Daniel trembled with violence.
Clive, the driver, never slowed, continuing through the night as if brother rivalry and debts extracted from human misery was common. The gentle rocking of the vehicle did nothing to relieve the anger between Jethro and Daniel, but every wheel spin helped shed the fogginess I’d existed in for the past few hours.
The fact I was trapped between two males who might explode at any second helped drench my system in adrenaline, kick-starting my heart, dragging me to the surface of being master of my own body once again. The heavy drug-ocean receded.
I didn’t witness what made Daniel concede—Jethro never moved—but he growled a curse, then spun in his seat to glare out the windscreen. I followed his attention, holding my breath at the soft glow in the distance. If that was our destination, it was giant. A looming residence breaking the darkness with false warmth and welcome.
My new home.
My new hell.
My end.
“It’s called Hawksridge Hall. Take a good look, because it’s the last place you’ll ever live,” Jethro murmured. Grabbing a handful of my hair, he tugged me closer. His hot breath disappeared down my dress, making me tremble. “Hawksridge has been in our family for countless generations. A fortune we built from nothing. Unlike you, we weren’t born into privilege. We earned our wealth. We deserved the titles bestowed, and it’s time to show you what we had to do to achieve that.”
His fingers wrapped tighter, burning my scalp. “To dispel any thought of running, there’s over one thousand hectares of land. You’d never find your way to the boundary. You’re trapped.” His lips grazed over my jaw. “You’re mine.” Keeping his fingers tangled in my hair, he reclined, pulling my neck into an uncomfortable angle.
The sadness I’d done so well at battling crested again. There wouldn’t be bars on my cage—or at least I didn’t think so—but there was a fortified moat in the design of woodland and lakes and hills. I wasn’t outdoorsy. I didn’t know north from south.
But you do run.
I was fast. I had stamina. If the opportunity came, I wouldn’t hesitate to put my obsession with running to use.
Until you fall and break your leg thanks to an episode.
My shoulders rolled. Not only was I trapped by a maniac family, but I was vertigo’s favourite stumbler.
The car continued deeper and deeper. Every turn, I lost all sense of direction and knew I would never find the gatehouse without a miracle.
Taking a deep breath, I looked at my hands in my lap. I willed sensation to come back. They twitched, returning to life with a wash of pins and needles.
They fell off my lap involuntary as we bounced over a cattle grate. Jethro pursed his lips, looking at my offending limb on the seat beside him. His gaze trailed up my arm to my chest.
I breathed faster at the calculating look in his eyes. Unwinding his fingers from my hair, he trailed them down my neck, along my clavicle, across my shoulder, and down my arm. “My brother was the first to touch you below, but I’m going to be the first to touch you here.” His hand skated across to my breast, clamping around the sensitive tissue.
The soft cotton of my dress did nothing to protect me from the coldness of his grip.
“You seemed to want my attention at the café. Don’t say I never give you anything.” His finger pinched my nipple, rolling it painfully. There was nothing sexual about his hold—only punishment.
Giving up pretence of being under the influence of whatever he’d given me, I squeezed my eyes, swallowing back a whimper.
He twisted my nipple again, shifting from demeaning to the edge of painful, but what made it worse was I’d wanted him to touch me there. I would’ve willingly slept with him only hours before. Before I knew the animal inside the cultivated man.
“You’re too skinny. I prefer women with more…assets than you,” he whispered, cupping my other small breast. “However, your tiny stature might prove to be a blessing with some of the things I have planned.” He pinched me again, turning my nipple like a corkscrew.
I flinched, forehead furrowing against the pain.
He chuckled. “I knew it was wearing off.” His touch turned from painful to excruciating. I bit my lip, barely holding back a cry.
“Just in time.” Letting my breast go, he captured my hand, linking his icy fingers through mine. There was nothing romantic or caring about Jethro holding my hand—it was a pure reminder that I had no chance in hell of getting free.
Vaughn. Tex.
I wanted so badly to talk to them. To beg for rescue. But I could no longer be the woman I’d been. I couldn’t be the workaholic who blamed others for my unhappiness. I’d accepted my father’s old-fashioned law about not being permitted to date, because in all honesty, I wasn’t ready. I would never be ready. Because meeting someone meant the possibility of falling in love. Which meant the worst pain imaginable when they left.
If anything, Jethro had done me a favour. I never wanted male company again. If I could return to my sewing machines with no other companionship but my twin, I’d be happy, eternally grateful, and would live the rest of my life in peace.
Tugging my hand into his lap, Jethro murmured, “I meant what I said on the plane. Play your part and you’ll live to see another sunrise.”
Something snapped inside as if the drug suddenly gave up its hold on me, along with everything I’d been trying to avoid. The tears, the fears, the constant worrying of what was to come.
It all disappeared.
I couldn’t afford to drain my energy with useless wonderings. Jethro said I could work. I intended to drown myself in fabric and continue designing my next runway show. I would pretend my world hadn’t become a monster-filled nightmare, and lock my mind in a place where it was safe. Mundane was safe. Routine was safe.
I would create a sewing room deep in my soul and ensure no one—including the numerous activities Jethro had planned—could ever ruin me.