“Oui, mon cœur?”
The me in the mirror watches. Sits too still with her legs too tight around the man holding her. A man who could solve all her problems.
If I kill the shadowy remains of the Lenora begging to let it go. The weak, useless thing that let her boys die. She knew something was wrong. She felt that voice telling her to keep them home, but she let them get into that car.
She killed them.
She doesn’t deserve to run the shots anymore. She has proven to be a liability. Even the very idea that we should let those responsible live their lives while my boys are eaten by worms…
I will not fall prey to that stupidity again. Women who bow to discomfort lose everything, and since I have nothing left … I will stop at nothing to avenge my loss.
A dangerous and manipulative game. A con I ignored in my lessons. Believed them distasteful and grim. My boys didn’t play in Marcus’s world. I would never need to become this version. I foolishly accepted I would forever be ignorant and happy. Live my life with the men I loved. Start a family. Raise them in Usher House.
But I was naïve.
Even when I was told our existence would never be so simple, I believed I would be the exception because we didn’t do anything. We didn’t hurt anyone. We kept to ourselves and lived in peace.
I shut my eyes and cage Lenora Usher behind impenetrable bars. Isolate her from ever being so stupid again. I have yet to fully forge the new version of me, but I have the groundwork.
I have the motivation.
The hatred.
The rage.
I have the money and resources.
I have the time, energy and…
I have the man holding me and the power of the Usher name.
My eyes open and lock with the new Lenora Usher in the mirror. I stare into the icy, bottomless soul reflected back from the dozens of gleaming mirrors lining the walls.
“Can I stay with you tonight?”
Every line and muscle tightens with the request. His breath rushes out in a harsh huff that burns the naked skin of my shoulder. The bulge nestled flush against my mound twitches, and I have to resist the urge to push down on it.
“If it is what you need,” he murmurs, fingers tight fists creasing my nightgown.
I swallow my shame, shed the lingering remains of my morals and doubts and kiss him. I taste the surprise off his tongue. Savor the low moan working up his throat. I hold him to me and pour myself into this need I’ve had for much too long.
It’s simple, telling myself not to enjoy it, to not take the tiniest hint of comfort from the solid weight, the warmth of his hold. It’s been a week since I lost the ground beneath my feet. A week of wandering the endless corridors of Usher House, searching for something I know isn’t there. It’s been a week where I can’t even look at my bedroom door without the tiny flare of hope that maybe, just maybe I’ll step inside and they’ll be there, reclined across my mattress. Their powerful bodies taking up nearly every inch, except a tiny sliver of space meant for me.
They grew overnight.
They went from thin and gangly to six feet with muscles and big, capable hands — their father’s hands. I remember the years I spent between them after their mother died. Back against the headboard, reading to them well into the night until they were both fast asleep. There had been so much room in that bed back then. By the time I lost my parents, I couldn’t roll over without elbowing one or kicking the other.
Now, the mattress is an ocean of loss, and I drown in all its folds. There are years from the center to the edge. Miles of cold, barren nothing spanning to the shadows like the end of the world.
“Que fais-tu, Linny?”
The tears had started again. Silent, hot knives cutting down worn cheeks. The burn itches, but I can’t release him. But I lift my face. I bump his nose with mine with the gentlest nudge.
“Hold me, Uncle Marcus. A little longer. I just … help me forget. Please.”
His throaty groan vibrates up his chest. It rumbles beneath my skin and settles in that place that makes me ache. My nipples tighten beneath the satin slip of my gown, and I wonder if he can feel the graze of them against him.
I’m not given the chance to ask, to even assess the inferno of desire deep in his eyes when I’m swept up and turned over. I’m pulled across the cool sheets with him fastened against me. Big palms with long fingers slide beneath my back, anchor around my hips. Drawing me … my chest deeper into the curve of his body. His face nuzzles the side of my neck. Lips graze my pulse.
