“Where’s your mother?” he demands.
I shake my head and take a step back, unable to catch my breath.
A snarl rips the night air in two as a terrifying beast launches out of the trees, teeth bared, claws aiming for my body. Pain explodes across my right ear as the dog latches on, no doubt going for my throat. A scream tears through me as my hands grab the body of the animal, trying to wrestle it off. A shot rings out, deafening my screams. Then I’m free, stumbling toward the man as he drops the gun to his side. I shake my head as I clutch my ear and take a step back. Ringing in my ears disorients me,making me lurch to the side. I can’t trust him. Men are horrific creatures.
He straightens and reaches out his hand. “Hey, wait, I’m sorry. I’m Steven, your uncle. Did she explain that?”
“Steven?” I utter. He nods. The name niggles inside my mind.Safe. Trust.Mama promised.A howl shatters the silence somewhere behind me, and my heart pounds harder than I thought possible. They are close. So much closer than I thought possible. I glance behind me, then to the truck. Hot and sticky blood seeps between my fingers and down my neck, soaking my clothes. I have no chance of outrunning them like this. I have to trust Mama. Trust him.
Steven’s gaze lifts behind me as he searches for the threat, his body tense as his eyes frantically scan the forest.
“Where’s Katherine?”
A sob claws its way up my throat and puts me in a chokehold.
“She’s... not coming,” I stutter. She won’t ever be coming again. Her smile, her kindness, her patience, all snuffed out in an instant byhim. I vow on the darkness of the forest with the hounds of Hell snapping at my heels, I will send Jonathan to his grave. But I’m not stupid. This is not the time. I’m outnumbered and outmatched. His day of reckoning will come; I swear on the blood shed here tonight.
Steven’s gaze snaps to mine, and he freezes. “What do you mean?”
A tear slips free from the corner of my eye, the hot path blazing down my cheek. “He killed her.”
Steven’s face crumples, and he takes a step forward as the dog’s howls grow closer. I shake my head and meet him in the middle. “You can’t win against them.”
“Like hell I can’t,” he snarls.
“There are six armed men and a pack of trained dogs behind me. We. Cannot. Win. Not now.”
His nostrils flare. “If you are coming, we need to move. Now.”
I suck in a breath and rush after him as he opens the door to his truck.
“Eleanor,” my brother’s voice breaks behind me, nearly stopping my feet. I turn as I reach the truck, and his eyes flick to my ear. There’s a look of utter anguish reflected in his gaze. I’m not the only one who lost the one person who loved them unconditionally tonight.
Steven cocks the gun. “No! That’s my brother,” I whisper as I reach out my hand. “Come with us,” I plead.
He gives a small shake of his head, the icy mask starting to slip back into place. “Be happy,” he mouths as I slide inside, and my entire body trembles as Steven rounds the truck and jumps in. The engine roars to life, the rumble vibrating underneath me. He spins the truck around, the wheels protesting at the tight circle, as Jonathan appears out of the thick woodland, panting and furious. He raises his arm, his gun taking aim without a single sign of fatigue.
Steven’s hand snaps out, pushing my head into my lap. “Stay down!”
He braces the shotgun on my back and fires, shattering the window. I pray his aim is true, but, like all my other requests, I’m not granted an audience.
“Eleanor,” Jonathan shouts, his voice clear despite the chaos surrounding us. “Run. If you dare.”
Chapter Four
Eleanor
Twelve Years Later
Intimacy isn’t for the faint of heart.
Men are fickle creatures. Easily manipulated with a soft smile, a flick of hair, or a promise of a private audience. You shower them with attention, with the illusion of power, and they will fall under your spell. Not all men, but the ones with a single-track mind? They’re the easiest to manipulate. Those are the ones I pick to become part of my therapy.
According to Gail, my online no-nonsense therapist, I lack intimacy and connection.If only she knew.My homework has been to increase the personal connections in my life, to let someone into my space, and expand my small bubble of reality one step at a time.
I rock against the sheets, counting down the seconds until I get my bed back. Denzil? Diesel? Devin? It definitely begins with a D. He moves on top of me, inside of me. He’s not bad to lookat, with toned muscles and a strong jawline, but that’s where his appeal ends. His outfit was clean and ironed earlier, but now it sits in a crumpled heap on the floor of my rented house. He smells nice, and his hair is styled. That hasn’t changed, despite us rolling around together. Perhaps if he made me moan for real, I would muss his styled hair with my fingers, but alas, like the others who have come before him, he is focused on his pleasure. Mine is an afterthought, as if I should orgasm from the mere fact he dropped his pants for me.
Newsflash: women don’t come the second they see a cock. We take work, effort, care, patience—something men seem to lack.
