“Zeus’s, but I live here,” he replies, tossing his keys into a bowl centered on a two-tier glass table. A bronze abstract statue is positioned directly below it, and beside it on the floor is a tall houseplant.
“Wh-where are the dogs?” I ask, remembering how the beautiful beasts chased me down in the woods.
He smirks at me. “Backyard.”
Sandman wouldn’t say where he was taking me when we left the bar. Just ordered me to get on the back of his motorcycle. I was a nervous wreck on the entire ride, terrified he was going to take me back to the crematorium. I’m not going to count my blessings just yet, though. He brought me here for a reason, and that reason, whatever it is, won’t bode well for me.
“Come on.” Sandman saunters through an archway, bypassing the winding staircase.
I scurry after him, the sound of my high heels sharp on the black marble floor. “Where are we going?”
For all I know, he could be planning to keep me prisoner in the basement. I’m not being melodramatic. He would definitely do some fucked up shit like that. If he says basement, I’m making a run for it. Fuck the consequences. I’m not sleeping on a dirty mattress and doing my business in a bucket.
Sandman peers at me over his shoulder. “Kitchen.”
We enter the opulent space, featuring matte black cabinets, stainless-steel appliances, and concrete countertops. Sandman goes straight to the double glass doors and lets the dogs inside. I plaster my back against the refrigerator, watching as the rambunctious animals jump all over their master, nearly knocking him to the floor. They’re almost as tall as he is when standing on their hind legs.
“All right, enough,” he grumbles. “I wasn’t gone that long. Go on and don’t make any messes.”
To my complete horror, their inquisitive gazes zero in on me.
“Sandman,” I call out in alarm as they pad toward me. “Please help.” I’m too scared to move, but to my relief, they don’t attack. Wet noses greet me instead, as they investigate the new human in their domain.
I nervously pat both on the head. “What are their names?”
“That’s Harley on your left, and the other hound is her brother, Mayhem.”
I smile. “They’re not so bad.”When they’re not chasing people through the woods, that is.
“I didn’t bring you here to make friends with my dogs,” Sandman growls at me.
“Why am I here?” I ask him, fearing the answer.
“To bake me a strawberry shortcake,” he announces, sitting at the island. “Everything you need is in the fridge and pantry.”
My eyebrows stretch to my forehead. I expected shouting, violence, even some bloodshed, but not this.
“Extra strawberries and whipped cream,” we say at the same time.
Sandman gives a clipped nod, staring at me with those mesmerizing blue orbs. Anger and lust lurk in their depths. He wants to destroy me just as much as he wants to devour me. It’s a losing battle.
I slip out of my heels and set to work, first washing my hands before preheating the oven and gathering the ingredients.Flour, baking powder, baking soda, sugar, salt…To the outside world, strawberry shortcake is simply a sweet indulgence, but for us, it’s much more. We bonded over the sugary confection on countless nights while ensconced in the tree house. Ultimately, that universe crumbled to dust and scattered in the wind.
Sandman’s gaze stalks me through the kitchen like a predator—slow, burning, unrelenting. It coils around me, dragging goose bumps across my skin, lighting every nerve on edge. My hands tremble as I dump the ingredients into the mixer, the roar of the machine barely drowning out the thud of my pulse.
I keep my eyes down and try to block him out, letting the rhythm of baking pull me in. When the batter’s smooth, I pour it into three buttered pans with unsteady hands, then slide each one into the oven. Even with my back to him, his presence is suffocating. Like the walls are closing in.
A resounding crash rings out, and I whirl around. Sandman is on his feet, barreling straight toward me, the stool he was sitting on toppled over behind him. He locks onto my shoulders and shakes me so hard my head whips back and forth.
“Was it easy for you to walk over my unconscious body?” Sandman thunders, slamming me against the refrigerator.
“My brother had to drag me out of that classroom. I fought him. I really did. Please believe me,” I sob, a hitch in my voice. “I wouldn’t have left you like that. I’m sorry for everything. For lying. Your hearing loss. I hate myself for hurting you.”
He laughs derisively. “Not as much as I do.”
“If I could go back—”
“But you can’t go back! What’s done is done!” Sandman shouts in my face, ripping my dress down the center.
