a
ur nights. She recently started a new blood pressure medication that's supposed to make her feel drowsy, but so far, it's having the opposite effect. T
he dainty, elegant and high-bred young debutant, the book's heroine.
of a smile, her eyes softening and looking f
igh time I showed you just how rakish I can be...." I quickly scan the rest of the page and glanc
stretch, my back which is aching from sitting in an ancient wingback armchair for the last three hours. I walk to her bedside, glancing at the m
s her quiet, rhy
eal stunner, actually. It makes all of this more heartbreaking. She'd been my age once, twenty-six with nothin
have to do with the work Curtis has been doing on the new HVAC system, which still isn't working. But tonight feels
Penny's room. I really don't want to risk waking her up, but th
d the stairwell, the darkness closin
of course, of the darkened corners and bumps in the night. I sleep right through it now, especially si
ir tonight. Something that tells me I
ouse and the ghosts that surely inhabit it the
need to g
nd feel my way to the kitchen. The light switches in this old house are in odd places, and the one in the main
the windows as I enter the kitchen and turn on the light. The back porch light illuminates the rear of the house, giving new life to how hard it's raining righ
perty is now protected marsh land, from what Curtis told me. I spent a whole afternoon sitting on the bac
rounds a little bit and see for myself wha
laces I've worked at over the last four years? Being here, in my family's ancestral home, gives me the sudden urg
expecting someone to be standing in the doorway to the kitchen. My heart r
nding a near silent vib
few hours, and Curtis never comes this early, especially when there's a storm circling the property. Hell, e
ck to the sink to rinse my glass. Lightning flashes, il
. Just beyond the tree line. I squint, trying to get a
leaping into my throat as the blue-hued light illuminates what I a
ep, close enough I can see the outline of the hood shieldin
htly my knuckles turn white. I don't know what I'm thinking when I unlock the backdoor and yank it open so hard it bounces off
re doesn
t of here! I'll
hin
signing up for self-defense classes at the local gym. Whoever this is, they're standing far enough away that their body is still obstructed by the trees, and the rain i
so violent the house seems to groan in anguish.
s gone, just
st the second floor landing. "Fuck!" I hiss, not daring to close my eyes or look behind me. The house rattles against another earth-shaking clap of thun
or beeping quietly with eac
ne. Not in the storm. Not in the dark. Not against the tangled cypress trees and overgrown vines that choke the tree line. I'm
t so real.
eavy, and my head begins to nod. I fight it, but I'm pulled into the kind of depthless sleep only true exhaustion can accomplish. Som
ll asleep here again. I should punish you for this
h me,
back hit a
nd demanding as his thumbs hook und
ike he's just finished a glass of fine scotch. I
ou're fucking soaked, Layla. Those f
over my clit, sliding through the wetne
r to the side, and I cry out against the pain then the sudden pressure between my legs. He's eno
s, his voice low and full of gravel as some
is cock burie
nning the flat of the
to get away, but
eas
n my thigh, then up again, slicing through my underwear. I ta
es
oo
nife to cut through my shirt, tearing it off my body and tossing it across the room as he pumps into me. He slams the knife down into the bed next to me, piercing the ma
s exactly what I need. It's what I'd never admit I'd like–being
oice that has me quaking around him. I su
nto the stormy daylight pouring through the curtains. I rise, trembling, my shirt damp with sweat, and a
ping aunt. The door is locked, and suddenly th
g for the knife I'd brought upstairs
y room, my hands trembling as I close the
sun, something shines fr
kn