PROLOGUE
BROOKS, FIVE YEARS BEFORE
Fuck,she’s beautiful.
A dream as she walks toward me in a wedding dress, the fabric bright white against the rich dark green of the pines surrounding us, caressing her body in a way that mixes innocence and sin.
It clings to breasts I’ve dreamed about, strokes over hips I’ve imagined grasping as I thrust deep, splits at mid-thigh, giving me a glimpse of legs I’ve fantasized about parting wide then wrapping around my hips as I push deep into the tight, slick heat of her.
Mine.
Mine.
All I’ve ever wanted.
The woman I’d burn the world down for.
The thought ricochets through me so violently that I freeze.
That I know.
Know.
The truth.
The reality.
The…future.
But by the time I process it, what that reality means for my—our—future, she’s there.
Her bright blue eyes glimmering with love and hope, with tears of happiness.
She…is beautiful and good and…
I’m a monster.
I’m going to destroy her.
And suddenly, instead of mountains, I see my father’s study.
Dark wood. Locked doors. Men who come and go in the middle of the night, speaking of awful things that never should see the light of day.
Files that I wasn’t meant to see, to know about, to open.
Accounts that shouldn’t exist.
Journal entries documenting despicable acts in cold, businesslike language.
I thought I had changed all of that after my father died, thought I’d made amends and pulled our family business out of the shadows. But none of what I nearly killed myself to enact makes the least bit of difference.
Not today.
Not with those photos still so fresh in my mind—her soft smile, the brightness in her eyes.
Not with Pascal’s warning in my ears—she’ll become leverage. Or worse, a message. Alesson.
Yes, I’d burn the world down for her.
