But what happens if I let it go?
Chapter 3
The tires of my Ford Bronco crunch over the gravel as I roll to a stop in front of the sprawling manor. The headlights cut through the thick fog lingering at the edges of the property, casting long shadows that seem to stretch unnaturally, twisting and bending like fingers reaching out from the darkness.
I ease off the gas, rolling to a stop in front of the estate, then kill the engine. The silence rushes in like a physical force—the kind that presses in on you and makes your skin prickle, as if the world is holding its breath, waiting.
Similar to when my childhood home would fall silent after a shouting match and I would lie in bed, holding my breath, wondering if the quiet would last or if another wave of pandemonium was about to break out.
My grip tightens on the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white, and I shake my head, trying to dispel the memory. I’m not that scared fucking kid anymore.
I’m here because I chose to be. I’m in control.
But as I stare out of the windshield at the manor, I’m not so sure.
I lean my head back, dragging my palms over my face. “Why did I come?”
It’s the question that’s been gnawing at me since I left the safety of my apartment to drive down the endless stretch of highway toward Talon Falls.
I fish the black card out of my pocket, running my thumb over the silver lettering. The address gleams in the dim light of the car’s interior.
Adrian threw out a challenge, and I’m not one to back down. And he’s right. I need something more thrilling. It doesn’t matter that, for a moment, he’d peeled back the layers of my carefully crafted confidence and seen the cracks beneath.
The answer to my question is also quite simple. I’m always pushing boundaries. This isn’t any different.
I glance at the manor again, its windows dark, its silhouette jagged against the night sky. The air feels heavier here, like the place itself is waiting. Watching. A predator, patient and still.
Something about it feels . . . wrong.
I take a deep breath and yank the key out of the ignition. Fuck it. I came for a reason. Just because the place gives me the creeps doesn’t mean I’m gonna turn tail and run like a bitch. After tossing the card onto the passenger seat and then grabbing my duffel bag, I open the door and step outside.
The cold night air—colder than it should be for this time of year—hits me like a slap in the face. I grunt and pull my jacket tighter, the gravel crunching under my boots as I make my way toward the entrance.
The large arched wooden doors are worn but imposing, flanked by stone statues whose faces have been eroded by rain and time. Lovers locked in a frozen, eternal embrace—twisted, sensual, but also like something deep inside the stone is screaming to be set free.
Before I can reach for the handle, the door swings open.
Adrian.
He stands there, the same intricate black and silver mask from the club still hiding half his face, the dim light catching on the delicate patterns.
I put on my usual smirk, trying to reassert my confidence. “Nice place you’ve got here. A bit out of the way, though. Planning on murdering me and burying me in the woods?”
“Jasper.” My name rolls off his tongue, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring it. “I’m glad you decided to come.”
“Yeah, well.” I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. “I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d drop by.”
His lips twitch, but his eyes . . . his eyes linger on me, cutting through the bravado in a way that makes my skin itch. It’s unsettling, reminding me of the way my father would stare me down when I tried to act tough as a teenager, pretending that the chaos around me didn’t bother me.
“Of course,” he says, stepping aside to let me in. “Please, come inside.”
As I cross the threshold, his hand brushes against my lower back, a touch so light I almost think I imagined it.
The foyer is grand, open, with high ceilings and an enormous chandelier casting flickering, dim light across the space. The floors are black marble, reflecting distorted images of the towering statues and the dark sensual paintings that line the walls.
Despite the grandeur, the hall is cold and uninviting.
My footsteps echo loudly as I walk, the sound swallowed by the vastness of the space. The statues watch me with hollow eyes, creating an eerie sensation of being observed from all angles.
