Chapter Eight

Home.

A pleasant tingle ran up my spine, and my heart filled with unabashed, explosive warmth. I ran hesitant, shaky fingers along the smooth surface, shivering again in pleasure. I imagined this was how people who reunited with their loved ones after war had felt.

My phone.

My precious, wonderful phone was back in my hands again.

Immediately, I took the internet package the airline had to offer and read through my messages. I plugged in my earbuds and listened to the dictated version of them, angling my phone so he couldn’t snoop over my shoulder.

Keller: Please show signs of life. I really don’t want to call 911. The person who answers always gives me SO much anxiety. No pleasantries.

Keller: Or maybe he just took your phone again. Merp.

NeNe: How’s your hot bodyguard doing?

Natasha PR Manager: Hi Hallie! Hope you are doing well and keeping safe. We were wondering if you would give us the utmost PLEASURE and grace us with your presence tonight. We are launching a super exciting product. It’s called Totes for Toddlers. Did you know an increasing number of toddlers in the world feel anxiety at the prospect of not bringing their beloved toys and attachment objects with them when they travel? These are DESIGNER tote bags, all handmade and from organic material. I can send a taxi if you are interested?

Wes Morgan: Your new bfrnd is a syco.

Wes Morgan: *sycho

Wes Morgan: Psycho?

Wes Morgan: Anyway, that’s what he is. And forget about the zoo. I already got what I wanted from you.

Hera: Please, for the love of God, don’t forget to pack something semi-respectable to wear. Have a safe flight.—H.

Tara: Do you think I can pull off ankle boots? You know my cankles are, like, my worst feature. But idk. They’re just so in right now.

I pressed my phone to my chest, closing my eyes. I finally felt connected to the outside world. Even if that world kind of sucked.

When the plane landed, a private chauffeur was waiting for us on the tarmac, Ransom’s doing, probably. Normally, my parents sent their driver to bring me home. The entire trip to the hotel, I tried to focus on my surroundings and not on the fact that earlier in the lavatory, when Ransom pressed against me, I didn’t feel the usual fear and dread that accompanied being close to a man. No. I’d wanted him. I’d craved him. When his blood trickled between my breasts, I knew the slightest touch between my legs would have made me come.

It’s probably just the wine. It had to be the wine. And the altitude.

Melancholy always fluttered through me whenever I came face-to-face with my family’s hometown. Perhaps because I was not a part of it. The skyline was beautiful, dotted with skyscrapers and washed by the pink hues that signaled the beginning of another Texan morning.

I redirected my thoughts to my deal with Ransom. I had to think about what I wanted to do for a living. My options were limited, considering I didn’t even possess basic skills. Was there a job out there that didn’t require literacy and basic knowledge of Microsoft Anything?

I guess I could sweep floors. Sweeping floors didn’t sound too bad. Maybe even therapeutic. But I knew my family wouldn’t allow just any job. No. It had to be something they deemed respectable and Thorne-worthy. Something with a long title and vague job description. Problem was, I wasn’t Hera. I wasn’t capable and brilliant. I didn’t get 1250 on my SAT.

Besides, getting a job was risky. If I got fired, it would be the final nail in my confidence coffin. And that sarcophagus was already hermetically sealed.

We arrived at Tortoise Creek Mansion. The palatial hotel, once a private estate, boasted sixty-five rooms, a Michelin-starred restaurant, and a world-famous spa. It also housed one of the best bars in Dallas. Since a sober sighting of me rarely happened in Texas, a good, well-equipped bar was an amenity I cared about deeply.

Rather than drive toward the main entrance through the golden cobbled road, our driver used a back alley leading to the underground parking.

Two bellhops who wore exclusively dark suits and grave expressions carried our suitcases to the master suite. I quietly admired the weathered barnwood of the walls, the exotic plants bracketing each door, and the industrial, brand-new scent of a luxurious hotel as the security men spoke to Ransom, ignoring me completely.

“We wired the suite nice and good,” one of them said. “Sixteen devices. All of them linked to the room next door.”

“And that room will be manned around the clock,” Ransom reminded them. “Two at a time.”

“Correct. I can give you the shift schedule, so you can get to know the team.”

“Email it to me.”

A dollop of anxiety hit the bottom of my belly. What if Ransom and I spoke about something intimate and they heard? (Unlikely). Or what if I said something on the phone that I didn’t want them to hear? (Much more likely).

“Stay here, Brat. I’m going to check the suite first,” Ransom instructed, using the electronic key to enter the room. I stayed in the hallway, smiling at the two mammoth men he’d spoken to a minute ago.

“Having a good day, ma’am?” one of them offered in a friendly Texan drawl.

“Everything’s a peach,” I cooed.

“Ya know,” one of them sighed, “it is a travesty to me that a Thorne child ain’t living in her home state. Rankles my sensibilities.”

“Oh, please don’t take it personally. I love Texas.”

Or I would, if I knew it.

The Lone Star State had some small pleasures that I found celestial. The vastness of the sky. How it stretched above your head like loving arms. The endless iced tea refills. The bluebonnets. The way people were friendly as a way of life, and not because they wanted to be invited to Heidi Klum’s next Halloween party.

“Thank fuck for open carry states.” Ransom strode out the door of our suite, tucking his gun into his waistband.

Ransom stopped, scowling at me. “There’s steam coming out of your ears. Don’t think too hard, Brat.”

“Are you insinuating I’m stupid?” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“It was more of an open statement.” His mouth quirked to one side mockingly. “Ready to roll?”

No, but my stomach was. It churned violently, warning me that making an unannounced trip to my parents’ house was not a good idea. Ransom, however, acted as if nothing had happened between us on the plane. Probably because to him—nothing had.

“I don’t think we’re expected at my parents’ right now.”

Normally, I only arrived at their mansion when I was summoned. When they couldn’t take it anymore and threatened me with sanctions if I didn’t show myself. The majority of my time in Dallas, I usually spent drinking in my room or working on mockups of my next tattoo. Sometimes I’d catch a movie.

Dallas reminded me of some of my loneliest times. Of the family-shaped hole in my heart. Of memories I never made, and moments I never experienced. Of the fact that my entire being was a pappus—an individual piece of a seeded dandelion—floating in the universe.

Not so coincidentally, I’d inked a dandelion blowing away across the back of my left shoulder. Only those who squinted really hard could tell that each individual pappus was made out of the letters T, E, X, A, and S.

“Who cares?” He spun car keys over his finger, advancing toward the elevators. I followed him. “They’re your goddamn parents. They’ll find time for you.”

A nervous laugh bubbled from my throat. “They’re important people, you know. With busy schedules.”

The elevator pinged and the doors slid open. We walked inside. Ransom chose a parking lot floor. I guess he’d rented a car. An armored one, no doubt.

“They’re not currently in office, which means whatever shit they have can wait. Your dad isn’t in a position to start or cease a war anymore. You only see them, what…a few times a year?”

I swallowed hard, uncomfortable at the casual stripping away of my historical excuses as to why their distancing shouldn’t hurt. “Yeah. Something like that.”

Once in the underground garage, we slid into a Ford Explorer that looked missile-proof. I wasn’t a fan of fuel-run cars, but decided to pick my battles.

Ransom drove, not bothering with a map app, like he grew up in this place. I was on edge the entire drive, as if I was on my way to face a firing squad. It was bad enough that my parents treated me like an embarrassment, but now we were going to have an audience in the form of Ransom Lockwood, hottest and scariest man alive.

Again, I wondered about him. About his family life. His background. I knew so little about the person who was sharing a house with me. Even the basics were cloaked in an enigmatic veil. Where was he born? Was he married? What had he done before he opened his security company?

I’d performed a cursory social media hunt on him as soon as I’d been able. Unsurprisingly, there wasn’t a trace of this man ever being alive. I couldn’t even be sure Ransom Lockwood was his real name.

“I can tell you want to say something.” Ransom’s eyes were hard on the road. “Just go ahead and say it.”

It then occurred to me that I was staring at him.

“Is Ransom Lockwood your real name?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Are you capable of answering one question without evading it?”

“I don’t know, am I?” he asked smartly, then sighed. “Yes, it’s my real name.”

“Aww, I feel like we grew super close in one sentence,” I teased.

He didn’t say anything.

“So…were you a SEAL, like Max?” I munched on my lower lip as we zipped past the glitzy midtown area, which was sparkly and new.

“No,” Ransom said shortly. Then, when he realized I was squirming in my seat, desperate for a distraction, he added, “Counterintelligence.”

“Look at you, Mr. FancyPants.”

“It’s a long word for a very broad department. Anything you have to break in your head into two separate words to write is considered extravagant.”

Well, I couldn’t write it if you gave me five hours and three dictionaries.

“Must’ve been dangerous.” I watched him intently. Not a muscle in his face moved. Treading carefully, I added, “Your family must’ve been worried for you.”

“I suppose they would have.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t have a family.”

“You mean you don’t talk to them.” And I thought I had a flair for dramatics. Everyone had a family, came from somewhere.

“I mean they are not in existence.” A flicker of irritation passed on his face, but his tone remained flat and calm.

“So how did you come to be?” I arched a skeptic eyebrow. “Test tube baby?”

“Obviously, biologically, I was created by Jane and John Doe. But I have no clue who they are. One of them left me in a shoebox at the door of some church in rural Illinois. I was two hours old and still had an umbilical cord dangling from the cardboard. People who passed by thought I was a lost kitten, because I could barely cry anymore, my voice was so hoarse. At least it had been tied off, so I hadn’t bled out.”

“You’re kidding me.” I sucked in a breath.

“My humor’s not much, but it’s better than that.”

I’d never met anyone with such a tragic life story. I felt physically ill with sorrow for him. I also wondered what the heck had come over him, to make him open up to me like that. Then I remembered I probably looked white as a sheet and nervous from my impending showdown with the people who’d created me.

And perhaps also this teeny, tiny mishap about me catching him acting out a semi-public, semi-violent sexual fantasy.

Ransom needed to win some humanity points with me right now, and, the robot that he was, this was how he chose to do it.

“Wow.” I let out a breath. “I must really look like I need a distraction, if you decided to share this with me.”

“Not a pile.” He flicked the indicator. “Maybe a small mound.”

“Oh, God. I’m so sorry, Ransom. What an awful beginning to your life.”

“I survived.”

“Were you adopted?” I swallowed.

“Yes,” he hesitated, as if contemplating whether to tell me more. “The family’s name was Moruzzi. They were well-off. Lived by Lincoln Park. Jack Moruzzi adopted three of us. All boys. But…well, let’s just say it wasn’t a childhood full of Scouts and summer camps.”

“Did he ever…?” I sucked in a breath. Were his fantasies prompted by being abused before? He’d said he’d experienced trauma. I didn’t know. All I knew was that I wanted to try what Ransom was offering by opening up.

But by the way he bristled, flooring the accelerator, I gathered the conversation was over.

“Point is, stop feeling sorry for yourself, Brat. We all have a story, and it’s rarely a fairy tale.”

The way he cut me off, so abruptly, made me want to strike back.

“Does Max have a story?”

Ransom’s face hardened, his eyes narrowing over the road. “Do I look like his biographer? Ask him yourself. He’s supposed to arrive on a later flight tonight and will be covering for me whenever I’ll be away.”

“Why would you be away?” Did he know anyone in Texas? He seemed to know his way around these roads.

“My business.”

“More playdates?” I was pushing it, and I knew it.

“This conversation is over.”

“I really do feel like we’ve had a breakthrough today, though.” I crossed my legs, realizing for the first time that I was still wearing my tacky sweatpants and hoodie from the flight, and that my parents would probably vomit on impact when they saw me. “Now that we’ve opened up about our insecurities, it will be easier to address them and try to be nice to one another. Who knows? Maybe it’s the beginning of a friendship. The way you opened up to me—”

“Brat,” he cut me off.

“Hmm?”

“Shut up.”

An hour later, the Ford Explorer pulled in front of an all-white Mediterranean-style mansion. The manicured lawn was precisely cut, as if the landscaper had used a ruler. There were grand fountains, dramatic columns, and all the status symbols required of a wealthy Dallas family.

Before Ransom turned off the ignition, an unfamiliar man in uniform greeted us from my side of the car. I rolled the window down.

He looked to be in his mid-forties, with a sweaty face and hard-earned wrinkles. “Sorry, folks, this is a private property.”

“I know. I’m the daughter of the people who own it.” I arched my eyebrows meaningfully, the international signal for back-the-hell-off.

His demeanor did not change. In fact, he looked even more suspicious.

“You’re not Hera.” The accusation cut through his tone like a blade.

“No,” I agreed. “I’m their youngest, Hallie.”

He seemed momentarily confused. Finally, he turned around and pressed a walkie-talkie to his mouth. Static noise followed, along with an answer to his question. He began pacing in front of the car. A cold shiver rolled along my skin. I hadn’t visited for so long. I felt like an intruder. For a moment, I even doubted my own legitimacy. Was I truly Anthony and Julianne’s daughter, or had they disinherited me?

“Relax,” Ransom rasped. “We’re getting inside if I have to run this asshole over.”

A warm rush passed through me. It was odd, and almost felt like I had a stomachache. No one had ever stood up for me before.

Finally, the man approached the car again. I took a quick breath, bracing myself for the worst. I hadn’t spoken to my parents since the nip slip.

“Park at the end of the street, then follow me.” He looked grim and uninviting.

Ransom and I exchanged looks. Ransom did as he was told. When we both got out, I crooned, “I think I finally found someone who gives you a run for your money in the personality department.”

The man, who never bothered introducing himself, guided us through the familiar, melodramatic black and white checkered two-story foyer. The house was vast and empty, the clicks of our shoes ricocheting through the walls with a depressing echo. Maids in blue ironed uniforms hurried along the hallway, keeping their gazes down and posture straight. The sound of a piano lesson in session drifted from one of the drawing rooms. My parents often welcomed gifted kids from low-income families for piano lessons. It was good PR, and my mother was a classical music enthusiast.

I never knew what to think about my parents’ charitable gesture toward children. On one hand, it was undoubtedly cool to give back to the community. On the other—shouldn’t they start by being kind to their own child?

The man led us to what my parents referred to as the guest living room. A preppy, all-white space with a pale bricked fireplace and matching brown leather couches. The entire space was littered with family photos of Mom, Dad, and Hera. Sometimes Craig and the family dogs, Bubs and Bamboo, were also featured. Not a single picture included me. Mainly because I’d refused to show up to any of the functions in which these photos were taken. The one holiday I did tag along for—a ski trip—I refused to be a part of the picture. I didn’t want to give my parents the pleasure of pretending we were one, big, happy family.

My palms began to sweat as I took a seat on a lonely stool. I couldn’t stomach sitting on real leather. I prayed that Ransom did not notice how absent I was from the family memorabilia, but doubted it. He had a sharp eye.

An assistant wearing a black swanky suit trotted inside on high heels. Daphne. Mom’s right hand.

“Hello, Hallie. Hello, Ransom. How wonderful that you’ve finally decided to grace us with your presence.” Her subtle but pointed dig was aimed at me. “Mr. and Mrs. Thorne are so excited to have you despite not being given any prior notice.” She smiled broadly, her gaze halting on Ransom for a moment too long as she took him in fully. “Understandably, they are currently tied up in prior engagements, but they should be with you shortly. Anything to drink?” Her scarlet smile stretched. Her platinum hair was slicked back. I hated that I was wearing rags. And I hated even more that I didn’t have anything to change into here. Leaving anything here would be like recognizing this house was a part of my life.

“Coffee for me. No sugar, no milk.” Ransom stood up and walked over to one of the windows overlooking my mother’s lush garden.

“Water for me,” I added. “Tap, please.”

“Your mother told me the environment is your new passion.” She smiled. “Better than designer bags, right?”

I was shocked to discover my mother remembered anything about me, let alone talked about me to someone from her staff. Too bad my “sudden” passion with the environment started when I was five and left unattended to watch a pretty grim global warming documentary that sent me into meltdown mode.

Twenty minutes passed before our beverages arrived. Another ten before Ransom took out his laptop and started working in the corner of the room. We rounded an entire hour without being seen.

This was my punishment. For not taking their calls. For refusing to be a part of their family.

An hour turned into two.

By the third hour, I began pacing, sweating, making excuses for them to cover for my embarrassment.

“It’s probably something urgent. I’ve never had to wait this long.”

Ransom did not acknowledge my words. He kept working on his laptop, which he now plugged into the socket. This was for the best, since his answer would probably be: How long do you usually have to wait to see them?

“I think maybe we should go and come back later. I don’t want to be a burden.” I tried in vain to smooth out the wrinkles in my sweatpants.

“You’re already a burden,” he drawled.

“Not to you, to them.”

“I’m sure they share my sentiment,” he deadpanned.

“Better to be a burden than to be an asshole.” I made quick steps to one of the windows, opening it and looking outside to keep myself distracted.

“Debatable.” His condescending tone rose from the other side of the room.

Something caught my eye in the corner of the garden. Right behind the red yucca bushes and sage. It was my mother, sitting on one of the stone benches, clad in one of her cashmere sweaters and a sensible, ankle-length skirt, leisurely swinging a ball launcher and throwing a ball as far as she could. Bubs and Bamboo, her two Pomeranians, ran toward it excitedly, pink tongues flapping.

“Bubs! Run faster, bunny. You’re getting a bit chubby,” she fussed as the little dog wobbled toward her, the ball in his mouth.

Thiswas why I was left waiting? So that my mother could play with her stupid dogs? I was losing to four-legged creatures? That lived with her on the reg?

I stepped away from the window, turning to Ransom. “I would like to leave now.”

“You and I both.” He didn’t lift his eyes from his screen. “But we’re already here, and I’m not making this trip twice today. Dallas’ traffic is a bitch.”

“So am I, when I don’t get my way. I don’t want to be here.” I raised my voice, aware that I sounded like a brat from hell, exactly what he’d been accusing me of.

“Tough luck.” He typed furiously on his laptop. “No one cares what you want.”

The words slammed into me, physically making me keel over. He was right. No one cared about what I wanted. The cards had been laid like this ever since I could remember. And today was a prime reminder of it.

I stormed toward my bodyguard, slapping his computer screen shut. It snapped over his fingers, but all I drew was a passive, what-now? look.

Leaning down so our faces were aligned, I snarled, “I said I want to leave, and since you are my hired assistant, the person whose job it is to fulfill my orders, you will grab your keys right now and do as I say.”

It was a low blow. Especially since he’d opened up to me earlier today. But what could I do? I was so hurt, so wounded, so nauseous with rejection, I had no other choice than to flex what power I had hard. This visit hadn’t even started and I already felt unwelcome. Hell knew what awaited me once I met my parents. Hera. Craig.

I was hurting so bad all I wanted was to hurt someone else. Cutting Ransom open might ease the pain. Or at least provide a distraction.

Ransom held my gaze, not a muscle moving in his face. He looked calm, collected, but alert. Desperation seeped from my skin. He could smell it. His eyes darkened.

My face was only a few inches from his. My skin prickled with an awareness I’d never felt before. I breathed him in. Exhaled the anxiety out.

“Be a good boy and follow orders, or I’ll have no choice but to make sure your life is miserable for the next few months,” I hissed out.

Still, he said nothing. Almost like he was giving me the opportunity to ride out the tantrum by myself. I felt like a child, like an idiot, and above all—dispensable. Unimportant. An afterthought.

“All righty, here we are. Hello, hello. Apologies for the delay,” a voice boomed from the doorway leading to the hall, low and southern. I didn’t turn around to meet my father’s eyes.

“Sugar Pie? Everything all right over there?”

It took everything in me to inhale, swivel on my sneakers, and plaster a smile on my face. Ransom remained seated behind me. Nothing in his body language betrayed he was meeting a former president.

Dad wore cigar pants, a navy sweater, and his favorite slippers. His silver-bluish hair was parted on the side, and he was impeccably shaved, sporting a relaxed, almost teasing smile and round, vintage reading glasses.

“Hi, Dad.” I pushed the imagery of Mom playing with the dogs to a back drawer in my mind.

I didn’t really have a choice but to be nice to him. He was the person who bankrolled me.

“Sugar Pie, my dearest.” He approached, kissing both my cheeks, squeezing my shoulders with affection. “I was worried about you.”

“Sure had an interesting way of showing it.” I smiled sunnily.

He ignored the barb. “I see you’ve added to your tattoo collection since last we met.”

Two years ago, I hadn’t had the semicolon tattoo on my wrist (symbolizing my story hadn’t ended yet), the flowered Zen circle on my collarbone (to find the strength within myself), and the cloud spreading across my inner arm (because even though reality sucked—my dreams could always carry me to exciting, beautiful places).

“Oh, you know how it is when you have too much spare time.” I didn’t know if I was being sarcastic or berating myself.

“Don’t give yourself a hard time.” He patted my arm. “Nothing wrong with self-expression.”

Dad swung his blue eyes from me to Ransom and disentangled from our embrace, turning in his direction. “The man of the hour, eh? McAfee spoke highly of you.”

Ransom stood up, tucking his hands into his front pockets. “Sir.”

“Sorry you were kept waiting,” Dad apologized, keeping his gaze firmly on my bodyguard.

“So am I.”

Did Ransom just hand the former president of the United States his ass? Even I, Anthony Thorne’s flesh and blood, didn’t dare show discontent with his behavior.

“How’ve you been settling into the job?” Dad clapped his shoulder, chuckling at my protector’s sour nature. I wondered if I was invisible. If I was in some sort of a teen fantasy flick and had to find a magic potion to gain back my visibility. I imagined gulping the potion down, my legs appearing first, like in cartoons, before the rest of my body. Then the collective cries of delight and relief from my family.

“There she is!”

“We haven’t lost her!”

“Oh, Sugar Pie, don’t leave us ever again!”

Meanwhile, in reality, Ransom drawled, “Without a hitch.”

“She’s not easy to tame,” Dad said, as if I were a wild raccoon.

“I’m not easy to cross,” Ransom replied blandly.

I wasn’t surprised he wasn’t tongue-tied in front of my father, but must he treat him with the same attitude he would jock itch?

“This is great. Follow me, Ransom. I need a word. Sugar Pie, I will see you in a minute. We have much to discuss, and I’m sure you have questions for me.”

My father always said life was about priorities. Right now, he made it clear he would rather talk to the man he hired to kick some sense into me than find out what I’d been up to these past couple years. Although, one could argue, he didn’t need to ask. It was all splayed on my Instagram page and in the tabloids.

Left alone in the grand room, I ambled back to the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of my mother again. I liked to feel the delicious pain as it pierced through layers of my skin until it reached my heart. The ache was bittersweet. It felt like getting a new tattoo. It made me remember that I was alive. That I could still feel.

But the bench was empty, and the dogs were gone. Bees swarmed around fat flowers, and birds continued to chirp. The world went around its day, oblivious to my heartache.

Ransom’s meeting with Dad barely took thirty minutes. Ransom returned on his own, his face not betraying a word that’d been said during his visit to my father’s office. He collected his laptop and slipped it into a leather case.

I watched him, filled with sudden, urgent rage.

So what if this man had been through a lot? He chose to channel his anger toward being an unbearable, mean-spirited man. And his ire was directed at me. He wasn’t here to protect me. He was here to ensure I didn’t screw up publicly. I was his paycheck. His fat paycheck. And he’d probably spent the last thirty minutes telling my father how much of a bother I was, so he would give him a bonus.

“Was it everything you hoped for and more?” I cooed mockingly, pretending to study the view outside.

“Your parents are ready to see you. Make it short. I want to go.”

Did he, now? Well, I wanted things, too. I wanted to talk to my parents. I wanted respect. I wanted to stop being looked at as an unruly child.

“Actually, I decided to spend the night here.” I turned to face him. “Don’t wait up.”

Slinging his laptop bag over his shoulder, Ransom said levelly, “Go see your parents. I’ll wait here. We’re leaving in an hour.”

“You’re not listening.” I adopted the same tone my teachers used in private school for impact. “I want you to leave. I’m sleeping here tonight. There’s security here. Plenty of it. You’re dismissed.”

I didn’t know what I was doing. I certainly didn’t know if I was welcome to stay here. I just knew I couldn’t deal with Ransom after this…this…ongoing nightmare. To be absent from all the family photos, left for three hours to wait like a salesperson, and above all, to be discarded for him, after my parents hadn’t seen me in so long…

Ransom’s parents may have given up on him when he was a baby, but it was probably because they didn’t have the means to keep him. My parents had all the means in the world and zero will. They knew exactly who I grew up to be. They chose to opt out after trying the finished product.

“Leave!” I stomped, exasperated. “Go away.”

He stayed put, seemingly taller and wider and more intimidating than he was a second ago.

With a feral growl, I ran toward him, pushing at his chest. He didn’t move. My throat produced something between a roar and a whimper. I shoved at him once again, this time harder. I clawed at his torso, my nails scraping through the skin under his dress shirt, trying to make him bleed.

Nothing.

“Fuck!” I balled my fists, raining them down on his chest.

“Leave.” Thump.

“Me.” Thump.

“Alone!” Thump.

“That’s quite enough.” The voice, like an ice-cube, ran down my back, making me freeze in my spot. Suddenly I didn’t want to stay anymore. I didn’t turn around, knowing who it belonged to.

“Step away from the man, Bunny. Heaven knows you were raised better than that. Mr. Lockwood, our daughter will be staying with us tonight. You may take the rest of the day off.”

The voice grew louder, closer behind my back. My mother had entered the room. The delicate clicks of her heels rang gracefully, like champagne glasses clinking together.

“Turn around, Bunny.”

I did, feeling the air whooshing out of my lungs in one go. Oftentimes, I found myself disappointed and dissatisfied with my relationship with my father. But when it came to my mother, I was downright frightened.

She controlled Dad with an iron fist and was the main cause for every sanction against me. I always had the feeling my father’s disappointment with how I turned out was lighthearted. He’d accepted early on that nothing would become of me, and treated me with the same, offhanded sympathy he would to an old, farty family pet. An adorable discomfort, if you would. My mother’s displeasure, however, hit differently. More personal. She viewed me as a failure. An unfinished project. I was a chink in her otherwise flawless list of accomplishments. The house. The husband. The career. The perfect, doctor daughter. Even the stupid dogs won awards. She had trained the entire Thorne household to jump through hoops. Everyone except me.

“Hello, Mother.” My right eye twitched with annoyance. Sometime during this whole ordeal, Ransom must’ve found his way out, because I couldn’t see him. At least he wasn’t here to witness that.

She strolled toward me, hands clasped behind her back. Circled my frame, taking inventory. I tipped my chin up and stood up straighter, trying to swallow a lump in my throat.

“You hadn’t been answering our calls.” Disdain dripped from her voice. “Before we hired your security detail.”

“You haven’t been giving me a good reason to,” I countered.

“We’re your parents.”

You don’t act like it,I wanted to scream. I drifted away, and you let me. I opted out, and the door was wide open for me to walk through. You never wanted me.

“Well, I’m your daughter, and you haven’t been taking my calls, either.”

“You know exactly why.” Her mouth twitched in annoyance. “Don’t you, Bunny?”

To that, I said nothing.

“You’ve added a few tattoos.” Nice to see where our money is spent, she didn’t add.

“Someone needs to give you something to talk about at the dinner table, and God knows Hera and Craig are perfectly boring.” I shrugged.

“Actions have consequences. You’re going to live with these tattoos for the rest of your life.”

“My whole life?” I widened my eyes, slapping a hand over my chest. “Oh, my. That’s why they don’t come off in the shower.”

She made a face. I couldn’t tell if she was disappointed, exasperated, or both. “When your father gets h—”

“I’m here.” The devil we spoke of walked into the room. “Step back, Jules. Let the kid breathe. Y’all look like you’re about to get in a fistfight.”

Mom stepped back, looking lost and confused all of a sudden.

“Let’s take it to my office, shall we?” Dad smiled good-naturedly.

Following them silently to Dad’s office on the second floor, I remembered I didn’t have anything here with me. No deodorant, no creams, no underwear, no PJs. I would have to make a Target run. The problem was, that would require my parents’ security. One of them would have to accompany me, too.

Mom and Dad conducted a short and efficient discussion about their winter vacation plans on the way upstairs.

“Why must you insist on skiing every year? You know Craig absolutely loathes it. He is no good at it. No good at all.” My mother pleaded my sister’s fiancé’s case.

“So, because Craig isn’t a fan, I shouldn’t do what I want with my limited free time?” Dad huffed. “Craig and Hera are welcome to stay at his parents’ for Christmas if they’re so inclined to. Sugar Pie, you’ll come, right?”

“Christmas…” I murmured behind his back, thinking of a good excuse. “Yeah, I don’t know about that. I’m involved in a lot of charities back home.”

“Don’t be dreadful,” my mother chided, playing with the pearls on her neck as she hurried her steps. “Hera finds them stunningly tedious, and their house is far too crowded for a young couple. Four children. My word, have they not heard of contraception?”

Or overpopulation. Although, here in this house we pretended overpopulation was not a part of global warming. Dad had run on the ticket that he was both an environmentalist and a devout Catholic. Don’t ask me when the last time was he went to church when there were no cameras around.

“In that case, Craig’ll have to toughen up and bear the burden of skiing,”

Dad said.

Finally, we reached the oaky, double doors of his office. Dad pushed one of them open, and the three of us walked inside. He settled behind his desk. My mother and I took the seats in front of him. I felt like I was heading for a life-or-death trial.

“Hallie, my love, how have you been?” my father finally asked, a staggering four hours after I set foot in his house.

I squared my shoulders. I had to plea my case, even if I knew I stood no chance. Here goes nothing.

“Been better.”

“What is it, Sugar Pie?” Dad demanded, his brows creasing worriedly. “Tell us.”

“Well, let me preface this by saying I know I screwed up. Bad. I know that, okay? I’ve absolutely no excuse, and take full responsibility for it. I was drunk, and wore too snug a dress—”

“I have a feeling I know where this is going.” My mother crossed her legs, folding her hands over her knee. Daphne walked into the room, asking if we needed any refreshments.

“Not now, Daph!” Mother barked. “Read the room, for Pete’s sake.”

Daphne scurried away with her tail between her legs.

You and I both, girl.

“You were saying?” Mother turned to face me, squinting accusingly.

“I know I didn’t win any Daughter of the Year awards the night I left the Chateau. But I’ve learned my lesson. I haven’t drunk a drop of alcohol since.” (Other than the three glasses of wine Ransom let me have on the plane here, but that was a one-off, just because I caught him banging someone publicly.) “And I’ve been on my best behavior since then. I don’t think having Mr. Lockwood follow me around is necessary.”

“You are contradicting yourself.” Mom uncrossed her legs, lounging back in her seat. “You just told us you haven’t drunk a drop of alcohol and have been on your best behavior since his arrival. We haven’t seen this kind of behavior from you in years. The tabloids haven’t mentioned you once since he arrived. What would inspire us to get rid of Mr. Lockwood when obviously he is the one who should be credited for this improvement?”

I stared at her, ticked off. “If anyone deserves credit for my being on my best behavior, it would be me.” I stabbed my chest with my finger.

“I’m sorry, Sugar Pie, but your mother isn’t wrong.” Dad tugged at the collar of his cashmere sweater, smiling apologetically. “We’ve been avoiding your calls because we knew you’d try to dodge the arrangement. But the truth of the matter is…sweetheart, you need this. For whatever reason, you want nothing to do with us. You’ve been lost for far too long and you need to be found.”

You never made an honest attempt to get to know me. To help me. You never reassured me that I wasn’t a complete waste of space. You always planned things without me—vacations, moves, travel—inviting me to tag along like I was a family friend. Worst of all—you failed to protect me.

“He’s a jerk and a half,” I said instead. There was no point pleading my case to Mom and Dad. I’d tried a few times when I was a teen. They never got it.

“Oh, Bunny.” Mom clucked her tongue. “Tough love is exactly what the doctor has ordered.”

My cheeks were on fire. “There’s no love in his behavior toward me. He calls me Brat.”

My father chuckled. “I’ve been called everything under the sun. Words are just that—words.”

“Dad.” I closed my eyes, feeling my soul sagging with defeat. I was tired. So tired of my constant battle with my family. “He makes me really unhappy. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

It wasn’t the truth. Not in its entirety, anyway. Ransom fascinated and scared me. Worst of all, he attracted me, and I couldn’t allow for that to happen. Men were dangerous.

A thick blanket of silence fell over the room. For a brief moment, no one spoke. I studied my father intently. The way his fingers drummed over the desk. He was considering his answer. One of his best traits was to think before he spoke. Really think. Even if it left the person in front of him waiting.

My mother, by comparison, was a quick shooter. “If I’m allowed to be frank, Hallie, you’ve been causing us a lot of heartache and bad press. You had been utterly unmanageable, and with your sister’s wedding coming up, we simply cannot afford any slip-ups.”

Ah, this was about Hera. I should’ve known. Everything always boiled down to creating the perfect life for Hera and Craig. My lower lip curled around my upper one to stop myself from screaming.

“Mr. Lockwood is the highest rated bodyguard in North America. We wanted the very best for you.” Mother’s voice floated over my head, like a poisonous cloud of smoke. “I pray that when his post is over, you consider spending some time with us in Texas to mend our relationship. For now, you’re going to have to make do with him.”

I looked up, feeling my eyes burning with unshed tears. I spoke through gritted teeth. “You don’t love me, you tolerate me. Don’t think I don’t see the difference.”

My mother stood up. In this light, I could see every wrinkle in her face. She wore her age with pride. Deemed women who hid behind fillers and Botox tacky and uncultured.

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course we love you.” She brushed dog hair from her clothes, her words hollow and empty. “We’re crazy about you. You are our child, Bunny.”

“Your mother is right. Also, you can use one of the guestrooms.” My father stood up, on cue, to join my mother. “Dinner is at six, and we’ll be having company.”

He stared pointedly at my clothes. Fix yourself up, Sugar Pie. Please. For me.

At the door, my mother paused, her hand fluttering over the frame. “It’s good to have you back. I don’t always understand where you are coming from, but you always light up the room when you’re here.”

They left, leaving the door open. I could hear them picking up the conversation they’d left off before we entered the office. Skiing versus a sunny Christmas getaway. I couldn’t muster the energy to move an inch. I slacked there for a few moments, my gaze gliding over the walls. Pictures of my father hugging and shaking hands with other world leaders glared back at me.

I couldn’t stay here. Or maybe I could. Maybe I simply didn’t want to. Since no one gave two shits about what I wanted, it was time to do something for myself.

But I couldn’t even call an Uber. Ransom had canceled my credit card, which was attached to it. I fumbled for my phone in my pocket, about to call him. Then I stopped myself. No. Telling him I was coming back was admitting defeat. Better if I just showed up and told him I had a change of plans. Bonus points: he’d know I traveled unaccompanied, and possibly—hopefully—would have a heart attack as a result.

I picked up my phone and called Keller.

“Howdy partner,” he said in his most mocking Texan drawl impression. “How’s home treating you?”

“Terrible, as per usual.” I darted up from my chair, pacing. Dragging a hand over my forehead confirmed that, yes, I was sweating buckets. Maybe I was coming down with something. “I need you to call me an Uber. I’ll pay you back.”

“You want an Uber from Texas to California?” he asked, confused. “Ever seen the US map, sweetie?”

“No!” I flung my arms. “From my parents’ house outside of Dallas back to my hotel.”

“But…” I heard him hesitate. “Why can’t you do it?”

“Because, didn’t I tell you, Ransom Lockwood canceled my credit cards!”

“The bastard!” Keller sounded outraged. “And he left you to fend for yourself, ride-less?”

Not exactly. He’d insisted he stay here, until my mother sent him away. He’d probably predicted I didn’t have the stomach to spend an entire night here.

“It’s an absolute nightmare.” I put a hand to my collarbone, dodging his question. “I need your help.”

“All right. Send me the deets. Help’s on the way.”

I did just that, then stomped my way out of Dad’s office, down to the second floor, and outside, completely uninterrupted. No one noticed I’d walked right out of the mansion. This was the perk to being invisible, I supposed. I could slip under people’s radars.

The Uber arrived ten minutes later, and as a midnight blue evening fell across the sky, I started my journey to the hotel.

The entire drive into Dallas, I felt like a giant ball of puke was stuck inside my throat. It was ten past six when my phone started blowing up with calls from my parents. I hadn’t shown up to their dinner. My heart raced in my chest. Ransom was going to lose his shit when I showed up at the hotel. As it happened, bickering with him was my new favorite pastime.

My thighs clenched when I thought about him pressing against me. When the memory of his blood in my mouth seeped into my brain. He was so messed up for getting off on kinks like that. Then again…apparently, so was I.

When the Uber pulled up at Tortoise Creek Mansion, I stumbled out, making my way toward the nearest trashcan, and vomited the little I’d eaten in the past forty-eight hours. Cold shivers rolled through my arms as I swayed onto the premises.

Somehow, I found one of Ransom’s men milling around the reception area, probably making sure nothing seemed suspicious. I could tell them apart from the crowd, because they were all over six foot four and dressed exclusively in black.

I tapped one of them on the shoulder to get his attention. He turned around. “Take me to my room.”

He recognized me instantly. His face paled. I couldn’t blame him. He was about to deliver his boss a very distressed looking, unaccompanied client.

“We need to tell Ransom.”

“No. You work for me, not him.” I started for the elevator. He followed me.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go up there right now.” His thick throat dipped with a swallow.

Of course not. Ransom was going to make a huge stink about it.

“I don’t think I asked for your goddamn opinion!”

“Miss Thorne—”

“No, you listen here.” I wagged my finger in his face, unbothered by the fact the lobby was jam-packed with people in evening gowns and suits, sitting around the bar and listening to a pianist playing an unpolished version of “Hungarian Rhapsody”. “You’re going to be in a world of pain if you don’t let me into my suite right now. Lockwood may be your point of contact, but don’t forget who’s signing that paycheck.”

“Ma’am—”

“I want to go to my room. Now.”

The man ushered me into the elevator, where he swiped a card over the access control panel, before pressing a button leading to the top, private floor.

I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were bloodshot and my hair was a mess. My lips were dry and cracked. My sweatpants were stained. I looked as bad as I felt. And I felt like garbage. I wanted to stumble into bed and forget today had ever happened.

The elevator pinged open. Muscle Man got out first, glancing left and right before motioning for me with his head to join him. He stopped in front of my suite’s door, his hand hovering over the card reader.

“Do it,” I bit out. “And leave.”

If Ransom took the bigger bedroom, I was going to strangle him in his sleep.

Reluctantly, Muscle Man followed my directions, bowing his head before slinking back into the open elevator. Running away from the scene.

As the door clicked shut, my skin prickled with awareness.

Danger crawled over me like spider legs.

There were sounds coming from the second bedroom of the suite. Alarming sounds. Like someone was sobbing uncontrollably.

Not again…

I made my way to the open bedroom door, clutching the phone in my fist just in case.

The image in front of me unfolded all at once.

The sight of Ransom fucking a complete stranger against the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the hotel restaurant, sliding in and out of her, his muscled ass cheeks contracting each time he pressed home.

He was fully dressed, his smart pants barely tugged down, not a hair on his head out of place. She was naked as the day she was born, wearing only red-tipped heels, which were wrapped around his waist, her ankles knotted together, pulling him closer. Her hair, shimmering gold, was blown out to perfection. She was the quintessential Texan beauty. Her breasts looked red and raw, like they’d been slapped and tugged painfully.

You didn’t waste any time, did you?

“That’s it. Take it all, and don’t forget—if you ever tell anyone, I’m going to make it very painful for you,” he growled into her face.

I stumbled back, choking on my saliva. An imaginary sword slid through my gut. At first I felt the burn—then the pain.

Deep. Wild. Curling over my throat like talons.

Not because I was disturbed.

But because this time, I wasn’t just turned on. I was jealous.

I didn’t get it. This delicious, breathless ache that spread through me like wildfire. I hated him. He was a disgusting pig. But I couldn’t look away. Couldn’t rip my eyes off the sight of Ransom driving into another woman while she moaned, pretending to protest while her heels urged him for more.

The woman slapped him.

He laughed roughly, pinned her arms above her head against the glass, and thrust harder.

“You’ll never get away with it.” But as she spoke, she met him thrust for thrust.

He pinned her harder, thrusting faster. “You just watch me.”

The woman’s eyes climbed from his face, and she noticed me. “We’ve got company.”

Oh, shit.

“She can watch. That’s all the action this little brat is allowed.”

Burn in hell.

“Unless you’re not into that?” He stopped thrusting, rubbing blood back into her wrists, searching her face now. He was being considerate and nice. Both qualities I didn’t recognize in him.

She shook her head slowly. “I’m having too much fun to stop.”

“Good.” He shoved her hands back above her head and continued thrusting, ignoring me completely, this time not even trying to apologize to me.

I’d been caught. The Peeping Tom in the room. No. Worse. Horny Hallie. Watching shamelessly as my bodyguard got his rocks off with another woman.

“You like to watch me fuck a stranger, don’t you, Brat?” he purred.

His gaze was on me as he drove into her. She spun her head the opposite way, so I couldn’t see her face. She was participating in being his prop! A part of his twisted, elaborate game between two, very unwell people.

“That’s right. See this shit through. Own your kink.”

I was mortified. Mainly because, as he was studying me, I was fixated on the sliver of space between his body and hers. Where I could see his cock through the glistering condom, engorged, thick and dark, draw back then disappear inside of her.

My belly dipped with shame. I felt my pulse thumping between my legs each time he drove into her, my thighs slickening. I wanted to be her. I wanted to be fucked. Disrespectfully. To be used by this heartless man. To be submissive, and docile. To stop fighting. Once.

What was wrong with me?

Everything, I thought. You don’t need a bodyguard; you need a therapist.

But I didn’t believe in therapists anymore. I’d had sixteen of them throughout the years, and not one could fix me.

“Do you like when I do this?” His white teeth twinkled in the dark. He snaked his arm behind the woman, fisting her hair in a death grip, angling her face down to watch how he was fucking her, deeper, more furiously now. Whimpers of happiness escaped her.

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t trust myself right now. Not my words. Not my actions.

“Or maybe you’re into this?” He pulled out of her suddenly, snapped the condom off, and brought her down to her knees, shoving his cock into her mouth. She gasped before taking him in eagerly, sucking and gagging as she wrapped a fist around the base, zero doubt she was as willing a participant in this depravity as I wanted to be.

As that other woman the other night had been. He was sexy and safe and within reach.

There was so much saliva in my mouth. I wanted to touch myself. The unbearable craving blurred my vision. I didn’t have to touch myself, as it turned out. Because my body came alive on its own, my creative limbs stretching, using invisible brushes to paint myself where the blonde woman was, on her knees on the carpet. I imagined I was her. And that was enough to make my knees weak and my nipples pucker. To feel an earthquake shivering through my spine, like a long crack in the ground as it split open.

I climaxed on nothing, the orgasm making my entire body arch and tense at the same time.

He came in her mouth. She came, too. Came from sucking him off.

She gulped. He tucked himself back in, finally sliding his gaze off of me.

He removed his watch from his wrist. “Thank you, Marla. It’s been a pleasure.”

“Same. You have my number.” She winked at him, wiping at her mouth.

He put his Rolex in its case, leaning over to kiss her cheek like a perfect gentleman. “I called you a cab. Take as long as you need to get ready. He’ll wait.”

It was a part of Ransom I didn’t know. A part of him I wanted for myself. I realized I didn’t only want the shameful, unrestricted, violent sex. I also wanted the way he snapped out of his role and became someone else. Someone soft.

Pulled back from my unexpected orgasm, I finally managed to see beyond the thick tendrils of desire. What he’d done was horrible toward both her and me. It was… I didn’t even know what to call it.

Degrading. Sick. Punishing.

She got dressed and slipped away from the room, avoiding eye contact with me. Her shoulder brushed mine on her way out, and I caught a whiff of Ransom’s scent on her, which made my blood boil again.

Not good. Not good at all. I couldn’t be possessive of this man. He hated me, he was here for only a few months, and beyond all that—he was simply unbearable.

Ransom and I stood in front of one another, like two cowboys, waiting to see who was going to draw first.

Me, I decided. I was feeling trigger-happy today.

I leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb, just as the sound of the front door slamming echoed between us.

“Your after-hours activities should remain outside my safe space, Mr. Lockwood.”

“If safety meant jack-shit to you, you wouldn’t be running around in an Uber taken directly from your parents’ house like a moron.”

He tugged the back of his shirt, removing it and discarding it on the floor. His shoes, socks, and pants followed suit. He walked out of them on his way to the en suite bathroom. I followed him. I’d seen his secret now. Literally. I wasn’t going to be intimidated by a little nudity.

“So you know about the Uber.” I stayed at the door to his bathroom as he pushed his briefs down. I took a moment to appreciate his ass again. The hollows on each side of his cheeks. The prominent Dimples of Venus I wished I had for myself.

He entered the shower before turning it on and waiting for the hot water. The psychopath.

“I know about everything you do.” He brushed his wet hair back from his face. A cloud of steam formed over the glass, blocking the view. “And you’re going to be grounded for that little stint. One month, minimum.”

“I don’t think you understand the situation here.” I adopted Hera’s tenor. Prim with a touch of oh-you-little-peasant-you. “This whole place is wired, remember? Tapped. And you just made a big boo-boo.”

“Not my room,” he said indifferently.

Shoot. I believed him. It made sense, since no one was counting on me spending time in this room.

“And what I made, was two women come. One of them I didn’t even touch.”

He knew he’d made me climax. I didn’t confirm it. Although my red-hot ears, I suppose, did.

“You just forcibly made me watch you have sex with another woman,” I reminded him. “This is the second time I watched you be inside someone else. I have huge leverage on you.”

How could he not know that?

“Really? Forced, you say?” He used a soap bar to shampoo his hair. And as a shower gel, too.

“You didn’t stop when I walked in.”

“Into my room. Please tell me how I forced you to watch me fuck someone else, rather than, oh, let’s see—you walking in on me, in my room, during my time off, having sex with a woman, and kept staring at us like…how did you call it? Skipper the Creeper.”

My mouth fell open. He was such a cunning…manipulating…

“You’re not going to get away with this,” I hissed.

Of course, he was getting away with it. He already had. My parents were firmly on his side—or at least they weren’t on mine. I had no way to negotiate myself out of this nightmare situation.

“Stop sounding like every badly-written superhero.” He turned off the water and walked out completely naked. He was a vision, and he knew it. I looked away, not giving him the satisfaction of being openly admired.

“This isn’t over.”

He grabbed a towel, patting himself dry. “Are you done?”

“No. You’re a pervert.”

“Yes,” he surprised me by saying. “But so are you.”

“I’m not—”

“Go back to your room. I’ll think of your punishment tomorrow.”

“I’ll run away before bending to your will.”

He secured the towel over his narrow hips, grabbing his shaving foam and razor. “Better get some comfortable shoes then.”

Not wanting to keep this awful exchange going, but desperate for some destruction points, I settled for grabbing the expensive cologne by his sink and hurling it against the wall. It shattered noisily, cologne everywhere. I turned around and marched toward my room, realizing one of the glass shards had lodged in my foot.

“Shit!” I roared but kept marching. Now I needed to take the glass out.

I heard him laugh behind my back.

Bastard.