Brooke Roberts

Focusing on reading today is hard. I’ve read this page like three times already, and it’s not even the book’s fault—it’s amazing. A fantasy with a steamy edge and the fight for the throne of Altera. But my mind keeps wondering what would have happened if we hadn’t gone home early. If they hadn’t managed to evacuate everyone safely. And knowing someone is behind this just makes me more anxious.

I thought about scheduling an emergency session with Dr. Luana, but I can’t rely on her to face everything that happens in my life. I close my eyes and take a deep breath for the... I’ve lost count of how many times today.

“Sunshine?” Kyle calls me, and I open my eyes to see my boyfriend approaching. He’s swapped his jeans and T-shirt for a suit, and my heart tightens.

“You’re going out too?”

Seth left right after breakfast, needing to deal with the police department and the fire department. Raffi took the dogs for their usual Saturday baths and then had something with the PR team.

“Unfortunately, I have to. I need to deal with the insurance company, shouldn’t be long.” He kisses my forehead.

“All right,” I agree, resigned. “Bring pizza for dinner?” I ask, and he gives me a quick kiss.

“I’ll see what I can do. I love you, Brooke.”

“I love you too, Ky.”

I watch him disappear down the hallway and hear the front door close as he leaves.

The silence that follows is heavy, crushing, suffocating. I take a deep breath and play a random playlist on the YouTube app on the TV, needing background noise to keep the creeping paranoia away.

I return my attention to my book, finally managing to focus on the Tormenti family’s adventures after Kassius receives a tattooed collar as a symbol of partnership. Which, of course, reminds me of the collar collection Seth keeps in his room. He hasn’t used any on me yet, but the curiosity and anticipation are almost killing me.

Is he waiting for me to ask? I wonder.

I notice the music stopped, look at the TV, and see the classic “Are you still watching?” notification. I never understood the point of that—if I turned on the TV and didn’t turn it off, why would I want it to stop?

I start feeling around the couch for the remote.

“Lost something?” That voice.

I flinch, hand flying to my chest, and my breath catches in my throat. My heart pounds against my ribs. Fear paralyzes me. I need to get out, I need to run, but there’s nowhere to go, because standing in the only doorway is my ex-boyfriend.

Patrick Anderson.

“H-how did you get in here?” my voice trembles.

He smiles, and the gesture makes my skin crawl. There’s something very wrong in his expression. A cold perversion I’ve never seen before.

“With help from your little friends—or should I call them your boyfriends now?” His tone drips with disgust. He tilts his head and the light reflects off something in his hand when he raises it. He’s using the tip of a long blade to clean under his nails, sending another wave of panic through me. “You see, I was waiting for the right moment, but since they wouldn’t leave you alone, I had to take matters into my own hands.”

He steps further into the room, closing the distance between us but also moving away from the door. This might be my chance—if I can distract him long enough, make him talk, maybe I can escape. I push aside doubt, fear, and uncertainty. I don’t have time for that.

“What do you mean by that?” I ask, my voice a bit steadier.

Where would I go?

Kitchen? No, too open. Gym’s too far. The office—if I remember right, I saw a gun in one of the drawers. If I can make it there, I might have a shot.

“The fire, of course.”

“You almost killed hundreds of people,” I reply, in shock, using the moment to stand up.

Who is this man? How could I have been so wrong about him? The guy I lived with could never have set a club on fire.

“Why the surprise?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Your boyfriends killed thousands.”

“They were fighting for the country. They’re war heroes.”

“Heroes, right,” he sneers. “Why don’t you tell that to the families of the people they killed?”

Patrick takes another step toward me, and I shift to the side. I force myself to keep my focus on him and not glance toward the door. I can’t give away my plan. I can’t risk it.

“Why do you care?” None of this makes sense—the disdain in Patrick’s voice, the hatred in his eyes.

“Because one of those people was my brother!” he roars, lunging at me so fast I can’t back away. He grabs my arms tightly—I feel his fingers digging into my skin, the handle of the knife hurting me. I have to fight the nausea, push away the memories of the last time someone touched me with such aggression.

I survived then, and I’ll survive now.

“Let me go, you’re crazy!” I struggle against his grip. “You don’t have a brother, you’re an only child.”

“I don’t because of them. My brother died because of your little boyfriends.” He throws me onto the couch with hostility. “The plan was never to hurt you—I just needed a way to get close, but because of one tiny little thing—”

“Tiny little thing? You cheated on me!” I cut him off. He turns to me, hand with the knife raised, and I flinch.

“And because of that, you left me and moved in with them,” he practically spits the last word. “Tell me, were you already screwing them while we were together?”

“I never cheated on you,” I declare, standing and taking two steps back, closer to the exit.

“Sure, sure. But even after you dumped me, I tried to show you they weren’t who you thought. That they couldn’t keep you safe. And I was right. But you still stayed, even after being kidnapped and tortured—because of them!” he shouts, gesturing around the room. “You still chose them.”

“And I’d choose them again,” I state with confidence.

All the lights suddenly go out, and I thank the gods for the power outage. I don’t waste a second—I turn and run through the dim house lit only by the fading evening light. But it could be pitch black—I know this house like the back of my hand.

I’m almost at the office, my hand reaching for the doorknob, but I’m stopped by something. No—someone. A hand covers my mouth and pulls me back, pressing me against the stranger’s body. I struggle against my captor, panic flooding every molecule of my being.

No.

“Shhhhhhh, babygirl.”