I’ve come to
love. “Don’t tell me.”
The room’s grown dark, with only a sliver of light before the sun’s rays
fully set, but I make no move to put a light on. I feel if I move too fast or
breathe too heavily, I’ll break the charm that binds us together. Maybe the
Castellanos aren’t the only ones with superstitions.
She sighs.
“Are you sad, Violet?”
“I… I don’t know,” she says honestly. “I was more angry than anything for
a while, as I’m sure you know. I was furious with you, Cain. I hated when I
felt like everything between us was a lie.”
I have so many things to say I have to clamp my lips together to let her say
what she needs. It’s the least I can do. I owe this to her.
“And after all this time, I wanted to kill him. I wanted to know when I
pulled the trigger that he was the one that murdered my parents and that he
earned the bullet that killed him. That he was getting his just rewards and
my parents were avenged for what happened to them.”
Her voice trembles. “And I… didn’t know if I’d be able to do it when the
time came. If I could intentionally choose to take a human life, even if I was
justified and had good reason.” She sighs. “And now I’ll never know. Now
I’ll spend the rest of my life never knowing if I had what it takes.”
“Oh no you don’t. Uh uh. Nope.”
I spin her around so she’s facing me, her legs straddling either side of me. It
feels so intimate with her here like this, which is precisely why she’s here
and not sitting over there apart from me, where I can’t touch her, hold her,
keep her.
“What?” she says, lifting her chin defiantly. But I don’t miss the way her
pupils dilate. I don’t miss the way she swallows, or the way her breathing
accelerates. She’s turned on.
But we have something to discuss.
“You don’t get to blame yourself for what you did. I won’t allow it.” She
opens her mouth and is likely planning on reminding me that I don’t allow
or disallow a blessed thing, but she finally just shakes her head and clamps
her lips together. Good, because I’m not done yet.
“Violet.” I hold her chin. God, I missed the way her soft skin feels against
my rougher fingers. The way her eyes widen when I make her hold my
gaze. “Just because you reacted by instinct doesn’t mean it wasn’t
intentional. It wasn’t pre-meditated, no. It wasn’t in cold blood, no. But
listen to me when I tell you that if it was, you might never forgive
yourself.”
A pained look lights her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t get used to it,” I say gruffly. I make myself hold her gaze. “You
don’t. Taking someone’s life, no matter how justified, never feels right. You
go to bed at night wondering who you left mourning their loss. You wonder
if you had all the facts straight, if they changed who they are and really did
deserve to be killed.” My voice lowers as my own emotions threaten to
choke me. “You start to wonder if you’ve mistakenly given yourself more
privilege than you’re allowed, and you wonder if the universe will demand
more of you now that you’ve demanded more yourself.”
She says one word, one syllable, that brings the smallest measure of
comfort to me. “Cain.”
I swallow again and keep going. “You talk about forgiveness, Violet. What
you don’t understand is that once you take a human life on purpose, it
becomes almost impossible to ever forgive yourself for becoming the
person you have.”
She bends closer to me and kisses me. Silencing me. Hearing me. Maybe
even forgiving me.
I gather her to my chest, and we stay like that for long moments.
I finally break the silence. “So… are you still leaving?” I ask in a teasing
tone.
She exhales. “Leaving?” she says, as if the very idea’s preposterous. “And
leave that sweet puppy and truck behind?”
“They’re yours, though. Take them with you.”
She laughs. “Surely not. I’m not taking anything with me that reminds me
of you.”
She lifts her head and braces herself with a hand on each of my shoulders.
“Every day, I’d remember you. Every day, I’d want to be with you. Every
day, I’d fight the urge to come back.” She shrugs with forced nonchalance.
“So, I decided it’s best to not even leave to begin with.”
It feels as if I can breathe again. As if I can see again. I feel as if she’s given
me new life.
“Cain,” she whispers. “You say that it’s hard to forgive yourself. Maybe if
I’m here with you… and I’ve forgiven you… then we can teach each other
how it’s done?”
“Now that is a deal I can handle.” I hold her face in my hands and take my
time brushing my lips across hers. I groan at the taste of her, the feel of her
so close to me like this. “I’m sorry, baby. I love you.”
“And I love you,” she says. “No more apologizing. This is all behind us.
Everything. Now we’re just two people who can’t stand to be apart from
each other. Deal?”
I grin. “Deal. I thought you’d leave when this was all said and done. I
thought maybe once you’d gotten what you needed and had no reason to be
here anymore, you’d maybe leave. You’re too strong and independent to be
held in any one place for too long.”
“Oh, you give me plenty of reasons for staying, and it has nothing to do
with your dogs, your amazing team, the location of this house, or the fact
that I can train whenever I want to and go to bed at night properly fucked.”
I groan. “Violet…”
“I worried that when this was all done, you’d have no more need for me
anymore, too,” she admits. “Wow, we make quite the couple, eh?”
“Oh, yeah. Trust me, babe. I need you. You’re the one that makes
everything clearer. And there’s no fucking way I’m letting you go.” I snort.
“No need for you? Jesus. You’re my world, Violet. Without you, I lose my
center. I lose everything.”
“I love you, Cain.”
“And I love you.”
She grins and gets that wicked gleam in her eye I know all too well. “Then
show me, baby.”

OceanofPDF.com
 EPILOGUE
SIX MONTHS LATER

Violet
CAIN STANDS with his back to me, his hands shoved into his pockets,
staring at the blue, blue sky over the ocean. I take a moment to admire him
before I walk over. From here, the blue sky outlines his large, masculine
frame. His shadow on the ground before him could be a giant. I remember
thinking of him as the fabled Paul Bunyan. His thick, dark brown hair is
tousled, and I know exactly how it got that way after this morning’s romp.
He never bothered to fix it. He knows I like it a little on the long side so I
can tangle my fingers in it.
He looks to his left, but not at me, and I can see the ruggedly masculine
face and square jaw, still darkened with a five o’clock shadow that never
seems to go away. When he looks at me, I feel the power he holds, his
intelligence and wit. But as I’ve gotten to know him… as I’ve grown to
love him… a bit of the hurt he carries has seemed to dissipate. Maybe it’s
only my imagination. Or maybe he’s found a way to heal.
Healing.
It’s a wonder that two people so capable of love could hurt one another so
easily. It’s a wonder that the very same people are the ones that bring
healing.
I marvel at his strength, his power, and all that makes him whole, before I
come up behind him.
“Cain.” He startles when I call his name. That’s unlike him.
“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you jump when someone came up behind
you. Are you losing your skills in your advanced age, sir?”
He smirks, his eyes twinkling. “No, babe. I think you’re the only one who
could do that to me.”
“Oh?” I come up beside him and nuzzle my head on his shoulder. He drapes
a heavy arm around my shoulders. “And why’s that?”
“Because you’re such a part of who I am, it’s as natural as breathing to have
you with me.”
“Now, as romantic as that sounds, it’s a lie, Mr. Master.”
He chuckles, the sound rolling through me with a delicious heat.
“Oh?”
“It is. You know where I am, at all times. If you’re not by my side, one of
the guys is, and you make sure that I’m safe from the moment I wake up
until the moment I go to bed, and even when I go to sleep.”
A shadow darkens his eyes for such a brief moment, I almost miss it. “Do
you feel smothered, Violet?”
I shake my head. I know the answer to this question. “No. I feel… loved.”
For the first time in my life.
I know that if I decided to leave, he’d let me. He let me go once, even
though I know it pained him to do so, and he’d do it again if he had to. It
would wound him… scar him, even… but I’m certain that if I needed him
to, he’d let me. The freedom that comes from being his, from really, truly,
being his, is worth every smothering thing he does, because I know he loves
me.
“Good, Vi,” he says, kissing the top of my head, an easy target for him
because of how tall he is in proportion to me. “I want you to feel that way.”
A ferocious little bark sounds not far behind me. I turn to see Cudgel, nearly
fully grown, bounding his way toward me with endless puppy energy. I
bend to greet him, and he nearly tackles me over in his enthusiasm to greet
me.
“He’ll be a strong defender one day,” I say to him. And to myself. And soon
we’ll need that.
I need to tell Cain. I will, I just… I want to hold my news to myself for a
little while longer. I also want to take him to the target range for “practice,”
and I’m afraid he won’t touch me if I tell him now.
“Got my new Wilson. You know, it’s okay to actually make me earn these
things every once in a while.”
He grins. “You like it, baby?”
I grin back at him. “Ah, hello, I fucking love it. Is that even a question?”
“Then you’ve earned it. I’ve never seen anyone get as excited about a new
gun as you.”
I reach for his hand. “Not true. You lit up like a bonfire when your new
Ruger showed up.”
“Well, yeah, that baby was on back-order for fucking ever.”
“Still, you can’t deny you were excited.”
He squeezes my hand. “Not denying anything. Want to test them both out?”
“Hell yes I do.”
We head to the range. I’ve already set things up so we’re ready. We shoot
until our guns are hot to the touch and our stomachs are growling with
hunger, but there’s still plenty of time for a little more.
“I will never forget taking you here. I will never fucking forget that first day
here. I teased you with the knife…”
“Mmm. Now that I haven’t forgotten.”
His eyes heat, and he reaches into his pocket. “You haven’t?”
My mouth is dry, and my throat doesn’t want to work. I shake my head
from side to side.
“Good. Because I know an excellent way to establish more trust between
us.”
I blink before I nod. I want this. I need this.
“Hands over your head, baby, and bend over the table.”
I obey by instinct, offering him my wrists. He quickly secures them in the
straps above my head. My feet are planted on either side of me, supporting
me, as I hear him draw the knife out of its sheath.
“There,” he says, as if he’s just revealed a perfect masterpiece. “I’ll buy you
a new one.”
Panic slams into me. “A new what?”
“A new everything.” Rip. The knife slashes through my leggings, and they
fall to the floor like ribbons. Another tear, and my panties join them.
“Will I need to wear your T-shirt back to the house again?”
“I’ll figure it out. Hush now, Violet.”
I hush.
I close my eyes.
I draw in a sharp breath when the knife grazes my shoulder blade, then my
neck. He draws a pattern across my back, then kisses the scars there, before
he drags the knife between my ass cheeks.
“Cain,” I gasp, trembling.
“Trust me, Violet.”
I close my eyes and nod. I do. I trust him. I trust him implicitly. It’s taken a
while to get here, but he’s proven himself so often, I know now that I can
trust him fully.
The tip of the knife crosses lower still, to where my thighs meet my ass, and
then he scrapes it along each of my thighs. The skin burns, then tingles, and
I feel as if every sense has been magnified. I freeze completely when he
places the handle of the knife between my legs.
“Open those legs up.”
I trust him.
I do what he tells me. He glides the handle between my legs. It’s cold and
hard, but I’m so turned on, I’d come with one stroke of his fingers.
“Fucking gorgeous. Look at you,” he murmurs to himself. “You really do
trust me.”
I nod. “I do. Of course I do.”
“I love you.”
“And I love you.”
The knife makes its way down my legs to my ankles, then drags across the
tip of each foot, until he’s drawn a trail map across my entire body. He
hasn’t drawn blood, though, and that’s where the trust comes in.
“I need to taste you, Violet,” he whispers.
My mouth’s so dry, I can only nod. My hips arch with the first feel of his
tongue doing wicked, perfect things to me.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Oh, please. Oh God, just like that.”
He laps and sucks and plunges his tongue in my core, until I’m nearly
weeping with the need to come. I can’t hold back any longer.
“Come, baby. I want to taste you. I want to feel you. Come on my mouth.”
Light explodes behind my eyes, a sparkle of stars showering my vision
when I’m enveloped in perfect ecstasy.
He groans, milking my orgasm, until I slump over the table.
He makes quick work of undressing, taking his position behind me, and
when I feel his cock at my entrance, I moan and whimper a little. “Yes. Yes,
please, just like that.”
He plunges into me with one firm thrust, and my world shatters and rocks,
ecstasy filling every cell as he works a perfect rhythm until we both scream
our pleasure in the soundproof room.
I’m slumped over the table, riding the waves of bliss, his body pressed up
against mine. I love this man so much.
“Oh, good. Now I can tell you.”
He pulls out and cleans me off. He’s got a little kit he keeps here for this
very purpose, filled with all sorts of kinky accoutrements. Our little goody
box.
“Tell me what.”
“I was afraid if I told you before, you wouldn’t fuck me, and I really needed
to be fucked.”
“Violet…”
There’s my name in my favorite voice. I grin.
“The doctor would tell you it’s perfectly fine, though.”
“Violet, I swear to God if you don’t tell me what the fuck⁠—”
“I’m pregnant,” I blurt out.
“You’re… pregnant.” He repeats it like I’ve just spoken in a foreign
language, so to tease him, I do. “Ich bin schwanger,” I say with a nod. I
look over my shoulder at him. “And that doesn’t mean we can’t get kinky
or have sex.”
“You’re… pregnant,” he repeats again.
I nod.
“When?” he says. His voice is hoarse. It’s so rare that he gets emotional on
me, that my own eyes blur.
“In the fall. I’m due right around the end of September.”
“A baby,” he says, then he breaks out in a grin that reaches all the way to
his eyes. “A baby! Holy shit. Oh my God. I’m gonna be a daddy!”
He looks almost boyish when he grins like that. I’m laughing and crying
when he hugs me and calls Skylar. “We’re having a baby! Did she tell you?
We’re having a baby, Sky.”
Then he calls Joe, and Claude, and Alma, and before lunchtime, he’s got a
huge celebration planned for tonight with my favorite foods from Sushi and
Sake.
When everyone’s gone to bed, and the food’s all put away, I lay on his chest
and sigh.
“Today was perfect, Cain. There aren’t that many things that are perfect, but
today was.”
“You’re right. Nothing’s perfect, Violet. But there are moments that are.”
He kisses my fingertips then places them on his heart. “Moments like this.”

THE END

OceanofPDF.com
 PREVIEW
SOVEREIGN: A DARK BRATVA FORCED MARRIAGE ROMANCE

CHAPTER ONE

Aria
“Today, you are going down.” I shove my glasses up the bridge of my nose
for the umpteenth time with a little smile, blinking at the screen in front of
me. Although it’s cramped in this small, makeshift home office which
consists of a tiny desk I rescued curbside nestled in a corner of the room to
give me the best access to my computer screens, here’s where I do my
magic. While I don’t really mind teaching coding at the little community
college outside of Coney Island, I don’t like the red tape and long hours. I
long to get back to my little haven, where my fingers fly over the keys and I
truly come alive.
Today, in the most boring white conference room under harsh, fluorescent
lights, tepid coffee in hand, I longed to get home to unwrap what I
discovered last night: the motherlode of all encrypted goldmines. Way too
complex for me to delve into before school, but now, when the night is
young and the moon rises, I get to play.
Professor by Day, Hacking Goddess by Night.
At least that’s what I like to think.
I glance at the time and stretch. I can out-code anyone in the world, bar
none. One day, I’ll no longer be known as Aria Cunningham, the nobody,
barely scraping by at the local community college. I’ll actually make a
difference in this world.
I blink and stare at the screen.
Wait.
My heart beats faster. Is that…
No.
My mouth dry, I click the little icon indicating my download is complete. I
scroll down, my hand covering my mouth as I’m seized with two
conflicting emotions.
Elation — I did it! I successfully hacked into the most notorious database of
criminal activity I’ve ever seen in my life.
And gripping, terrifying fear.
No one has ever done this before. And unearthing something this massive
comes at a cost.
I stare, my mouth agape.
Names. Dates. Locations. Pictures.
Evidence.
Politicians and celebrities, CEOs and religious leaders, military icons and
monarchs. I stare in both horror and glee as I realize…it worked.
I scroll past pages and pages of information that should be encrypted but
reads clear as day now. Oh my God. This is worse than I thought. If this got
out to the press…if anyone knew what these people have done. No.
And worse? If the owners of this information ever realize I’ve hacked into
their database…
“Good thing you covered your tracks,” I whisper to myself.
A blinding yellow light flashes. I stare for a second too long.
I leap to my feet. I smack the button on the surveillance camera that
overlooks all entryways to my apartment. My blood runs cold at the sight of
six armed men at the back door. I might be in an old, mostly unoccupied
house that was nearly condemned, but there are still three access points, not
including windows, and I don’t take risks.
Shit.
Oh God.
My heart beats so fast I feel nauseous, bile rising in my throat as I quickly
assess my options even as my mind whirs. How?? How did they discover
where I am so quickly?
I’m so damn careful, sweeping every digital footprint as thoroughly as
possible. I leave no trace behind and cover every possible angle. I don’t
have time to unravel this.
I kick my keys into the trash bin and grab my laptop. I have seconds as I
scramble to my hideout in the tiny attic. The trap door glides into place at
the same time my front door opens.
I slide into position, my heart beating so rapidly I feel like I’m going to be
sick.
I listen. It’s just as I imagined. I told myself I would never actually need a
hideout. And yet here I am.
My mind races.
The type of information I discovered was under high profile lock and key.
The people responsible for this set up an immediate alert in the event of a
security breach and absolutely had the funds and resources for high security
measures.
Oh God.
Footsteps sound on the floor below. How long will they look for me? How
thoroughly will they search? With a pounding heart, I wait in the corner of
the attic, well hidden. If whoever’s here had the foresight to bring a search
dog, I’ll be fucked, but I’m mostly invisible to the human eye.
Glass shatters amid loud, commanding voices. Though I can’t make out
clear words, I know they’re trying to get me out of hiding. I swipe at the
tears that fall and clutch my laptop to me at the sounds of my meager
possessions being destroyed.
I listen for words but can only hear muffled voices. From my perch in the
attic, I crawl on my belly to look through the tiny, triangular-shaped
window that overlooks the driveway. Three unmarked luxury SUVs.
Shit.
I hold my breath and pray the camouflaged trap door remains hidden.
The footsteps come closer. Someone bangs a heavy hand on the closet walls
and ceiling. I slap my hand to my mouth to stifle a scream. The voices come
nearer.
I hold my breath until I’m dizzy.
I wait until it sounds like every single one of my belongings has been
obliterated and the cold, angry voices retreat. I stare out the small window
and watch the SUVs reverse onto the street and leave.
I can’t go back to any place that’s familiar or home.
I have to run.

CHAPTER TWO

Aria
I clutch my laptop to my chest as I stand outside the towering door. The
imposing estate alone almost makes me want to flee, but I didn't get where I
am by running when I'm scared.
My finger hovers over the doorbell, my hand quaking. I will myself to push
it. No turning back now. Loud chimes sound inside the elegant house.
What am I doing? Why am I here? I wish I didn’t feel so out of place. I
wish I had another option.
My heart’s racing when the door opens and Tatiana, my old college
roommate and former best friend, stands in front of me.
She blinks. She’s barely aged the past few years and looks as beautiful as
ever with her pale skin the color of cream, and her ice-blue eyes, a mass of
thick dark curls framing her face. “Oh my God. Aria?"
“Tatiana,” I say with a forced smile as I look over my shoulder. “Please. I
need to come in.”
The quick snap of her gaze tells me she understands. With a nod, she steps
back and slams the door behind me.
“Come with me.”
I follow her to a small room that looks like a study, complete with a
sideboard and gleaming mahogany desk.
“Sit.” She points to a chair. While I never bothered with small talk, Tatiana
never bothered with formalities. Without another word, she takes a glass
from the shelf, opens a decanter with amber liquid, and pours. "Drink?”
I normally don’t drink. It’s too expensive and I like to stay in control of
myself. But this is good stuff and God, has it ever been a week. I drink what
she gives me until ice hits my teeth.
Tatiana gives me a half-smile. “How’ve you been?”
I swallow. “Been better. You?”
With a sigh, she nods. “Same. I knew you’d eventually come to claim your
dues. So let’s hear it.”
Claim your dues. So that’s what we’re calling it now. Ah, well. She isn’t
wrong.
“I need to know that we're safe here. I cannot be overheard."
“We’re alone.”
My mind whirrs and clicks. I can’t help it.
There were two cars in the driveway, four pairs of shoes in the entryway
when I entered, and two sets of keys on hooks by the door. Either she likes
duplicates, or she's lying.
I know her well, and I think it's the latter.
I give her a look with a pierced eyebrow. "Really?"
"It's recent," she says, clearing her throat, and looking away before she
drags her eyes back to me. “I kicked him out. That’s all you need to know,
Aria. Spill.”
At one point Tatiana and I were best friends. Eventually, as our college days
passed, we had less and less in common. No one really liked me — I was
too honest, too direct. I didn’t play well with others. My clothes were never
the right style, I didn't know how to drink, how to fit in, and my grades
surpassed everyone else's. But we both know I’m the only reason Tatiana
graduated from Suffolk Law.
She stares at me. "You’ve finally done it, haven't you?”
I wince and nod.
A slow grin spreads across her face. "I knew you’d do it someday. You're
fucking amazing.”
She would know. Whereas others might ask for help with homework or
essays, I was the one people came to when they needed hacking skills. She
was the one that came to me, tearfully begging me to hack into the school
grading system when she was at risk for failing. I did, with the promise that
one day she’d pay back the favor.
“Tell me everything you can.”
“It’s huge,” I tell her in a whisper. "The more I tell you, the more danger
you're in. You're in danger just being with me right now."
Her brow furrows, and her lips press together. She nods.
“Listen, Tatiana…The stuff that I found…if it ever got out to the press…it
would destroy institutions across the world. You remember the Epstein
scandal? Think bigger. Multiply it by a hundred, drag in every major
institution you could think of, and you’ll be getting closer.”
“Holy shit.”
I nod, my belly churning.
“World,” she repeats, her eyes wide. I watch her swallow before she
clarifies. “Not just the country?”
“World.”
"My God,” she mutters. "So if you're found…”
“I’m fucked.” One of the people implicated could have me killed with a
simple command, hiding all evidence laughably easily given the lack of
contacts and influence I have. I lick my lips and nod. "Even the good guys
can't help me this time." Because even the “good guys” are on that list.
“Are you in danger right this very minute? Do you have a place to stay?”
“Yes, I am and no, I don’t.”
I pull out my phone and tap the article I saved. Wordlessly, I hand it to her.

Mysterious Campus Attack Unleashes Panic as Authorities Hunt

for Missing Professor
In a chilling turn of events, the tranquil campus of West End
Community College is reeling after a brutal attack last night,
sending shock and horror through the community. The assault,
which authorities suspect was aimed at locating a missing professor
entrenched in a high-profile investigation, has left students and
faculty in a state of fear and confusion.
At approximately midnight students and campus security reported
masked assailants arriving on campus. Some believe the assailants
suspected Professor Aria Cunningham was hiding on site.
The attackers managed to evade capture, disappearing into the night
as swiftly as they had arrived.
West End Community College has been placed on high alert, with
classes suspended indefinitely, and students urged to stay safe.
Officials are urging anyone with information on the whereabouts of
Aria Cunningham or the attackers to come forward immediately.

Finally, she blows out a breath and nods. “My God. Officials. And you’re
telling me you found information on said officials that would destroy
them.”
I blow out a breath in relief. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
She nods and smiles wanly. “I knew when you came to me it wouldn’t be to
set you up on a blind date or to borrow some gas money. How much do you
need?”
I exhale. “I need more than money.”
She stares at me as reality dawns. “You need protection,” she says in a
whisper. “Someone outside the law.”
“Exactly,” I whisper back.
She rises to her feet and paces the room.
“Holy shit, Aria. Girl…” Her voice trails off as she thinks over the
implications of what I’ve told her. “This is too big for me. You’ll need
someone who can give you protection and money. You need someone with
power. I have money, but money will only go so far.” She mindlessly tugs at
the delicate gold necklace she wears. “You could — no, no, that’s too much.
Hmm. That won’t work,” she says, as she mentally sifts through ideas.
“Could send you to — no. Not this time of year, it’s too busy and they’ll be
looking for those records anyway.” She blows out a breath. “You can’t show
me what you found?”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to involve you. The more you know, the
more dangerous it is.”
And honestly? I don’t know her. Not really. What if she decides she wants
to turn me in herself? Suddenly, the thought of coming here in the first
place was the worst thought I ever had.
My heart is beating so fast I’m dizzy. I can’t wait any longer. I can’t stay in
one place.
I stand up.
“You know, I’m good. I think that I⁠—”
“Aria! I’ve got it!” She reaches for my arm and grips it tightly, her eyes so
wide she’s scaring me. “There is someone who can help. I mean…he’s…
vicious. He’s scary as fuck. But if you go to him, okay, them…and offer
your skills…it just might work. I mean, you’ve got information that law
enforcement doesn’t want you to have. Your only choice is to go to
someone who’s above the law. Who doesn’t care about niceties or following
the rules. Who hates the Feds and would likely love fucking them over.”
I eye her skeptically. She’s right, but…“Okay?”
“The Romanovs,” she says in a whisper.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up. “They rule The Cove and they
despise local authority,” she continues. “They’re the only ones above local
authority.”
I lick my lips. “How?”
“Organized crime. You know? Bratva.”
Bratva. I do know. When you do what I do, sifting through the vast network
of connections and people and places...you know exactly where the most
powerful people live.
The Romanovs own The Cove, the large, sprawling “Little Russia” smack
dab between Coney Island and Manhattan. That’s all I know.
But I have no safe place to go. I could form another identity, uproot
everything, and flee the country. I know enough that I could fabricate a new
ID and start from scratch.
But I’d have nothing. No one.
"I've lost everything, Tatiana. I'm willing to pay the price of anything at this
point."
She stares at me unblinking. "Anything?"
I swallow. “Anything.” My small apartment is gone. My identity has been
leaked. I don’t have a job anymore and had no money to begin with. For the
first time in my life, I’m thankful I have no loved ones I could lose.
“The Romanovs are in charge of everything in The Cove. I can tell you
right now that whatever you ask of them, it will come at a price. A price you
may not be willing to pay. "
My mind goes over every possible price. Debt collection. Forced
involvement in crime. Unpaid labor, human trafficking…sexual favors.
What would they demand of me?
"I have what they may find to be a…marketable skill,” I say, my voice
trembling.
She blows out a breath, and relief floods me when she smiles. "Of course
you do. What do you know about The Cove?"
I shake my head. “Honestly, not much.” I want to hear what she has to say.
Tatiana’s family is Russian, so she’s a lot more familiar with it than I am.
“So it's this neighborhood known for having a lot of Russian influence. The
shopkeepers speak Russian. There are restaurants, grocery stores, cultural
centers. An Orthodox Church. There's like a beach, and a boardwalk. It's
really popular in the summer, because people sunbathe and swim, and take
walks. In the winter it's less crowded because of the drop in tourists. But
that's when the Romanovs come. That's when they set up shop, or whatever
the fuck they do. I don't know. They own everything. Literally everything.
The restaurants, hotels, venues. But they also have apartment buildings and
single-family homes, you know, residences. They own those, too."
“Wow. Okay.”
I can do this. What do I have to lose? I’ve already lost almost everything.
Almost.
She bites her lip thoughtfully. “This just might work.”

CHAPTER THREE

Mikhail
“My condolences, Mikhail.”
I stand a full foot taller than the old man in front of me, but despite Fyodor
Volkov’s smaller stature, no one ever mistook him for being weak.
Volkov reaches to pour me a shot of vodka, but I shake my head.
“So soon you forsake tradition, son?”
“Call me son again and I’ll remind you who I am.”
Volkov’s bodyguards come to attention at the challenge in the air, but I
don’t fucking care. “Don’t try me,” I tell them. “This conversation is
between your pakhan and me. If any of you dare to defile my father’s
memory, you’ll wish you were buried with him.”
Other than staff, a few of my guards and Volkov’s men are the only ones
present for this impromptu meeting in one of my restaurants. I chose this
one for the security of its location – the beachfront at my back and only one
access point. The secluded room is located deep within the walls of the
building.
Though from the outside it appears to be an ordinary restaurant serving
Russian cuisine, it’s only a front. The atmosphere is thick with the rich
aroma of Russian foods, the walls decorated with paintings of Russian
landscapes and art, all underscored by the threat of unspoken violence. If
these walls could talk…
A muscle twitches beneath the old man’s eye, but before he can respond, I
lean in closer. “Some men respect the elderly, cousin. Don’t make the
mistake of assuming I’m one of them.”
“If you think⁠—”
“I don’t think,” I snap.
One of his men starts. I know for a fact the last man that interrupted Fyodor
Volkov lost his tongue. My fingers itch for his guards to come at me, but
they don’t.
Volkov holds a hand up, a silent gesture to hold them at bay. I’m done with
the formalities.
“I know why you’re here, old man. I’d like to remind you that by law we’re
in our days of mourning. If any of your number breaks that law, retribution
will be swift and merciless. The only reason I’ve given you permission to
be in my presence before now was out of respect for my father.” I reach
forward and adjust Volkov’s lapel. “Is. That. Clear?”
We have ten days left and he knows it.
Muscles twitch in the old man’s jaw, his watery eyes narrowed. He pulls
away from my grip on his collar with effort. Though his men outnumber
mine, the sheer strength of my cavalcade would overpower them, at least in
this moment. My father trained us to be dynamite in human form, veritable
panthers.
Volkov would be wise to hire more muscle.
“Ten days left,” he says, before playing his final card. “But you know our
traditions.”
I need no reminder.
I wear the knowledge of my duty like a noose around my neck, tightening
with each day that passes. The dissolution of my first arranged marriage
agreement on the heels of my father’s death was no accident. Volkov is
notorious for hitting hard when a man is down, for striking the Achilles heel
with no mercy.
My first fiancée went missing, and while we hunted for her, Aleks
discovered their financial stability was fabricated. The second arrangement
ended as swiftly as the first when my second fiancée was found dead. The
third was much harder to secure after my history of arrangements, but we
were finally able to. Money talks. And then my third fiancée was found
dead this morning.
I nod my head to my cousin’s men. “You’ve outstayed your welcome. You
have three minutes to leave before I consider your presence trespassing on
our territory and treat you accordingly.” My guards practically vibrate with
excitement, rabid dogs who smell blood in the air.
I take out my phone to send a red alert.
 Krasnaya trevoga

Unlike Volkov’s men, greater in number but languid under the leadership of
their aging pakhan, my brothers obey on command. All are eager to show
obedience and homage to their new pakhan.
Volkov stares around the room with those narrowed eyes of his for a few
beats before he eyes me carefully and gets to his feet. Without another word
to me, he gestures for his guards to escort him out. I’ve already dismissed
him as I turn to my phone and send another text.
I tap the computer screen in front of me and wait, drumming my fingers on
the mahogany table.
“Another drink, sir?”
I nod without looking at the waiter, scrolling through my notes in front of
me. “A bottle of Stolichnaya Elit and a platter of appetizers. And send all
staff out unless I signal you directly.”
In my peripheral vision, I see him nod. “Right away, sir.”
Quietly, he evacuates all staff from the room. I pay my employees well to
be discreet and obedient, so they know the routine.
Aleksandr is the first to arrive. I wave a hand to greet him at the door,
wordlessly point to the seat beside me, and turn back to the computer.
“Heard the news. Bad fucking luck.”
I grunt in reply. “Luck has nothing to do with it. Sit.”
Aleksandr takes a seat, leaning back and opening up his cell phone. While
the rest of the world uses their phones to scroll social media and take
selfies, Aleks runs an empire.
He scowls at his phone, his fingers dancing over the screen.
Aleks is younger than I am and in impeccable physical condition. Like all
of us, he battles demons, but Aleks schools them under the weight of a
barbell. The combination of brilliant techie and sheer brutal strength is
useful in our line of work.
He looks nothing like me, which sometimes comes in useful. All of the
Romanov men were adopted, a part of our father’s intricate plan to build an
empire.
It worked, for the most part.
Aleksandr sits brooding, as his fingers fly over his phone screen. He
mutters to himself and stifles a groan. Today’s news fucked up our plans.
But the Romanovs always find a way to prevail.
I tap my computer monitor and pull up the video feed. Viktor is the first that
shows on screen, followed swiftly by Kolya, Lev, Nikko, and the rest.
“We have a situation.” I quickly bring them up to speed.
“This morning, I got a call. Irina Smirnova was found dead, strangled in her
sleep. Of course they have no fucking leads, but we know who was
responsible.”
Nikko scowls at the camera, his arms crossed over his chest. He’s glistening
with sweat and I can see the walls of his home gym behind him. Nicknamed
“The Steel Serpent,” Nikko’s our head assassin. “Volkov.”
Kolya finally breaks the silence. “Being engaged to you’s a fucking death
sentence.”
Kolya, our group mastermind, served with my father in the army. Though
younger than my father, he’s older than I am. I respect his brilliant strategic
mind.
Our laughter quickly dies because it’s true.
He shakes his head at the camera, running his fingers through his short hair
streaked with silver. “We don’t have much time to arrange another
marriage, Mikhail.” Kolya’s voice is grim. “If we hit that deadline and
you’re still unmarried, we know the consequences.”
The destruction of our assets, the possibility of attack from our enemies, the
potential threat they could use leverage against the few people that mean
anything to us. Even my tribe of panthers isn’t enough.
We’re on the cusp of war if I don’t have a wife, a war we’re not equipped to
win.
Kolya continues. “No one in our circles will agree to another arrangement,
Mikhail. We’ll have to find someone else.”
I nod, stroking my chin as I think. The waiter brings our food and pours
vodka into shot glasses.
“You have our support and protection, brother,” Nikko says, his sober,
earnest eyes meeting mine on screen.
I nod. “Thank you.”
“We’ll find you a wife,” Aleks says. “Secretly, of course. We have a
network of contacts and resources that can help.”
The rest agree.
My phone buzzes with a text. I feel my eyebrows rise with surprise.
The timing couldn’t be better.

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Fueled by dark chocolate and even
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