Her voice wavers. “That drawer… that’s all about me, isn’t it?”
I turn toward her slowly, letting the weight of the moment hang thick between us. She looks small beneath it—unsure, frightened.
“Yes,” I say, my voice rough, almost reverent. “Everything in there is about you.”
I push the key inside and pause to take a breath before removing it. Considering how the documents inside will wreck her. But she needs to know. I slide the drawer free, the weight of it solid in my hands, and set it down on the desk between us. She hesitates, then steps closer, the air between us charged and trembling. Her fingers hover at the edge, but she doesn’t touch it. She only looks.
On top of the files are the photographs—the ones I’ve kept, the ones that matter. Candid shots of her laughing with friends, sun streaking through her hair. One with her parents at graduation, all proud smiles and soft arms around their little girl. And then the onethat always gets me—the one of us standing side by side at the neighborhood cook-off.
Her smile is small in it, polite, uneasy. She looks like she’s trying to disappear while the camera flashes, but I remember that day like it’s carved into me. She’d just turned eighteen. I’d waited. Watched. Told myself I would keep my distance until it was time.
I remember the heat of her shoulder brushing mine, the pulse in my throat so loud I could barely hear the laughter around us. I wanted to wrap my arm around her waist right there, pull her close for the picture—claim her, show every bastard in town that she was already mine. But I didn’t. Because that’s not what Sheriffs do. That’s what monsters do. And I couldn’t afford to be the monster back then—not in a town that looked to me for protection from men like Jackson Moore and his rotten network. I had to be the law here. The steady hand. The face they trusted when everything else turned to chaos.
I needed Rosefield to believe in me—to love me, even. To look at me and see safety, not sin. Respect was my shield, and I wore it like armor. Because if they ever saw what I really was, what I really wanted, they’d know I was no better than the devils I swore to keep from their doors.
I let out a slow breath, tension crawling up the back of my neck. A flicker of something—concern, maybe—pushes through the calm I’ve tried to hold. I don’t know how she’ll react when she sees what’s inside that folder.
She reaches into the drawer and lifts the photos carefully, fingertips grazing over the glossy paper like she’s afraid they’ll burn. She pauses on the one of us together, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. Watching her, I can’t help but wonder—does she regret it? Does some part of her wish she’d given herself to me back then, before everything went to hell?
I clear the space on my desk and pull the folder free, the edges worn from how many times I’ve gone over it. My voice drops low, steady but edged with the weight of what’s coming.
“Summer,” I start, eyes fixed on her. “This landed on my desk at eight p.m. the night I took you. By nine-thirty, you were in mytruck.” I pause, letting the words sink in. “I did what I did because I had to save you. You need to understand that.”
I glance down at the folder, then back at her.
“I tried to do it the right way first. I went to your parents. I begged them to let me keep watch, to stay close after those first photographs started showing up. When more surfaced—worse ones—I told them you needed to come here, stay where I could protect you. But they said no. They said they could keep you safe.” A dark laugh slips from me, low and humorless.
I tap the folder, the paper inside whispering like a secret that’s waited too long. “And then this came in. The moment I saw what was inside, I knew.” My gaze hardens. “I wasn’t asking anymore. Whether you wanted to or not, I was taking you.”
She slams the photographs aside, the sound razored enough to slice through the silence.
“Show me,” she snaps.
I hesitate for a heartbeat, then flip open the file and pull out the stack of papers inside. Each sheet is a screenshot, printed straight from a case file—evidence pulled from somewhere I wish I’d never had to look.
“It was buried on the dark web,” I tell her quietly. “Hidden behind layers of encryption. But it wasn’t hidden well enough.”
She takes the first page, brow furrowing. The photo of her sleeping is pinned to the top of the page. At first glance, it looks like a simple booking site—ordinary, sterile. Then her expression changes. Her eyes catch on the text, scanning the list of “appointments,” and I see the moment the meaning sinks in.
Her confusion dissolves into horror.
She doesn’t speak. Just stares, eyes wide and unfocused, as though the words themselves are poison. The paper trembles in her hands.
DARK WEB LOT LISTING — SUMMER MILLER
LOT #A-017 — THE VIRGINDAUGHTER OF THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY
Status:Fresh Acquisition — Unbroken
Condition:Virgin, restrained, compliant with handling
Age: 20
Pedigree:High-value lineage. Daughter of DA Michael Miller. Law enforcement connections make this a premium, one-time opportunity.
BASE SESSION PACKAGES
30 Minutes (Single Participant Only)– $12,500
