1. Hellena

1

HELLENA

“ H ellena.” Smooth, deep, and sensual. That voice is velvet, black, and scalding hot.

“Hella.” Cool, a hint of a laugh.

“Lena.” Rumbling like an avalanche, toe-curling and filled with intent.

“HELL!” All three shout, calling out to me.

My name echoes through my head, on the lips of those I love the most, in whispers, shouts, desperate cries. They’re calling to me to hang on, to come back. Then they fade again.

Back to the dark, cozy void I’m floating through.

“Heya, Hella…” Those emerald eyes, that honey hair brushing my fingertips, our lips brushing softly against one another's. I giggle at the tone of his voice. It's always playful, hinting at a joke that just the two of us share.

Tell always makes me laugh.

He makes my body come alive with electricity, his magnetism. My skin buzzes to his touch. My mind tingles to talk with him, as he listens to me. He’s the best listener. I can tell him anything, anytime, and it’s like I’m sharing the most precious secret.

Joy floods through me when I’m in his arms.

Just the way I feel safe in Gavin’s, pressed against that massive chest, my safe harbor from the storm. He’s a mountain, impervious to everything that could hurt me.

A faint scent of wood and tobacco graces his skin, a touch of motor oil from working in the shop. He’s home, my sense of safety, but he’s powerful, too.

With all the violence of an earthquake.

The rumble shivers through me when he kisses my ear, his stubble grazing against my neck. I could stay lost in him forever.

But just as the trembling subsides, I feel urgent, powerful hands at my waist, pulling me closer, driving my ambition, challenging my every choice, drawing me out to be more . It’s my sense of purpose, focused and honed to a razor’s edge.

Evan makes me fight, even if some of the time, it’s with him.

Evan’s teeth along my collarbone send me into a frenzy, my nails on his back, his chiseled chest flexed above me as he takes me again and again. Our love is animalistic, barely restrained, and visceral.

He tears down my defenses, exposes my weakness, demands that I rise to the challenge and overcome each and every fear. He is searing heat and light, a fire blazing in my chest and beckoning me to join him, to move forward.

We climax together, our bodies joined, and I feel him, liquid fire, fill me up.

But then it’s running down my back, down my side, sharp pain.

“Evan…” I call, but he’s not there. He’s nearby, somewhere in the dark.

I turn and see him, far off, drifting farther.

And he’s covered in blood, blood gushing from his chest as he stumbles and falls back into darkness. I can’t save him.

A hand on my shoulder turns me, tugging me insistently. Gavin slips from my grasp, blood on his lips, fear in his eyes. I can’t reach him, our hands slick with gore and mud. He slips away.

Shocking claps ring out in my mind.

The gun fires again, and again.

Stinging like a whip crack against my soul, lashing me over and over again, taking everyone I love from me. Until the final shot takes me, too.

Straight through my chest, the shock rips the darkness from my eyes, jolting me up and back to reality.

The sheets under my hands are soaked, my body drenched in sweat, my chest heaving. Everything is cold and dark, but all too real. And everything hurts .

“Holy shit…” I grit out through chattering teeth. Sitting up makes me lightheaded.

A sharp stab in my side adds to the ache of stiff, freezing muscles. I must have kicked the covers off in my tossing and turning.

“How long have I been out?” My own voice sounds dry and cracked with disuse.

My hand runs up my side, finding bandages wrapping my middle. My vision blurs slightly as I brush past the spot on my side, the source of my pain. A flash of a mountain road, a roaring river nearby, and it’s gone. What happened to me?

And where the hell am I?

My surroundings are dark, a bedroom. It’s stark, empty, neat. The only other thing in a room is a plush chair by the wall across from the bed. That’s as much as I can make out with the curtains drawn and the door closed. My eyes adjust slowly, the pounding throb in my head fading slightly.

Several deep breaths later, I orient myself, sitting on the side of the bed. Every movement is dull agony.

And I start to remember why.

The last thing I remember, I was on my way out of town. I stopped, fighting with the fear of abandoning my friends, my lovers. Rachelle, my Aunt Rachelle, she found me, stopped me from leaving. How had she known how to find me?

She told me something. Something life-altering. Something unbelievable.

That I am next in line to lead the Sinful. That my father was one of them, and I was meant to take his place.

I recognized the gold dress she still wore from the Sinner’s Ball. Rachelle was, is , the Herald of the Sinful, the hostess of the party and who knows what else. But before I can even think of the million questions that revelation brings up, we’re interrupted…

Every joint and muscle aches, quivering as I try to stand. It’s an effort of sheer will to get me over to the chair, using the back of the cushy recliner to stay up. Moving around helps, waking my bedridden body.

My hand drifts to my side again, to that stabbing, shooting pain.

I was shot. We were shot.

The bullet went through me and into Rachelle.

Worry and panic ricochet through my body, stealing my breath as I remember the agony and the dread of watching the only family I have left die in front of me while I bled out on the pavement.

Is she even alive?

But then I remember something else, three voices, shouting my name…

Thirst overcomes any other thought as I try to make it toward the door. I need water. Something in my stomach.

Easing the door open, I note that it’s unlocked, a good sign, but I immediately close my eyes to block the blinding white of daylight coming through the railing across from the door. The flash image behind my eyelids makes me nauseous, backing off to lean on the bed once more.

“Baby steps, Hellena…” I mumble, reaching for the pitcher on the nightstand. Hopefully, it’s not drugged. Not that it matters, I guess.

Yep. These last few weeks, months, have made me full-blown paranoid.

But I suppose owing money to drug dealers and nearly getting killed by those drug dealers will kick things off toward looking over your shoulder constantly. Not to mention the weeks of working for Evan and his mysterious bosses, and the plethora of mysteries Sanctum Harbor keeps throwing at us.

The water is sweet, cold. I let my mind drift as I take several careful, controlled gulps.

Who freaking cares if it’s drugged? I’ll take the pain relief.

After several more sips and minutes sitting with my head between my knees, I manage my way back to my feet and over to the door. Just being awake for longer is clearing my head, sending my thoughts back down every path imaginable.

Mostly, at the moment, where the hell I am.

And whether that place is safe. My instinct says I’m being taken care of, but with everything that’s happened, there’s no guarantee. I need info and I need to get my bearings.

Gavin would say I need to assess my situation and take stock of my resources.

His tactical mentality is rubbing off on me.

Outside the door, I find that I'm upstairs on the second floor of a house. I can tell that much by the loft hallway with two other doors at the end of the walk and a window looking outside. All I see that way are trees, branches.

The walk to the end of the hall feels miles long.

Not that the stairs sound better, but maybe there’s food in the kitchen and I’ll be able to see outside. Worst case, I can collapse on the couch downstairs. I can just make out the living area over the banister.

Just don’t black out before you reach it.

I grasp for the banister, holding myself steady for a minute as a wave of nausea and delirium washes over me. “Enough already. Deep breaths.”

The wave passes and I feel a bit stronger, albeit clammy and sweaty from the exertion.

The old, polished wood of the railing guides me down, allowing me to pause every few steps to take in my surroundings and not puke my guts up. Every step helps me feel more awake, more in control.

Trees and more trees show through the higher windows as I descend, the ones above the curtained lower row along the far wall. If I’m in a cabin in the woods, it’s a really nice one.

Which might point to Evan…

“Rustic. Cozy. Maybe I’m not being held hostage ,” I try to laugh, but the effort slices through my side like a knife into my ribs. “Nope. No laughing today.”

And I can’t let my guard down. Not yet.

Unease settles in my stomach at the quiet of the house. Maybe I’m just imagining things.

The first window I reach reveals a twist to my safety. Bars along the outside. Whether they’re to keep anyone out or to keep me in has yet to be seen.

Nonetheless, red flags and alarms ring in my head at being trapped inside. I need to keep calm. Examine the facts.

And try to remember anything else that may help give me a clue as to why I am alone in a strange house. The days leading up to my injury were stressful, a blur of rehearsal, then one hit after another, Tell lying to me, Evan betraying me.

The night of the ball comes flooding back, sending me to the couch before I lose my balance and fall.

Darkness, lights on the stage.

Evan and me performing, dancing, making love, and completely losing ourselves in each other.

One of the most intense and sensual experiences of my entire life.

Followed by one of the worst.

Being taken to a meeting of Sanctum’s elite, finding Tell there with his father, the mayor. Xavier Clive, the president of the Motor Club, Oliver Devonde, the pharmaceutical mogul and leader of the Holy Ghost drug gangs.

Topped off with the crowning jewel of finding out my violent, criminal step-father, Marco Vice, was in Sanctum Harbor, and there at the ball. All those years of thinking I had escaped his grasp, crumbling in a heartbeat.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, Evan said nothing.

And then he let them auction me off to that monster.

I would have been lost, taken that night if not for Tell. He set off some sort of explosion, shattering the windows in the concert hall, allowing Evan to get me out the back door.

Still, his appearance, the fact that Tell had been following me, shadowing me and present at almost every horrible experience I’ve gone through since we met, had me terrified and feeling betrayed by him, as well.

I told him never to lie to me…

His explanation of his actions, that he works for the Sinful and was working to protect me, separate from Evan, from Aunt Rachelle who seemed to be in charge of what happened that night…

It changed things. But it didn’t make the lies hurt any less.

I guess I’m still reconciling the details.

That night didn’t offer me time to do so. I ran. I found Gavin. We made love for the first time.

And then I left. Or tried to.

I check the door again, the panel beside it showing that the system is armed. A quick glance around the space gives me a good idea that the whole place is locked down and any attempt to leave will signal someone.

“Geez, this place is a fortress… overkill much?”

The camera below the banister faced right at the front door is an even more blatant giveaway.

But who is my keeper?

A peek out the windows along the walls shows me the house is isolated, at least from any road. The driveway veers a dozen feet down, curving out of sight. Other than that, it’s just trees, trees, trees.

Beautiful, and I am relieved to recognize that it must be somewhere more or less near Sanctum Harbor, still in the mountains, at least. It’s hard to appreciate the view or the proximity with the worry of being a prisoner at the forefront of my thoughts, though…

Forcing the panic rising in my chest down to a dull roar, I make my way back toward the kitchen. Another glass of water has my head clearing and my body feeling slightly more able.

“Food. Definitely need food.”

The few groceries in the fridge and the pantry are nondescript, basics. Not anything specific enough to identify the buyer. The only clue is the fact that there isn’t much here, telling me that I haven’t been here very long, or my captor lives on a tight budget.

“Maybe that’s where they are. Out buying snacks.”

Digging through the cabinet, I snatch a bag of bread, some dried fruit.

The movement makes me wince, tight pain lancing along my side.

I can’t have been out for that long, but I haven’t mustered up the courage to check my wound yet. Besides, the bandages are tight and helping me stay up and about.

Sipping more water and snacking on a piece of wheat bread, I let my mind drift, trying not to fixate on anything.

Is Rachelle even alive?

Where are Gavin, Evan, and Tell?

The drag of fatigue pulls at my eyes, and I realize I’ve settled onto one of the stools at the island, leaning heavily on my arms. I need to lie down. I need a nap.

But the tight grip of fear still lingers, keeping me alert.

I need to escape, or find out if I can. Which means I need some form of communication.

“Phone. Duh! Use your head, Hellena!” I grumble, dragging myself back up to my feet and scanning the room. There doesn’t appear to be a landline, but my things must be somewhere. Maybe there’s a computer, an office…

I make it around downstairs, checking the counters, the living room, and back through the little hallway that leads to the laundry area and the back door. Nothing, only one outlet in the kitchen with nothing attached.

There is a modem plugged in next to the TV, though. Which means there should be Wi-Fi or something. Not that I have any devices to link to that…

Which leaves another trek up the stairs to try and find my clothes, my purse, and my cell.

Assuming they brought my things here with me. Maybe there will be other clues up there, who owns this place, how many days it’s been.

I make it back across the spacious open room and three steps up when I pause, gasping and sweating with the effort.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I hear something outside. Was that a car?

Holding my breath for a second, I listen for the sound again.

And that’s when I hear the faint rumble of an engine more clearly, revving and getting closer.

Tires grind to a halt outside. The engine cuts off.

I’m stumbling for the kitchen when I hear the door slam, another door open, then close.

The debate whether to hide or face them head on is a short one. I snatch the only thing I can find within reach and run back toward the door. The long steak knife feels heavy in my weakened grip, but the weight reassures me.

I won’t risk being caught unarmed and helpless.

And at the very least, I’ll demand some answers. Or I’ll slash the shit out of them and make a run for the car outside.

Keys jingle and heavy footfalls scuff the mat.

An electronic blip-blip on the outside of the door has me biting my lip, pressing my back into the wall and tensing. Bracing to run or to fight, I wait.

Adrenaline blasts any doubts away and narrows my focus on one thing.

The door eases open, a slight squeak.

One booted foot steps in. A hooded jacket lugging a paper bag full of groceries slides into view…

With a deft, quick motion, my knife leads up as I step in close, aiming for where I think his throat must be and holding. “Stop right there. Don’t move. Now, tell me who you are and what I am doing here.”

The man doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t even grunt. He doesn’t move an inch.

But I hear the click of a gun cocking inside his coat, the barrel poking against the fabric and into my chest.