CONTENTS

A note to the reader

Guard of Destiny Blurb

The Collector
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
The Collector
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
The Collector
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
The Collector
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
The Collector
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
The Collector
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue

Captivated By You
Acknowledgments
Books by Tracie Delaney
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About the Author
 Copyright © 2022 Tracie Delaney

Edited by Bethany Pennypacker, Outthink Editing, LLC

Proofreading by Katie Schmahl

and Jacqueline Beard

Cover art by CT Cover Creations

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in uniform or by any
means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
 To Katie

Wow… we had fun on this one didn’t we? From plotting while sitting on a bed at the Hilton
Orlando hotel before Shameless, to sharing countless messages back and forth, to your (at times
scary) ideas for torture, your input into this book humbles me. Without you, this book wouldn’t
exist, so thank you, thank you, thank you.

I’m so very grateful and lucky that we met.

Here’s to many more fun times ahead.

 A NOTE TO THE READER

Dear Reader,

Sheesh… what a ride this book was. To give you a sneak peek into my process, I usually draft a rough
outline and then begin writing, polishing and changing direction as I go, and letting my characters lead
the way.

With Guard of Destiny, the plot poured out of me, yet when I came to write it, I struggled to get the
words down on the page. I knew the story, but writing it proved a real challenge, mostly because this
is darker than the rest of the preceding books. But more than that, for the first time in this series, I was
inside the head of the antagonist for large portions of time as I struggled to understand his
motivations. And I found it really difficult because The Collector is one fucked-up human being.

I would finish writing for the day and then simply sit in my living room, staring off into space as I
reflected and digested the kind of person I’d spent my day with. it really took it out of me and there
were times the doubts crept in, and I’d begin to second guess everything.

But all the hard work was worth it because once I finally had a first draft and began to rewrite, edit,
and polish, I knew I had ended up with something very special. Destiny and Loris’s path is not an
easy one, and they both have demons to slay and darkness to overcome, and most of all, forgiveness
to find, but the payoff is EPIC!

This is the book, y’all, the one you’ve been waiting for. A chance to finally get inside the head of the
enigmatic, broody Earl, CEO, and former Royal Marine Major, Loris Winslow. I hope you love it as
much as I do.

A final word from me. Guard of Destiny is written in American English, however both Loris and
Destiny are British and as such, use vernacular that aligns with their mother tongue. These are not
misspellings or grammar inconsistencies, rather they are true to the life of the characters.

I’d love to hear what you think once you’re finished reading, either by leaving a review, or by joining
my Facebook reader group Tracie’s Racy Aces. See you there.
Love,

Tracie xo
 The Collector has a new target: Destiny Rivers.

Lost in a cloud of grief, Destiny Rivers abandons her dreams in pursuit of redemption. The music in
her mind plays a solemn tune riddled with loss—that of her best friend and the only man she ever
loved.

She blames herself.

And Royal Marine veteran Loris Winslow blames her, too. Her fatal error caused the death of his
beloved sister.

When Destiny turns to Loris for protection, he refuses her plea for help. Too late, he realizes his
catastrophic mistake. Now the tune in her mind has darkened, her fingers forced to play a new song.
For him. The Collector. And Loris is the only one who can save her.

Will he regret the decisions of the past and right his future path? Or will Destiny’s song come to a
brutal end?
 THE COLLECTOR

T HE VISION GREETING ME AS I STAND ON THE MEZZANINE LEVEL AND GAZE DOWN AT MY CREATION
steals the very breath from my lungs.
What a masterpiece I have created. It has taken time, but doesn’t everything that is formed
from such splendor? Michelangelo took five years to paint the three hundred and forty-three
figures on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, whereas mine took a little over two years, but is no
less magnificent.
Only two more pieces to finish, and then… and then…
A tingling surges through my chest, spreading outward, a spark that sets my blood on fire. I
close my eyes and allow my emotions to take control, pushing my entire being to profound
pleasure. Ownership of something so beautiful is a privilege, one I do not often allow myself to
savor. My all-consuming focus has been on formation, and it is almost at an end. Not quite, but
almost. I can afford a sliver of joy to creep in once in a while.
I press a button on the console spread before me. “Play.”
My voice fills the auditorium, echoing off the walls, just like the music that will soon enrich
the air. My subjects immediately grip their instruments. Bows stroke strings, the sweet sound of a
clarinet permeates the air, and the baritone of a trumpet played by my latest addition adds depth
and bass to the composition.
Two instruments are missing, the percussion and the piano. But not for long. Patience, I
murmur to myself as my eyes close once more. Music is food for the soul, and the brilliance of the
piece composed by a genius suffuses every inch of mine with honeyed nectar.
My eyes snap open as the affront of a missed note reaches my ears. My lips thin, my gaze
seeking out the individual responsible for such a travesty.
The cello.
I might have known.
The delicate wood of her instrument gleams under the spotlights, her perfect ivory skin paling
in the face of her error. There’s a slight tremble to her fingers, a tightening of her grip on the bow.
Her fellow musicians stutter, but only for a moment. The music begins again, the sweet notes
lifting the hairs on the backs of my arms. But it’s too late. Too late for them to save her with their
perfection.
Of all my pretties, she has caused the most issues, challenging me at every turn, until she had
left me no choice other than to show her the kind of punishment insubordination brings to the
offender. Ever since that day, she hasn’t put a foot wrong, fulfilling the role I have created with
equanimity. But lately, I have seen a creep of her previous behavior, and tonight’s mistake is
further evidence of her spiraling out of control.
I emit a heavy sigh. There’s nothing for it. She will require reeducation. An insufferable
disruption, but a single bad apple might spoil the barrel, and that would be the true
inconvenience. I have selected the best of the best, and replacement is a messy and time-
consuming business.
Two more pieces.
That is where my focus must be.
I sigh again. Her reeducation will have to wait. First, I must complete the next task.
 CHAPTER ONE

LORIS WINSLOW, OWNER AND CEO OF INTREPID S ECURITY S ERVICES , TRUDGED TOWARD THE SOUNDS
of a party in full swing. He cursed his idiocy at agreeing to hold this bloody stupid event. Sully, a
friend—possibly soon-to-be former friend—and one of many bodyguards who worked for Intrepid,
had caught him during a rare moment of weakness. Now Loris had no choice other than to go in there,
attempt to smile, or at least try not to grimace, and work out the fastest possible escape route.
So what if Intrepid was about to enter its sixth year since incorporation? He hadn’t seen a five-
year milestone as a good reason to throw a party. Hell, a twenty-five-year milestone wasn’t a good
reason, in his view.
Sully had disagreed. And here they were.
He scanned the room—old habits died hard—spotting Crew, one of his closest buddies, and his
gorgeous girlfriend, Silver, propping up the bar. Several people he didn’t know smiled and nodded as
he passed. Who the fuck had Sully invited? Half of fucking London?
“You look as if you could use a drink.” Crew grinned and motioned to the bartender.
“Make it a double scotch.” Loris kissed Silver on the cheek. Crew had hit the jackpot with this
amazing woman. He probably lay in bed every night and wondered what he had done to deserve her.
A gifted singer and songwriter, she had given up the pop scene over a year ago and had turned to
writing classical music instead.
There was so much of this talented woman that reminded him of Sophia.
As usual, the mere thought of his sister felt like a knife twisting in his gut. It shouldn’t still slice at
him after more than five years of excruciating grief, yet some days, it was as if time had yanked him
back to the day he’d gotten the call from his commanding officer that a plane was waiting on the apron
to fly him home, where his father—and the body of his sister—awaited his return from Afghanistan.
He pushed the memory to the back of his mind and refocused his attention on Silver. “How are
you, sweetheart?”
“Terrific. Did Crew tell you I’m writing the music for Honor’s latest play?”
Honor Reid was a talented American heiress to a billion-dollar fortune, and one of Broadway’s
hottest commodities as an up-and-coming director with a brilliant future. She was also the girlfriend
of another of Intrepid’s bodyguards, Aiden “Mack” McKenzie.
“He didn’t, but congratulations. That’s terrific news.” Loris swiped the scotch from Crew’s hand
and downed half of it in one go. “Remind me again why I agreed to this ridiculous event?”
Crew chuckled. “Stop being such a miserable twat. If we left it up to you, you’d never leave that
fucking depressing place you call home.”
Silver dug him in the ribs, and he faux-groaned.
 “I’m trying to train him,” she explained.
“Wasting your time,” Loris replied. “He’s basically feral.”
Crew laughed harder. “Keep the insults coming. I use ’em like fuel.” He beckoned to someone.
Loris glanced over his shoulder as Mack and Honor made their way across the crowded room. Loris
hadn’t seen the big Scot in a while. He’d based himself in America where Honor lived, taking on
Intrepid roles on that side of the Atlantic.
Loris shook his hand and kissed Honor on the cheek. “Good to see you, big man. Hope you’re
taking good care of this lovely lady.”
“The best.” Honor gazed up at him, snuggling into his side.
“Bet you’re loving all this.” Mack winked and grinned.
Loris rolled his eyes. “Shooting me would be an act of kindness.”
Crew put in an order at the bar for another round of drinks. Ten minutes later, Zander and Hope
arrived, entwined in each other’s arms like ivy caressing a trellis. Unsurprising, considering they
were newlyweds.
The idea of marriage… no, thanks. He had no intention of ever getting married. To love that
deeply, to commit to another human being to the extent that they were the other half of one’s soul, and
then risk the finger of fate ripping them away wasn’t a step he was prepared to take. He’d loved and
lost—albeit a sister, not a wife—but he imagined a similar kind of agony. Better to remain alone.
Besides, Intrepid filled his days. There wasn’t room for a wife and a family.
“Who the fuck are all these people?” Zander asked.
Loris shrugged. “Beats me. I’m only paying for it. Sully’s the party planner.”
“Six months of the shittiest assignments coming Sully’s way after this,” Mack said.
The merest pull tugged at the corners of Loris’s mouth. “You know me too well.”
“Works for me,” Zander commented. “Where is he, anyway?”
“Hiding.” Crew laughed. “If he knows what’s good for him.”
“Fact,” Loris drawled. “He told me he’d planned a small get-together for our closest friends and
clients, not a fucking free-for-all. No one is controlling the door. Half these people probably weren’t
even invited.”
“Look at it this way,” Crew said. “If anything goes down, you couldn’t find a room filled with
better-equipped people to deal with the fallout.”
The conversation and banter swirled around him, and he retreated inside his mind, filtering out
most of the noise, contributing only when asked a direct question. He constantly scanned the room, on
the lookout for Sully, but also out of habit. Every Intrepid employee was undoubtedly doing the same.
As former military, it was embedded in their DNA to be aware of every inch of their surroundings.
He sensed, rather than saw, Sully out of the corner of his eye, his wife, Liberty—or rather, ex-
wife whom he’d recently reconnected with—tucked into his side. More than four years had passed
since they’d split, and from the looks of it, their love for one another hadn’t dimmed in the intervening
period of separation. Another wedding loomed in the near future, no doubt.
Loris pushed off the bar, ready to grab the little fucker by the scruff of the neck and drown him in
the punch bowl. But one step forward, and his nerve endings misfired. It couldn’t be. No fucking way.
Destiny.
Eyes out on stalks, he glared at the woman hovering by the entrance.
What the fuck was she doing here?
His sister’s former best friend nibbled on her lip as she scanned the packed room. The strap on
her handbag slipped down her slim, tanned arms, and she fixed it back onto her shoulder, then
smoothed both palms over her hips. She wasn’t dressed for a party, her athletic physique clothed in a
simple pale-blue shirt and well-fitted jeans. Tiny electric shocks reverberated up his spine, and a
warmth spread to his groin.
Fuck that.
Shoving the unwelcome kick to his nether regions into the long grass, Loris barged through the
crowds of people drinking, dancing, and laughing, his face feeling mismatched, as if the pieces didn’t
fit. His skin was pulled tight over his cheekbones, and his jaw ached from clamping down on his
molars hard enough to crack the enamel. He was a few feet away from reaching Destiny when Sully
jumped in front of him, a shit-eating grin on his kisser.
“Okay, I know. It’s a bit much. Don’t kill me.”
He shoved Sully out of the way, murderous thoughts in charge of his actions.
“Hey! Who’s taken a chunk outta your arse?”
Loris ignored him, his sole focus on the woman who spotted his approach, read the fury written
all over his face, and blanched.
“Loris—”
He gripped her by the elbow, spun her around, and marched her out of the main event room.
“Don’t say a fucking word.”
She sensibly kept her mouth shut as he manhandled her down the carpeted hallway with its gaudy
artwork that probably cost a fortune and into one of the smaller conference rooms.
He kicked the door closed and glared at her with the heat of an out-of-control blaze. “How
fucking dare you come here?”
“Please.” She showed him her palms as if he’d pointed a gun at her.
Not a bad idea. Shame my piece is locked in a secure vault at home.
“I need your—”
The door burst open, and Crew sailed inside with Sully right on his heels.
“Get out!” Loris bellowed, jabbing his finger at the exit.
“No can do, amigo.” Crew jerked his chin at Sully, who nodded in understanding and kicked the
door closed with his heel. “Hey, Destiny.”
Loris shifted his position, blocking Crew’s line of sight to the unwelcome visitor. “You got a
death wish?” He took a menacing step forward. Crew held his ground. “This is between me and her.”
“I never said it wasn’t, but every boxing match needs a referee.” Crew sauntered over to a stack
of chairs piled in the corner. He lifted one down and sat on it, reverse-style.
Loris fisted his hands, the urge to smack one of his closest friends almost greater than the desire to
bounce Destiny fucking Rivers out of here and threaten to ruin her if she ever darkened his door
again. He’d made his feelings of contempt crystal clear five years ago. If she needed a reminder, he
was locked and loaded and ready to drill it into her too-damned-pretty skull.
Destiny Rivers… his sister’s best friend and the only woman—correction, only person—who’d
ever gotten under his skin. He was known for his cold, calculating, measured response to any given
scenario. Whatever the situation called for, he reacted with composure, each word and every action
deliberate, the various options rattling through his mind in less time than it took to blink.
But with her… he lost all reason. She boiled his blood simply by breathing. Oxygen was wasted
on a woman who’d left his sister alone to die an excruciating death, preferring instead to scratch an
itch with another faceless one-night stand.
If she’d been there, like she’d promised she would, maybe Sophia’s killer wouldn’t have
succeeded. Subduing two women simultaneously wasn’t easy, and it would have only taken a single
scream to alert Sophia’s toothless bodyguards that there was a problem.
But Sophia had faced the end alone, and while the man who’d broken into her hotel room and
raped and strangled his beautiful little sister while her so-called bodyguards were having a sly smoke
outside was to blame, so was the woman standing before him. Nothing and no one would ever
dissuade him from that belief.
“Loris, please. I just want to—”
“I don’t care what you want. I don’t care if you live or die. I want you gone.”
She was pale before. Now, she turned white as a sheet, any hint of color draining away. She fired
a glance at Crew as if she expected him to come to her aid. He remained seated. Sensible,
considering the maelstrom of emotions pounding through Loris’s body, his knuckles white from the
tight fists anchored at his sides.
“I need your help.”
“I told you, I—”
“I think someone’s following me.” The words came out in a rush, each one bleeding into the next.
“And I’m scared. I know how you feel about me, but please, don’t turn your back on me now. Sophia
would want you to help me.”
Blood rushed to his head, and his vision went red. In three strides, he reached his nemesis,
towering over her by a good foot. Crew scrambled to his feet, ready to jump in if things went south.
Loris almost barked a laugh at the ridiculousness of it. As if he’d ever lay a hand on her, or any
woman, no matter how much hate he carried within him. But use his presence to make his feelings
known? Yeah, that he didn’t have a problem with.
“Don’t you fucking dare speak her name.” He spoke between clenched teeth, spitting every
syllable. “She’s dead because of you.”
“That’s not fair.”
Crew opened his mouth to weigh in on the situation. Loris silenced him with a look.
“Fair? I’ll tell you what’s not fair. Having to bury my sister before she’d even lived. Having to
watch my father slowly die of a broken heart. Having to sit in court and hear evidence of what that
animal did to her before she took her last breath. So don’t you dare talk to me about what’s fair.”
Tears sprang to Destiny’s eyes, falling down her cheeks in a torrent. “Has it ever occurred to you
that if I had been with Sophia that night, I’d be dead, too?”
He huffed air out through his nose. “It’s not only occurred to me, but not a day goes by without me
regretting that you weren’t there. At least I’d know she wasn’t alone in her final minutes.”
Destiny’s jaw slackened. She shut her mouth, opened it, and then shook her head, averting her
gaze.
“Loris.” Crew appeared at his side, a warning hand landing on his stiff shoulders. “That’s
enough.”
Loris ground his molars. Both these men had been under his command when shit had gone down.
Both of them had witnessed how Sophia’s death had decimated his family. Both knew this woman had
changed him—ruined him, even—and yet here they stood ready to defend her.
“Get your fucking hand off me, Crew, or lose it.”
Betrayal tasted sour in his mouth, his throat thick with it. Crew dropped his hand and stepped
away. Loris turned his gaze on Destiny.
“You think you’ve got a stalker?”
A flare of hope lightened her amber irises. “I’m not sure, but yes, I think I’m being followed.”
He leaned forward, a cruel twist to his lips. “Then I’m sure Dutch can help. Once his current job
ends.”
Dutch, Destiny’s cousin, worked for Intrepid as a bodyguard. Strange that she hadn’t gone to him
first. She must have known the reception she’d get by coming here.
“I don’t want him to know. He’ll only worry.”
“Not my problem.” He stalked away.
“I want you.”
His feet froze to the carpet. Before Sophia had died, he’d have set fire to the world to hear
Destiny say those words. Not that she ever would have. Too busy fucking anything that moved in her
quest to try everything, as he’d overheard her telling Sophia one night.
He’d overheard her telling Sophia a lot of things back then, most of which carved mental scars
that had never healed. In those days, he’d have walked over hot coals for a smile, a touch, a kiss from
the only woman he’d ever wanted.
Now, he’d happily push her into the flames and watch while she burned.
He fired a scornful glare over his shoulder. “Too bad. You can’t have me.”
 CHAPTER TWO

DESPAIRING , DESTINY DIPPED HER SHOULDERS AS LORIS STORMED FROM THE ROOM HE’ D DRAGGED HER
into, slamming the door shut behind him. Crew followed up his wry twist of the lips with a mouthed
“Sorry,” then he and Sully tracked their boss outside, neither prepared to go against his wishes and
offer to help her. Not that she blamed them.
Alone, she sank onto the chair Crew had vacated and palmed her face.
What a mess.
Loris’s reaction was exactly what she’d anticipated, maybe even dialed down a notch from the
vitriol she’d steeled herself for. She hadn’t expected him to help her, yet her feet had still carried her
here in the vain hope that time might’ve papered over the chasm left by Sophia’s murder.
Then again, why would it have? Time hadn’t healed her wounds. They gaped, open wounds that
refused to fix themselves. It made sense that Loris wouldn’t feel any differently toward her, given that
he’d suffered the most of all.
She’d had her shot at making him listen to her, and she’d failed.
But dammit, she’d had to try. When she’d heard about this party laid on to celebrate five years of
Intrepid, the company Loris had started a mere few weeks after Sophia’s death, she’d known it was
her one chance to talk to him, to beg him for his assistance. He rarely left his home at Montford Hall,
and there wasn’t a hope in hell he’d ever voluntarily admit her to the estate she’d spent swathes of her
childhood at. And as for breaking in…
She laughed.
Montford Hall was sewn up tighter than the Queen’s residence.
Squaring her shoulders, she left the room and headed for the hotel lobby. But a few feet along, she
stopped. Turned around. Marched back to the party. Stupid, maybe, but it had to be worth one last-
ditch attempt to secure his help before she gave up and filed another pointless report at her local
police station.
The room was packed, more people having arrived while Loris had sharpened his teeth on her.
She scanned the crowd, zeroing in on him standing by the bar, his features hard, lips unsmiling, body
stiff. He knocked back a drink of something dark—whiskey, maybe—and set the glass down on the
bar with enough force to shatter it.
Oh God. This was a terrible mistake. Perhaps the police would take her seriously this time.
Yeah, sure they would. With violent crime in the city at an all-time high, the paltry evidence she’d
gathered to show that she might have a stalker probably wouldn’t even register on their radar.
But if she left without getting what she came for, then she was leaving herself exposed to
escalation. She’d read about stalkers online. They started off small: flowers, chocolates, a card
signed from “A fan.” But evidence showed that they always escalated, and she worried her time was
running out.
It wasn’t as if she was famous outside the world of classical music. But within it, she was the
equivalent to Beyoncé, or Silver Lawson before she’d retired from public life. It was Sophia who’d
encouraged her to explore her natural gift for playing piano, but Destiny hadn’t ever expected to make
a career out of it. Sophia was the one who’d craved the limelight and who’d had the beauty and talent
to go all the way. All Destiny had ever wanted was to attract the attention of the man who—
Oh, fuck.
Loris charged through the crowds, knocking guests aside like skittles.
“I fucking told you—”
“Hear me out. Please. I’m begging you, Loris.”
She could have sworn a groan sounded in his throat, although it was far more likely to be a growl,
given the angle of his dark eyebrows and the two lines as deep as a plowed field between them.
“I owe you nothing.”
“I know. And you’re right. About everything. I know you blame me for what happened. Hell, I
blame me. But protection is your gig. I’m asking for five minutes. That’s it.”
A nerve thrummed in his jaw, the joint scissoring back and forth as he contemplated her request.
His gaze swept the room, almost as if he was looking for a way out. And then his startling blue gaze
locked on hers, and he dipped his chin. Once.
She didn’t have time to react before his long legs took him along the same corridor he’d dragged
her down earlier. She sped after him, scrambling to keep up with his lengthy strides. By the time she
arrived at the same room they’d left a few minutes ago, he greeted her with a loud huff of irritation.
His arms were folded over his chest, the seams of his jacket straining against his bulging biceps.
Damn, the man was fine. Even as hate poured off him, she appreciated his beauty.
He slammed the door, the breeze from it lifting her hair.
“Well?”
He checked his watch to emphasize the ticking of the clock, and under the pressure he exerted,
everything she wanted to say fell out of her head. Her mouth flapped like a fish tossed on the
quayside, and Loris’s growing impatience only served to make her more tongue-tied.
Words spilled, but from the expression of confusion flitting over his face, not one of them made
any sense. Goddamn. She’d practiced her speech about five times in the taxi ride over here, yet not
one paragraph came to mind.
“Jesus Christ Almighty.” Loris gripped her upper arms and shook her. “Gut up. Breathe. And calm
the fuck down.”
She gulped in air that tasted stale and blinked to clear the dots in front of her eyes. Loris had
always intimidated the heck out of her, his presence and authority and dominance the key attributes
that had both attracted and terrified her. It was one of the main reasons she’d never plucked up the
courage to make a pass at him, choosing instead to hide behind a fabricated life that sounded oh-so
mature and concealed how she’d truly felt about her best friend’s much older brother.
Seven years separated them. It might as well be seventy, for all the notice Loris had taken of her.
Even when she’d approached eighteen and Sophia’s dad had hosted a joint birthday party for them,
he’d looked at her with brotherly affection when what she’d craved had driven her to slip her hands
inside her underwear late at night and imagine they were his large hands, his blunt fingers, bringing
her to a shuddering climax.
Strangely enough, the foray into the past slowed her heart rate and cleared her vision. She
straightened her shoulders and looked him right in the eye.
“Like I said before, I think someone is stalking me, and I need your help. All I’m asking is that you
poke around a little, see what you can find out.”
“I’m not the police,” he drawled. “That’s their job. And, like I said, I am not for hire. I run
Intrepid. I don’t get involved directly with clients. If you’re that worried, then I’ll ask one of the guys
to swing by your place and check that your security is up to date.”
“Oh, gee, thanks.”
Her tone, laden with sarcasm, flattened his lips, rekindling that tic in his jaw.
“That’s the offer. Take it or leave it. I don’t particularly care either way.”
He spun on his heel, striding toward the door.
“When did you grow so cold, Loris?”
He instantly froze with one foot in front of the other, his big body unmoving as if he’d been doused
in liquid nitrogen. His back grew broader, if that were possible, his massive shoulders curved, arms
held outward from his sides.
Fists clenched.
Shit.
His expression when he turned sent a blast of fear through her nervous system, and her thighs
trembled. No wonder he’d had such a fearsome reputation in the military. One look at those dark
brows hunkered over eyes burning with rage would send the bravest opponent into retreat.
“What did you just say to me? Cold? If I’m cold, it’s because you”—he jabbed a finger at her
—“took away my light, my heat, my reason for living.”
She clenched her teeth to stop her lip from wobbling. When he’d ostracized her from a family
she’d loved just as much as her own, he hadn’t given her the chance to have her say, to plead her case,
to beg him to forgive her for an innocent mistake that had had devastating consequences. And from the
looks of him, he wouldn’t afford her the opportunity to have her say now, either.
“I lost her, too,” she whispered, eyes cast downward only because she couldn’t stand to see the
hatred he still carried for her all these years later. “I miss her so much. And I miss you as well.”
Understatement of the millennium.
He snorted. “You shouldn’t have come here.”
She risked another pleading glance. “You’re the only person who can help me.”
He shook his head. “Then you’re out of luck.”
“What if something happens to me? What if this guy isn’t just an innocent fan who has grown a
little overeager? How will you feel if I get hurt and you had the chance to help me but didn’t?” It was
a shitty card to play, but she played it anyway.
His strong jaw jutted forward. “Nothing. I’ll feel nothing.”
She couldn’t hold back the gasp that escaped her. “You don’t mean that. We grew up together. I
respected you. I adored you.”
He ran his tongue along his lower lip, and her traitorous eyes tracked the movement, her tummy
clenching with need.
“I’ll tell Crew to call by sometime this week.”
“Don’t fucking bother,” she gritted out between clenched teeth. “I’ll handle it myself.”
He shrugged, his features expressionless in the face of his cruelty and her desperation. “Your
choice.”
Affording her no more of his precious time, the door closed behind him with a resounding thud,
leaving her breathless at his cold, dismissive attitude.
And alone. So very alone.
 CHAPTER THREE

“WHERE ARE YOU GOING ?”

Loris groaned as Crew materialized out of goddamn thin air. Sometimes he swore his team had
planted a tracker on him without his knowledge. Either that, or they had a sixth sense that should come
with a fucking Off button.
“Home.”
“You can’t. You’re the guest of honor.”
“Fuck off.” Loris rolled his eyes, then resumed his escape from hell on earth. Parties were
something he’d never been all that keen on even in his early twenties. Now, just shy of his thirty-
fourth birthday, he detested them. And as the boss, he didn’t have to please anyone other than himself.
Besides, all those freeloading guests cared about was the open bar. They wouldn’t even notice he’d
gone AWOL as long as the drinks kept flowing.
Crew fell into step alongside him, keeping up with ease even when Loris lengthened his stride.
“You okay, man?”
The note of concern from one of his closest friends brought Loris’s march to a halt. He turned to
face Crew, almost eye to eye, only an inch separating them. “Could have done without the drama.”
“I didn’t know she planned to come. None of us did. Not a clue how she even found out about the
event.”
“Knowing Sully, he took out a full-page fucking advert in The Times.” Loris grimaced.
Crew grinned. “Wouldn’t put it past him.”
“Go back to the party.” Loris jerked his head. “Silver will wonder where you are.”
“She’s fine. She’s talking shop with Honor.” He squared his shoulders, burying both hands deep in
the pockets of his suit. “How about a quiet drink. You and me. You don’t have to talk. We can just sit
and be.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to refuse, but the adrenaline clogging his veins meant being alone
right now wasn’t the best idea. He needed to calm down, regain his equilibrium, and revert to the
composed, unflappable man he’d trained himself to be.
“Booth is outside. He can drive us.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Crew removed his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket and tapped on
it. “I’ve let Silver know I’ll be an hour.”
Booth slowed the limo to a halt in a no-parking zone outside a small Irish pub five minutes from
the Savoy. Loris and Crew jumped out, and Booth set off to find somewhere to wait that wouldn’t
draw the attention of the overeager traffic wardens that patrolled the streets of London.
Armed with drinks, they found a table tucked away in an alcove. The walls were decorated with
those horse brass decorations that had sprung up in the seventies and never quite disappeared from
certain establishments.
Loris nursed his scotch, his heart rate still running on hot. Crew said nothing—wisely—sipping
his drink, his legs splayed wide as he waited.
“You shouldn’t have had to witness that.”
Crew picked up a bar mat and tapped it on the table. “Why not? Because you’re superhuman?” He
smiled a little. “The time will come when you have to let that shit go, bud. I’m telling you, feelings
that turn you inside out wreck the best parts of you if you let them run riot.”
“It’s under control.”
“Yeah?” Crew arched a brow. “I haven’t seen you lose your temper in a long time. Everything you
do is carefully weighed and considered. Yet one visit from Destiny and it’s gloves off?”
Denial wasn’t an option, so Loris buttoned it. Said everything, really.
“I know it hurts, man, but do you think Sophia would want this for you? All this bitterness and
hate chowing down on your gut isn’t healthy.”
Hearing his sister’s name made him flinch. Would there ever come a time when he could hear it
and remember the good times rather than have to suppress the agony of a blade to the stomach?
He stared into his drink, watching as the ice melted.
“When you get a spare minute, swing by her place and check out her security.”
“I’m taking Silver away for a few days tomorrow. We’ll be back on Thursday. Can it wait until
then?”
“Yeah. It can wait. She told me not to bother when I offered your services, so she can’t be that
worried.”
“If she declined, then why are you sending me?”
Good question. The words she’d flung at him bounced around inside his skull. “What if
something happens to me?”
“Call it closure.”
Yeah, closure, that’s what it is.
“She still living in the same place?”
“No idea. Didn’t get that far. I’ll find out and text you.” He picked up his drink and knocked the
rest of it back in one swallow. “Thanks for the chat. I’m good.”
He texted Booth, who had found a parking spot two streets over. He stood, buttoned his jacket,
and, without waiting for Crew, stalked out of the pub. By the time Crew caught up to him, Booth had
pulled up in the limo. He climbed in and waited for Crew to join him.
“Drop Crew back at the Savoy, Booth, then straight to Montford.” He activated the privacy screen
and stared out the window.
Crew kept his trap shut on the five-minute drive back to the hotel, muttering a “See ya” as he
exited the car.
Exhaustion swamped him, greater than any of the battles he’d fought during his eleven years in the
military. He closed his eyes, and Destiny’s image drifted into view.
She hadn’t changed at all. A bit thinner, maybe, her rich caramel hair a few inches longer than he
remembered her wearing it. But the effect she had on him, beneath the layers of anger and betrayal,
roared to life.
His abdomen twisted and flipped. Hate and love. Two sides to the same coin, but after what she’d
done, one side had grown heavier than the other until it had obliterated any affection he’d once held
for her.
 There’d been a time when he’d loved her deliriously, not that he’d ever acted on it. The seven-
year age gap coupled with her place as Sophia’s best friend, not to mention the conversations he’d
eavesdropped on where she’d shared intimate details of all the guys she’d dated, was a three-strike
deal to any kind of approach.
An hour later, Booth nosed the limo through the gates and wound up the driveway, stopping
outside Montford Hall, his ancestral home that had been in the Winslow family for generations. Now
it was headquarters to his security firm, the days of opening the residence to the general public dying
with his father.
He bid Booth goodnight and made for the stairs that led up to his private suite of rooms. He
stopped halfway up, reversed, and headed to his study on the ground floor. Sitting behind the antique
desk passed down through the generations, he palmed his neck, massaging the kinks in his muscles.
God, he wished things were different. He’d give up everything to have things revert to the way
they’d been growing up. His mother had died when Sophia was just a little girl, but his father had
more than made up for the loss of a parent. And now, they were all gone. He was the last one
standing.
He booted up his laptop. It took him less than five minutes to find Destiny’s current address, a
three-story Edwardian townhouse in Hampstead Heath. Looked as if playing piano at the highest level
was a lucrative way to earn a living. He wasn’t surprised she’d reached the top of her game, although
he recalled overhearing her tell Sophia she didn’t plan to follow a musical career, despite attending
the Royal College of Music, unlike Sophia, who’d had lofty dreams of becoming a classical music
star.
She’d made it, too, singing at the Royal Albert Hall in front of a packed house at the tender age of
twenty-one, before she’d even graduated.
Less than four hours after the curtain came down, his cherished sister was dead.
He fired off a text to Crew with Destiny’s address and trudged upstairs to bed.
 CHAPTER FOUR

EXCHANGING CONTRACTS ON HER DREAM HOUSE IN THE LEAFY LONDON SUBURB OF HAMPSTEAD HEATH
had been one of Destiny’s proudest moments, recognition of her countless professional achievements.
But since the gifts began arriving, she no longer felt safe in the three-story townhouse with its large
picture windows that allowed her to see out—and strangers to see in.
She held up a hand to her regular driver, who’d brought her home after tonight’s rehearsal for an
upcoming concert at the Barbican. He returned her wave, then pulled away from the curb, his
taillights glowing red as he drove away.
A long shadow stretched across the door as she approached the front of her house. She startled,
then realized the shadow was her own.
Calm down.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed the key into the lock and entered, deadlocking the door behind
her. She slid the chain into the housing, the added layer of security an illusion, but one she played up
to anyway.
A warm yellow glow from the kitchen seeped under the door. For a second, her heart stopped, and
then she remembered she’d left the light on before heading out to play early this evening.
She couldn’t continue like this, always on edge, jumping at every little thing. Two days had
passed since she’d asked Loris for his help, and Crew hadn’t turned up as Loris had offered. He must
have taken her at her word when she’d told him not to bother.
His reaction to her sudden appearance shouldn’t have shocked her, yet the strength of his rancor
after such a long separation had left her feeling numb all over, even forty-eight hours later. She didn’t
blame him for hating her. Hell, she hated herself for leaving Sophia alone that night. But her friend
had insisted, her calm reassurance giving Destiny the green light to go on that fateful date.
She’d lost her virginity that night, to a man who’d looked vaguely like Loris. He’d laugh if he
heard that. Call her a liar, maybe. And she was, but not in the way Loris thought. So desperate to
catch his attention, she’d made up stories about all the men she’d slept with, hoping he’d overhear her
chatting to Sophia about her outlandish exploits, and he’d grow jealous and realize his true feelings.
To this day, Destiny could still recall her best friend hanging on to every word, living vicariously
through Destiny’s preposterous fables, Sophia’s own life vigorously shielded by her father and her
brother.
It hadn’t worked. On his rare trips home from active duty, Loris had treated her as nothing more
than his sister’s best friend. His dismissiveness had fueled her storytelling, her fictitious sexual
exploits growing ever more outlandish until she’d finally given up hoping he’d be the one to take her
virginity, and she’d given it away as if it had meant nothing.
 Sophia had lost her life the same night Destiny had lost her virginity. If she’d stayed with Sophia
as they’d planned, then her best friend and surrogate sister might still be alive.
Or they might both be dead.
No one would ever know if the outcome would have been different if she hadn’t gone out that
night, but it didn’t matter to Loris. He’d put her on an equal footing with the murderer and cast her
adrift. If he had the power, he’d have put her in a prison cell, too.
She’d been floating ever since, searching for redemption that never materialized, no matter what
she did to try to atone for her many mistakes. Sophia’s passing had killed her childhood dreams of
making a life with the only man she’d ever loved.
Now, when her fingers caressed the ivories, the melodies in her mind were mournful, the notes
solemn and heavy with loss. Music was in her soul, but Loris owned her heart.
To know that the man she’d grown up in awe of, that she’d fallen in love with, hated her, was a
singular agony that haunted her dreams, weighing her down with a burden she wasn’t strong enough to
carry.
Sighing, she tossed her handbag onto the kitchen table. She put the kettle on and dropped a tea bag
into a mug. She should have accepted Loris’s offer to have Crew review her security with grace and
gratitude. Not just because she needed the reassurance that her home was safe, but also because it
would have been a chance to build a connection, the first chink of light, of hope, since her banishment.
She’d demanded Loris’s attention, and that had been a mistake. She should have thanked him for
suggesting Crew and used the opportunity as the first step to building bridges. Crew was one of
Loris’s closest friends, and a good man to have on her side.
She closed all the curtains on the ground floor and took her tea upstairs to bed, setting it on the
bedside table. After removing her makeup, she changed into her pj’s and climbed into bed. She’d
barely relaxed when the doorbell rang. At this time of night? Her internal alarm blared. Edging over
to the window, using the curtains for cover, she peered down. Her next-door neighbor Mary looked
up and waved.
God, it’s just Mary. She took a few deep breaths to slow her heartbeat and darted downstairs to
answer the door.
“Sorry to disturb, sweets,” Mary said. “But while you were out, a delivery came for you. It was
one of those signed-for thingies, so the man asked if I’d take it in, and of course I was happy to.”
She handed over a padded envelope, a white sticker with “24 hour signed for” slapped on the
front right next to a printed label with her name and address. Destiny frowned. She wasn’t expecting
anything.
Oh God. It was him again, wasn’t it? She had the urge to tell Mary to keep it, but that would sound
weird and raise all kinds of questions. She didn’t want to frighten the old lady. Destiny was more than
scared for both of them.
“Thanks, Mary.”
Her fingers shook as she took the envelope. She said goodnight and closed the door. She walked
down the hall to the kitchen and flicked on the light. Sliding her thumb under the flap, she reached
inside and retrieved a long, slim navy-blue box. She flipped the lid. Inside was a stunning charm
bracelet, each charm representing a musical instrument. A violin, a trumpet, a clarinet… and a piano.
She took the bracelet out of the box. Underneath, nestled amongst the velvet, was a folded piece
of paper.
She tried to swallow, but her mouth was so dry that her throat refused to work. Such an expensive
gift meant her stalker had stepped things up. It was one thing to send flowers and chocolates. Quite
another to spend hundreds of pounds on a platinum bracelet.
Unfolding the sheet of paper, she read the note.
Darling Destiny. It’s time.
An arm snapped around her waist, and a hand clamped over her mouth, denying her the chance to
scream.
 CHAPTER FIVE

S WEAT SLICKED LORIS ’ S SKIN , HIS MUSCLE SHIRT CLINGING TO HIS TORSO AS HE SPRINTED THE LAST
one hundred meters back to the house. Booth greeted him at the front door, holding a towel in one
hand and his phone in the other.
“Mr. Dutch for you.”
Loris smothered a smile, taking both items from Booth. The butler always used their military
nicknames but added a “Mr.” before them, which amused Loris to no end. Not that he’d ever let on to
Booth, who would be mortified to think Loris found his impeccable manners comical.
Swiping the towel over his face, he slung it over his shoulder and held the phone to his ear.
“Dutch. What’s up?”
He still had another three days to go before his current assignment ended, which meant there was
a problem of some kind. Dutch wasn’t the sort of employee to create unnecessary drama.
“I need you to swap me out. I gotta come home.”
The tinge of panic in the voice of a man who didn’t scare easily straightened Loris’s spine.
“What gives?”
“It’s Destiny.”
Loris whipped the towel off his shoulder, fisting it in his hand. “What about her?”
“Her mum just called me in a right flap. She’s gone missing.”
Goose bumps sprang up along his nape, caused not by the cooling sweat on his skin but by the ice
filling his veins.
“I’m scared. I think someone’s following me.”
“Missing? Are you sure?”
“She was supposed to meet her parents for dinner last night. She didn’t show. They went round to
her house, but she didn’t answer the door, so her mum let herself in with the spare key. She wasn’t
there.”
“Any signs of a break-in?”
“No. But the chain was hanging loose, and the deadlock hadn’t been activated. If it had, her mum’s
key wouldn’t have worked.”
His scalp prickled. A fearful woman wouldn’t leave her door unbolted. She’d seal that thing up
like Fort Knox. Or Montford Hall. Had she been lying about the stalker when she’d come to the party?
Had it all been a ruse, a way to attempt to build bridges that she’d blown to smithereens years
earlier?
“And her phone was on the table. She never leaves the house without her phone, nor would she
stand up her parents without getting word to them that she couldn’t make it.”
 “No.” He ran a hand over his beard, his mind running through scenarios like a movie reel. None
of them good.
“Her mum called the police, but they brushed her off with some bullshit about sending a patrol car
over to her house. That’s when my aunt called me.”
“Sit tight. I’ll have someone with you to take over in two hours. In the meantime, I’ll head over to
Destiny’s place. As soon as your cover arrives, meet me there. Tell her mum to stay put and that I’m
on my way.”
“She’s moved.” Dutch sounded on edge, and not because his cousin was missing. “Y’know, since
—”
“I know where she lives.”
“Oh.” Surprise raised his voice half an octave. “Okay. Thanks. I want to be there for my aunt, and
maybe see what I can find out. I keep telling myself it’s probably nothing, but I can’t make myself
believe that shit, you know? This is completely out of character for her.”
Loris bit his tongue about what had gone down between him and Destiny four nights ago. He’d
brief Dutch face-to-face. He owed him that, at least, as well as a free shot for ignoring Destiny’s fears
and potentially leaving her in harm’s way.
“I’ll see you soon.”
Loris cut the call. Fuck! She’d begged for his help, and he’d cut her off with a platitude about
sending Crew. And then after she’d said, “Don’t fucking bother,” he hadn’t sent someone else, given
that Crew was away, assuming it could wait until he returned to London.
If anything had happened to her, he’d… he’d…
Hurrying into the house, he changed out of his workout gear, barking orders into his phone for one
of his team to take over Dutch’s assignment. No time to shower. If this stalker she’d alluded to had
snatched Destiny, then every second counted.
Ten minutes later, he steered the car through the gates and floored the accelerator. Satnav said
fifty-five minutes to Destiny’s place.
He made it in forty-five.
Destiny’s mum opened the door as he got out of the car. He hadn’t seen Destiny’s folks in more
than five years, and while anxiety wasn’t something he experienced all that often, his stomach flipped
and a tightness spread through his chest as he made his way up the short path.
“Elizabeth.” He smiled a little, gauging her response. Destiny must have told her parents how
he’d treated her in the aftermath of Sophia’s murder. He wouldn’t blame Elizabeth if she clouted him
for the way he’d behaved to her only child. Not that he didn’t still stand by his belief that Destiny
shared the blame for Sophia’s death, but right now, all that mattered was finding Destiny and returning
her to her parents unharmed.
“Loris.” Her face crumpled, and she moved forward to hug him. “It’s been too long.”
He met her eyes. No recrimination. No hatred. Only love. Destiny and Sophia had met at the age
of five when they’d attended the same private school, and growing up, Destiny had spent a lot of time
at Montford, which meant her parents had been regular visitors to the estate back then. Only in this
moment did Loris realize how much he’d missed having them around.
How much he’d missed having their daughter around wasn’t something he was anywhere close to
examining.
“How have you been?” Passing the time of day with pleasantries seemed the polite thing to do.
“We’re fine.” She stood back. “Come in. Dutch called us and said you were on your way. I
appreciate you stopping by. We’re just… we’re just so worried.”
 He patted her shoulder. Giving physical comfort wasn’t something he found easy. Practical action
was his comfort zone, yet to hit Elizabeth with a barrage of questions before she’d even closed the
door seemed inappropriate.
“Can I take a look around?”
“Of course.” She led him through to the kitchen. Charles, Destiny’s father, moved forward to
shake his hand.
“Thank you for coming, son. We appreciate it.”
Loris suppressed a wince at hearing the term son. “Just going to nose around a little.”
“Cup of tea?” Elizabeth asked as if doing something with her hands might take her mind off her
missing daughter.
“No… Thank you,” he added as an afterthought.
He started the search upstairs, beginning in the first room he came to. Destiny’s bedroom. He
breathed in, a faint trace of her perfume tickling his nostrils. An untouched cup of tea sat on the
bedside table, and the covers were folded back as if she’d been in bed and then risen for some
reason. He opened her wardrobe. Nothing appeared to be missing, clothing-wise. Not that he’d have
a clue if it was, but there weren’t gaps as there would have been if she’d packed for a trip.
He trekked into her bathroom. Same undisturbed appearance here, too. An electric toothbrush was
on its charging stand, a tube of toothpaste stood up in a glass, and deodorant, body spray, moisturizer,
and cleanser were all lined up like soldiers on parade. He remembered this about her, how tidy she’d
liked things. Sophia, on the other hand, had created chaos wherever she’d gone.
His throat thickened, memories hitting him from all sides. He rubbed his chest, his eyes glossing
over as his mind took him back to simpler times. When he’d still had his family around him. When
he’d been absorbed by his much-loved career in the Royal Marines.
When Destiny had been in his life, even if it hadn’t been in the way he’d craved.
Growing Intrepid over the last five years had consumed him to such an extent that he hadn’t
acknowledged how isolated he was, how lonely his life had become, how much he’d changed. He’d
once had high hopes for how his life would pan out when he left the military. Dreams of a wife, a
large family, lots of noise and laughter, a continuation of the line of succession, of doing his father and
his ancestors proud.
Then Sophia had died, his father shortly afterward, and his hopes and dreams and plans had come
crashing down. He’d vowed then never to marry, never to have children, never to bring life into the
world that an act of violence could rip away, leaving behind tattered ribbons that had once been
someone’s life.
He combed through the remaining rooms on this floor, then took the stairs up to the top floor. His
feet skidded to a halt at the sight of a grand piano, the walls of the open-plan space fitted with
acoustic padding, creating the perfect environment for a concert pianist to practice her art.
He’d purposely avoided following Destiny’s career, the sight of her inducing a torrent of hatred
that left him with a bitter taste in his mouth that lasted for days. But he’d caught the odd online article,
or occasionally overheard Dutch mention her latest musical triumph, enough to know she was as
famous in her field as any movie star or singer.
Which was the precise reason he should have fucking listened when she’d told him she thought
she was being followed.
The upper floors revealed no clues as to Destiny’s whereabouts. He made his way back to the
kitchen, where a woman in her mid to late sixties had joined Charles and Elizabeth.
“Oh, Loris. This is Mary. She lives next door. Mary, this is Loris. He’s a… a family friend.”
 He jutted his chin in greeting and refrained from mentioning that a social visit wasn’t appropriate
in the circumstances. Was on the tip of his tongue, though.
“Mary saw Destiny the night before last.”
He straightened his spine. Okay, that was different.
“What time?” he barked.
Mary startled at his directness. “Um, around nine thirty, I think. I came to drop off a parcel that
had required a signature. She wasn’t in, so the delivery driver asked me to take it.”
“What did she look like? Act like?”
A frown accompanied a head shake. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Did she seem spooked or scared? Was she dressed or ready for bed? Anything out of the
ordinary that you noticed?”
“Oh, I see.” Mary grazed her teeth over her lip. “Um, no. I don’t think so. She was in her pajamas,
though. I didn’t see her come home, but when I popped out to put some rubbish in the bin, I saw that
the upstairs lights were on, which they weren’t earlier in the evening, so I guessed then that she was
in.”
“And the parcel. What did it look like?”
“An envelope. One of those padded ones.” Mary’s cheeks pinked up. “I did have a little squeeze
of it. It was an oblong box, sort of like a jewelry box, maybe.”
Loris switched his attention to Elizabeth and Charles. “Have you seen anything like that lying
around?”
“No, but we haven’t really looked.”
Loris checked the rubbish bin in the kitchen. Empty. He went outside into the back garden to check
the recycling boxes and household waste bins. No sign of an envelope. Returning to the house, he
scoured the downstairs rooms for anything resembling a rectangular jewelry box, then searched
upstairs again now that he had a specific item to look for. Nothing. Which meant one thing: wherever
she’d gone, she’d taken that gift with her.
Was it from a lover, and she’d dashed off to spend some time with him, forgetting she was
supposed to meet her parents for dinner? Or was it from someone with more-sinister intentions?
Both options left him with a rock-hard stomach and a chest wound too tight.
He returned downstairs. “Where’s Destiny’s phone?”
Elizabeth picked it up from the kitchen window ledge and handed it over.
“Thanks.”
It was locked using facial ID, which meant he’d have to take it back to Montford, where he had
the tools to crack the security.
“Can I keep this for now?”
Charles nodded. “Of course. What shall I say if the police ask for it when they decide my
daughter’s disappearance is a priority?” He snorted derisively, muttering, “No wonder there are
thousands of people who go missing in this country every year, with the attitude of our law
enforcement.”
“Give them this.” Loris plucked out a business card and handed it to Charles. “Tell them I have
the phone and to call me.”
“Okay.”
“You guys might as well go home. I’ll update Dutch.” He handed a second business card to the
neighbor. “If anything else comes to mind, or if you see a stranger hanging around, give me a call.”
Elizabeth handed over the key to Destiny’s front door, and he saw the three of them out. Elizabeth
seemed reluctant to leave, her movements slow as Charles, his palm pressed to her lower back,
helped her to their car. Loris waited until they’d driven away, then went inside and texted Dutch.
Loris: ETA?
Dutch: 14:00
Loris checked the time. 12:02 p.m. He sent another text.
Loris: Change of plan. Meet at Montford.
Dutch: Roger.
He scoured the house one last time, then got into his car and headed back to Surrey to await
Dutch’s return and confess that Destiny’s disappearance could have been averted if Loris hadn’t been
so blinded by hate.
He slammed a fist against the steering wheel. If whoever had her harmed a single hair on her
head, he’d make them pay.
He’d make them wish they’d never been born.
 THE COLLECTOR

FINALLY , MY MASTERPIECE , MY ORCHESTRA , IS COMPLETE . I HAVE DREAMT OF THIS MOMENT , PLAYED IT

over in my mind, and now, it has come to fruition.
Exactly as I planned.
It has taken a month to slot the final two pieces into place, but this… my pièce de resistance…
is the true prize, and she has arrived safe and sound.
She is everything I have dreamed of and more.
Perfect.
Flawless.
Exquisite.
My prized possession.
Her tawny hair falls in waves around her face, her expression serene and worry-free in repose,
the drugs pumped into her system for the twelve-hour journey a necessary evil.
Soon they will wear off and she’ll awaken, her serenity short-lived.
She’ll scream and cry and beg.
She’ll try to escape.
She’ll plead for her freedom.
And then…
Well, then, like the others, she will have no choice other than to accept that she belongs to me.
For eternity.
It is time for the music to begin, to breathe life into my creation.
To fulfill a destiny that began many years earlier, born of violence and hate and intolerance.
She is the key to it all, the final piece in a musical mosaic I have spent three years planning.
That night I first saw her play at the Royal Albert Hall and witnessed her brilliance is burned
into my memory. It was that moment which changed the course of my life.
I remember closing my eyes and imagining what it would be like for her to play only for me.
To command her brilliance.
To conduct every part of her life.
To possess her.
I no longer need my imagination. I will own every note, every breath, every flurry of fingers
over the keys.
I will own her, body and soul.
The others, they are merely the pawns in a game of chess.
She is the queen, and I am her king.
 Checkmate.
She stirs, and the movement automatically pulls my body forward, a magnet I am powerless to
resist. I caress her silky strands and touch her smooth skin. Precious, a blessing from God. One to
treasure and cherish, to appreciate the special gifts bestowed on her by a higher power.
I press my lips to her forehead.
“Sleep, my queen. I will watch over you. Always.”
 CHAPTER SIX

SO HEAVY.
Arms, legs, eyelids. Too heavy to move.
The scent of honeysuckle tickled her nostrils, the smell reminding her of the vines her mum had
lovingly tended until they’d grown faster than any weed, covering the entire fence bordering her
parents’ house and the neighbor’s next door. The sheets covering her body smelled fresh. She must
have washed her bedding yesterday.
No. That wasn’t right. She’d spent yesterday at rehearsals. Hadn’t she? Or had that been another
day? What day was it? What time was it?
Her mind was sluggish, her body refusing to obey her command to move. She opened her eyes a
crack, but lead weights pulled them closed.
Groaning, she tried again. Success!
She blinked.
Pink.
Everything was pink.
Walls, bedding, carpet, curtains.
With the agonizing slow creep of a glacier forming over millennia, her brain trickled to life.
This wasn’t her room.
This wasn’t her house.
She dragged herself into a half-sitting position. Why couldn’t she move properly? Why did she
feel so sluggish?
Panting, she heaved at the covers, shoving them off her. She glanced down at herself. A pink
nightgown in a design that wouldn’t look out of place in the Victorian era covered her from her chin to
her ankles. Her feet were bare, her toenails painted pink. Same with her fingernails.
What’s with all the pink?
She swung her legs out of bed and tried to stand. They refused to hold her, and she fell back to the
mattress. She tried again, staying upright this time. Like a drunk on a Saturday night in Soho, she
weaved from side to side as she stumbled her way to the door.
Heart pounding inside her rib cage, she twisted the knob, pulling the door toward her.
It wouldn’t open.
A haphazard jumble of jigsaw pieces rained down in her mind, and as they slotted into place, fear
crawled into her throat, lodging there, stopping her from taking a proper breath.
The strong arms around her waist.
The hand clamped over her mouth.
 Nothingness.
Oh God. Oh God, no.
Someone had taken her.
She gasped, her hand braced against the door. Every part of her body shook, her legs giving up
their one job of keeping her upright. She crumpled to the floor, a stray thought about the thickness of
the carpet breaking through the panic.
She clawed at her throat, still cognizant enough to recognize the signs of a panic attack.
Breathe. Slowly. In and out. In and out.
The stalker. He hadn’t been a figment of her imagination. He was real. He’d broken into her
house, and he’d abducted her.
Think, Destiny.
Pushing to her feet, she gripped the door frame for support. Fisting her hands, she banged on the
door.
“Help! Somebody help me!”
No one came.
She stumbled back to the bed and put her head between her knees until the nausea subsided. The
weakness in her limbs had to come from being drugged. It was the only explanation. The sedative
must’ve been strong, too, to keep her drugged long enough to transport her to here.
Wherever “here” was.
The curtains were closed, but light filtered through the fabric. It must be daytime. That meant
she’d been missing, what, twelve hours or so? Maybe more. For all she knew, days might have
passed.
What did he want with her?
Had she been trafficked?
Please, no. Not that. Anything but that.
Wait. That couldn’t be right. She’d seen TV programs on sex traffickers. They didn’t keep the
girls in opulent surroundings. The color might suck, but the furnishings were expensive, the bedding
soft, the carpet thick and luxurious. Even her nightgown, while old-fashioned, wasn’t threadbare or
cheap.
Whatever this person who’d taken her wanted, to traffic her for money wasn’t it. She had no proof
other than her instinct, but her gut told her his intentions were something else entirely.
Feeling stronger and less like she was going to vomit, she crossed the room to the window and
pulled back the curtains. The sight of the sea startled her. Waves crashed against the rocks, white-
tipped and violent. She was high up, on a hill, maybe. And the sun beat down, the sky a startling blue.
Whether it was the shock or the drugs or her sick sense of humor, she murmured, “You’re not in
Kansas any longer, girl,” then laughed to herself, a hysterical kind of fizzing noise that sounded
nothing like her.
And then fear returned, taking over as her plight came to her in blinding clarity.
Wherever she was being held, it was a long way from England.
She returned to the door. Raising her fists, she—
“Be a good girl and get back into bed.”
She spun around, scanning the room for where the voice had come from. Embedded high up on the
same wall as the window, painted pink—of course—was a grille that reminded her of the black
netting over speakers. That answered one question. What it didn’t answer was how the man behind
the voice knew she was awake. She glanced around, looking for cameras, but there weren’t any. None
that she could see, anyway.
“Who are you?”
“Get back in bed.”
She folded her arms. “Not until you tell me what the fuck is going on.”
He tutted. “Such an uncouth word from a pretty mouth. I forbid you to use it again. Language like
that is beneath you.”
From somewhere deep within the pit of her stomach, an urge to fight, to rail against this stranger,
to show him that she wouldn’t be a puppet, she opened her mouth and screamed, “Fuck! Fuck, fuck,
fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuuck!”
In less than a minute, the door to the room rattled. The brief flash of courage she’d shown
vanished, and she scuttled to the farthest corner, bracing her back against the sickly pink walls.
A man entered, his face covered by a white mask with cutouts for the eyes, nostrils, and mouth.
Dressed entirely in black, he moved with the gait of an athlete, his muscles lean and taut. He wasn’t
as tall as Dutch, or Loris. She’d guess five ten or five eleven. His eyes were an emerald green, his
lips full, the bottom one slightly thinner than the top, oddly. She memorized everything about him as he
closed the door. He didn’t lock it.
He didn’t lock it.
That meant she had a chance. A slim chance, but one she’d take the second an opportunity arose. If
he thought she was going to meekly accept her fate, he was in for a rude awakening. She couldn’t fight
him physically, but there were other ways to battle for freedom.
“I thought you might like some water.” He set a bottle she hadn’t noticed he’d brought with him on
the table beside the bed. “All that cursing must have dried out your throat.”
“More like the drugs.” She ground her teeth. “What did you give me?”
He gestured dismissively as if the question had no merit. “You are well, are you not? I have not
harmed you.”
“You took me!”
“Yes.” He sat on the edge of the bed, leaving the route clear to the door, and patted the mattress.
“Please sit. You will still be weak for a while longer.”
“No.”
He smiled a little. “Your fire is what first drew me to you. It powers your creativity, flowing
through your fingers to create such exquisite music.”
The mention of music brought her attention to the unfamiliar weight on her wrist. The bracelet. He
must have put it on her. She stared down at it. “You sent this?”
He nodded. “A beautiful artifact for a beautiful woman.”
“I don’t want it.” She tore it off and threw it at him. He caught it, snapping out a hand. His eyes
flashed, the only sign she’d gotten to him.
Strap in, freak. This is just the start.
“It is bad manners to reject a gift.”
“From a stalker?” She scoffed a laugh. “I don’t think that counts.”
“I didn’t stalk you. You were always mine. All I did was pick my moment and bring you here. To
your castle. Our castle.”
Jesus Christ help me. He was a madman, a loon, a crazy person who’d drugged and kidnapped
her and locked her in a room that even Barbie would balk at.
“That’s stalking! You’ve been stalking me for weeks, sending flowers and chocolates. I went to
the police. They know about you. They’ll be looking for you, and when they catch you, you’ll spend
the rest of your life in prison.”
The police wouldn’t do a thing, but she used them anyway. Her salvation lay with Dutch. Her
cousin would tear the world apart until he found her. He’d never give up. And he’d find a way to
persuade Loris to help. Intrepid had access to so many resources and tools. There would be a trace.
She had to have been brought here by plane or boat. Those things needed people to operate them.
Someone had to know she was here.
Her captor shook his head. “Calm down, Destiny. This is beyond someone of your class.”
Standing, he came toward her, holding out the bracelet. “Put this on.”
“No.” She edged along the wall, out of his reach and closer to the unlocked door.
He sighed in that patient way a parent did when faced with a stubborn toddler. “I will allow this
disobedience only because you’re scared and confused. But my patience has a limit, one which you
would do well not to breach.”
He turned to place the bracelet beside the bottle of water. Adrenaline fired into her bloodstream.
She launched forward, ramming her palms into his back. He fell, hitting his head on the bedside table.
Destiny sprinted to the door. She wrenched it open. It bounced off the wall, catching her heel on
the rebound. She stumbled, regained her balance, and then lurched down a long corridor with doors
on either side. She glanced behind her. He wasn’t there. But he would be. Soon.
Keep moving. Get to the outside.
Her thighs grew stronger, powering her forward. She turned left, then right, the building a maze.
Light. Ahead. Oh God, she could see the sky. Dazzling blue.
She staggered into the fresh air, tripped, and fell. Her knees hit the ground, breaking the skin.
Driving to her feet, she sprinted across a lawned garden, past borders with flowering shrubs and trees
in full bloom. She tasted salt in the air, heard the waves crashing to shore, smelled sweet cherry
blossoms and more honeysuckle.
Her heart battered her rib cage, the pounding in her ears louder than the angry ocean below. It had
to be seventy degrees or more. The heat from the sun slicked her body with sweat as she kept running,
running.
Cliff edge!
She skidded to a halt as the ground fell away, leading to a sheer drop and certain death for anyone
stupid enough to leap. She darted to the left, skirting the edges. Same. It was all the same. There was
no way out. Nowhere to go. She glanced back at her prison, a grotesque mock castle with turrets and
towers and spires. Water surrounded them on all sides, and the ocean stretched in every direction, no
other islands or dwellings or signs of life in sight. No boats moored in a harbor. No airstrip with a
plane waiting to take her to safety. No way out.
The futility of her escape attempt brought her to a juddering halt. She planted her hands on her
knees and gasped for air. Weak from the drugs and her overexertion, she crumpled to the ground, the
grass beneath her soft and warm.
“There is no way out.”
Her head snapped up. Shielding her eyes from the bright sun, she peered up at the masked man, his
clothing and scary face-covering even more sinister in what, in other circumstances, would be
paradise.
“What do you want with me?”
He dropped into a crouch. “Put this on.”
The bracelet. She stared at it, a defiant “Fuck you” on the tip of her tongue. But something stopped
her, a voice in her head warning her to hold her tongue. She took it from him, slipped it around her
wrist, and fastened the clasp.
He rose to his feet and held out his hand. “Come, my sweet Destiny. Let’s get you cleaned up. I’m
here to take care of you.”
 CHAPTER SEVEN

LORIS ’ S WATCH BUZZED . HE TAPPED THE SCREEN AND ACCEPTED THE CODE DUTCH HAD KEYED IN AT
the front entrance. This would open the gates, giving him access to Montford. The security
surrounding this estate rivaled that provided to royalty, most of it designed by Loris. Safer that way.
Bring in outside contractors to build one’s security and all kinds of back doors might be written into
the code.
Dutch’s car drew to a stop at the front of the house, and he climbed out. Loris cocked his head,
signaling for Dutch to follow him, then spun on his heel and made his way to his study. The man
joined him seconds later, folding his large frame into the visitor’s chair on the other side of Loris’s
desk.
“What did you find out?”
Loris briefed him on what he’d uncovered at Destiny’s, worry lines creasing Dutch’s face the
more Loris spoke. He’d had the same growing sense of concern as each minute had passed, too.
“She has facial recognition on her phone, but I’m running a program on it now that should be able
to break it.”
“Can’t you just show it a photograph or something?”
“Years ago when the technology was new, yeah. Today, not so much.”
“Fucking tech companies,” Dutch muttered.
“It’s a double-edged sword.”
“How long will it take to get in?”
Loris shrugged. “Could be any minute. Could be an hour, or a day. It depends. I’ll get an alert
when I’m in.”
“And what do we do in the meantime?”
“We wait.”
His nostrils flared, jaw flexing. “There must be something we can do. Search her place again,
maybe.”
“Are you saying I wasn’t thorough?”
“No. Fuck. No.” He shook his head. “I’m just… I feel useless. Her mum is scared out of her
wits.”
Loris took a deep breath. “Destiny came to see me at that godforsaken party Sully laid on while
you were on assignment.”
Dutch’s dark brows flew north. “She did?”
“Yep.”
“About what?”
 “She thought she was being followed.”
“Oh, fuck.”
“She asked for my help.” A slug of guilt hardened his stomach. “I refused.”
Dutch’s eyes bulged. “You… you refused?”
“Yes.”
“Why the fuck would you do that? Oh, wait. You are fucking kidding me!”
Loris held up his hands in apology. Dutch was an employee, but that didn’t mean Loris was above
admitting he was wrong. In this case, he was wrong, horrifically so.
“It was a mistake. I realize that now.”
Dutch lurched to his feet, knocking the chair over as he stood. “I have never brought my personal
life to this job, and I am so fucking grateful for the chance you gave me when my injury forced me to
leave the service, but this?” He ran his fingers through his light brown hair. “Jesus Christ, Loris, a
woman asked for your help, and you”—he jabbed a finger—“you refused for no other reason than
your long-held resentment toward my cousin for something that wasn’t her fault.”
Loris scissored his jaw, grinding his molars. Dutch deserved a free pass. He owed the man that
much. “You’re upset and angry, and rightly so. I told her to speak to you, but she didn’t want you to
worry. I said I’d send Crew, but she wanted me. I don’t know why, but she did.”
“Because she fucking adores you!” Dutch threw his hands in the air. “She always has. You and
Sophia were an extension of her family. She trusts you.” He barked a laugh. “A miscalculation on her
part, by all accounts.”
“I—”
A buzz at his wrist cut off his intended reply. He picked up Destiny’s phone and unplugged the
cable connecting the device to the software program he’d been running.
“I’m in.” He lifted his eyes to Dutch. “Can we agree to park this for now and work together on
finding her?”
Dutch blinked slowly. “It’s done. I’ve said my piece. All I want is to find my cousin and bring her
home.”
Same.
Loris gave a curt nod and began systematically going through her phone while Dutch paced to the
window and back several times. It wasn’t long before a chill trickled down Loris’s spine.
Fucking tech companies indeed.
“There was an alert sent two days ago that an unknown device has been following her
movements.”
Pacing brought to a halt, Dutch retook his seat. “What does that mean?”
“Tech companies have developed these devices that can be attached to anything you might lose.
So keys, wallet, et cetera. And then your phone can be used to locate them. But, like anything that’s a
force for good—”
“It can also be a force for evil.”
“Precisely. If used for nefarious reasons, the notification sent to the phone should alert the person
that there’s an issue and allow them to take action, providing they can find the device, that is.”
“And Destiny saw this, and that’s why she came to you?”
“I don’t know. She might not have seen it at all. Until we can ask her, we won’t know.”
“So she did have a stalker, and now he’s taken her.” Dutch ran a hand over the top of his head and
blew out a heavy breath. “I’ll kill him. When I find him, he’s dead.”
Get in line.
 Loris grabbed his keys, Destiny’s phone, and his own mobile. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“To find those tags.”
“Why?”
Loris was already out the door. “DNA.”
An accident on the main route to Destiny’s house delayed their arrival, the journey taking ninety
minutes rather than the usual sub-one hour. Dutch grilled Loris with technology questions, probably to
keep his mind off the mounting evidence that someone had abducted his cousin.
Answering them didn’t take Loris’s mind off the possibility one bit. Only his training and sheer
willpower kept him from losing his shit. He’d handed her to this fucker on a plate. If he’d bothered to
at least talk to her and, like she’d asked, dig around a little, he might have found the tracker before
this bastard had mounted a chance to snatch her, and then he could have wrapped heavy security
around her until they located the perp.
A line of cars was parked on the street outside her house, meaning Loris had to park one street
over. He unlocked Destiny’s door, but before he could go inside, her neighbor appeared. Woman
must’ve been sitting in the window, waiting for them to appear.
“Have you found her?”
“Have you remembered anything else?” Loris countered.
“No, nothing.”
He gave Dutch a nudge. “Well, if you do…” He entered the house, closing the door behind him.
No time to get into a discussion with a nosy neighbor without any information to share. Every second
counted.
“You start down here. I’ll go upstairs.”
“What am I looking for?” Dutch asked.
“A disc. About this big.” Loris made a shape with his finger and thumb. “Smooth, circular, you’ll
know it when you see it.”
“Roger.”
Loris jogged upstairs, heading straight for Destiny’s bedroom. Her scent was fading, a stark
reminder of the passage of time. He picked up her pillow and brought it to his nose.
“I will find you,” he murmured. “And I’m bringing you home.”
He began the hunt in her wardrobe. Feeling along every hem, every seam, he searched for a solid
object sewn into the lining. Destiny didn’t have a car, which was the first place he’d plant a tracker if
he wanted to tail someone. The second place would be somewhere about their person. A bag, a coat,
something along those lines. Like this beige mac.
Bingo. There it was. A round disc, like a badge or a button.
He opened a plastic bag, pulled on a pair of gloves, and ripped the hem, plucking out a white
disc. He dropped it into the bag and sealed it.
“Found one,” he called down to Dutch. Seconds later, the big man appeared on the landing. Loris
held up the plastic bag.
“And you think you can run DNA on that?”
“I know I can run DNA on that.” Or rather, he knew someone who could, and with a fast
turnaround, too.
“So let’s go.”
Loris shook his head. “There’s nothing to say it’ll return a result. There might be more discs,
which means more options to run further DNA tests. I’m going to check all her handbags, coats, any
wallets she might’ve used to carry her sheet music. Any of those would be an ideal place to hide
one.”
“Wait.” Dutch glanced around. “Her rucksack. She always takes it to rehearsals and shows.
That’d be a good candidate, right?”
“Yeah. What does it look like?”
“Purple and gray. Eighteen inches or so.”
“You search for that. I’ll go through her bags.”
Dutch found Destiny’s rucksack in the laundry room, and sure enough, it turned up another disc.
Loris located a third disc in the lining of a black Guess handbag. Three in total. Someone really
wanted to track her every movement.
With the three white discs in three separate evidence bags, Loris and Dutch returned to the car. As
he pulled out into the traffic, heading for central London, Loris put in a call to Darren, his DNA
expert, a top guy who worked at a private lab in the city.
“Got three items for you to test, and I need them urgently.”
“How urgent?”
“Yesterday.”
A laugh came over the car speakers. “I’ll see what I can do. When can I expect you?”
“Thirty minutes.”
The five-story glass building had its own parking facility. Loris pulled into a visitors’ space
beside the main entrance, and he and Dutch headed inside. Darren had left their names with reception,
and after booking in and receiving visitors’ badges on white lanyards, they rode the lift up to the third
floor, where Darren’s lab was located.
After greetings and introductions, Loris handed over the three evidence bags with the identical
tags inside.
“Ah, trackers.” Darren nodded.
“Seeing more and more of these, then?”
“Yeah. Had one only last week that a detective brought to me. He needed a faster turnaround than
the police labs were able to provide. Gotta love criminal ingenuity.” Darren got to work while Loris
and Dutch looked on.
“What happens if he gets DNA off those things?” Dutch asked.
“We check the police databases for a match.”
“You can do that?”
Loris’s lips twitched in a barely there smile. “Yes.”
“Is it legal?”
Loris hitched a shoulder. “We can involve the police if you like, but I wouldn’t recommend it.
They’ll slow us down. Procedures and all that shit.”
“No police.”
“Good call.”
“What if there isn’t a match?”
“Then we’re back to square one.”
“So you’re relying on the fact that he’s been in trouble with the police?”
“Exactly.”
Forty-five minutes later, Darren stretched out his back and yawned. “Okay, fellas. I got enough of
a sample to run the test. I’ll call you as soon as the results come through.”
“Overnight?” Loris asked. He’d worked with Darren before, and tests could take anything from
twelve hours to several weeks to come back, depending on the quality of the DNA being tested. Only
on TV shows did the results drop after fifteen minutes.
“Hopefully. Could be longer. It’s a decent enough sample, so I’ll do whatever I can to speed
things along, but you know as well as I do that science has its own pace.”
Loris shook his hand. “I’ll wait for your call.”
 CHAPTER EIGHT

DESTINY SCRAMBLED TO HER FEET , IGNORING THE CREEP ’ S OUTSTRETCHED HAND . BLOOD DRIPPED
down her shins from her grazed knees, and the nightgown was torn and covered in dust. The spike of
adrenaline that had powered her escape attempt withered, leaving her energy stores depleted.
Hopelessness lurked around the edges of her mind, but it was far too soon to give up.
Dutch wouldn’t give up. He had charm for days, and that charm would serve him well in
persuading Loris to help. Intrepid’s leader had money and resources and connections all over the
world. There had to be clues to her whereabouts; everything left a digital trail these days. She’d cling
to that hope and play her part in keeping herself safe until the rescue team arrived.
Her captor walked ahead, reentering the house without checking whether she’d followed. His
confidence further sapped her hope that there was a way off this island. He’d happily allowed her to
think she had a chance to get away, following at a leisurely pace while she’d fled, and all the while
knowing her efforts were in vain.
She trailed the masked figure into a kitchen kitted out with modern units and granite worktops. As
he passed the large, sleek black table in the center of the room, he pulled out a chair.
“Sit.”
Every strand of her DNA urged her to fight, to tell him to go fuck himself, that she wasn’t his
puppet to command. But instinct told her to play the long game. Survival came first, readying herself
for rescue, second. Riling a man who clearly had mental health issues and was, therefore,
unpredictable, was a dangerous folly, a trap she couldn’t allow herself to fall into.
Obeying his order, she perched on the edge of the chair, her eyes tracking his every move. He
reached into one of the top cupboards and pulled down a green box. Setting it on the table, he opened
it to reveal an extensive medical kit. With meticulous attention to detail, he laid out scissors, alcohol
wipes, gauze, and tape. Crouching at her feet, he gripped the hem of her nightgown, then tipped back
his head.
“May I?”
His request caught her off guard, and she jerked back. She hadn’t expected him to ask for
permission to touch her. She was his to do with as he pleased, wasn’t she? What other reason could
he have for snatching her and bringing her to this island?
“Aren’t you… aren’t you…?”
Behind the mask, those striking green eyes flashed. “This isn’t about sex, Destiny. You are
precious to me, a jewel, a creature to cherish. I have no intentions of violating you. I want to spend
the rest of my days worshipping at your feet.”
Her mouth popped open, jaw slackening at his admission. Precious, a jewel, worship? Who is
this man?
“Please, allow me to tend to your wounds.”
At her nod of agreement, he lifted her nightgown over her knees, revealing the bloody mess left by
her initial fall as she tried to escape. With infinite care, he cleaned the gravel and dust from her
wounds and applied a strip of gauze to each knee, which he secured into place with medical tape.
“There. All better. You can take the gauze off in a few hours and let the air get to the wounds. It
will help with healing.”
He straightened, put the items back into the green box, and returned it to the cupboard. Again he
held out his hand to her. And again she ignored it. A faint smile pulled at his lips.
“Follow me.”
Initial panic at realizing she was being held captive shifted to curiosity as she trailed behind him
down a maze of corridors. Whoever this man was, he had access to wealth. A house on a private
island didn’t come cheap. The furnishings were expensive, the carpets thick and luxurious. Hell, the
kitchen alone probably cost fifty grand.
“This isn’t about sex…”
Then what was it about?
He led her down a flight of stairs to what she guessed was a basement. He stopped outside a door
and tapped on a keypad on the wall to the right. A buzzer sounded, and he pushed it open, then
entered.
She hung back. Something about stepping through that door scared her.
“Destiny.”
The tinge of annoyance in his voice propelled her forward. She entered the room and—
“Oh my God.”
Faced with a room shaped in a semicircle with an array of chairs, musical instruments, and a
podium for the conductor, Destiny gaped at the masked man.
“It’s… it’s set up like a mini orchestra.”
“My orchestra.” He shook his head. “Forgive me. Our orchestra.”
He beckoned to her, and she edged into the room, her curiosity spiking. Unlike a regular orchestra
that would have multiple instruments of the same kind, there was only one of each. A violin, a viola, a
cello, and a double bass made up the string section. A clarinet, a flute, and an oboe were positioned
behind them, followed by a trumpet, a trombone, a French horn, and a tuba. A set of drums sat off to
one side. And high up on a platform was a grand piano.
Drawn to it, she weaved her way through the main orchestra and stepped up onto the platform.
The piano was a modern addition to the traditional orchestra, but one which most symphonies now
included. She trailed her fingertips over the keyboard, joy blooming in her chest. Odd to feel such a
positive emotion when she was being held against her will by a man whose motivations weren’t at all
clear. But playing music was her first love.
Okay, that wasn’t entirely accurate. Loris Winslow was her first love, but as he hated her to the
extent that he begrudged the oxygen she breathed, she’d turned to an inanimate object to fill the
emptiness inside her.
“Play something for me.”
She’d forgotten he was here, the intrusion on her private thoughts making her jump.
“What is this?”
His laugh was deep and throaty. “You know what it is.”
“No, I mean… who are all these instruments for?”
 “Your subjects.”
She frowned. He wasn’t making any sense. “Subjects? I don’t get it.”
He crossed the room with the grace of a panther, stopping at the stairs leading up to the platform.
“You are my queen. I am your king. And these…” He swept his hand around the room, palm facing
up. “These are for our subjects.”
She blinked several times in quick succession, processing his ramblings. He was, she decided,
quite mad. But so far, apart from drugging and abducting her, he appeared harmless.
Looks can deceive.
“And who are our subjects?”
He pointed at the piano. “One thing at a time. Play something for me.”
“What would you like me to play?”
“Hammerklavier.”
She swallowed. Beethoven’s masterpiece was widely acknowledged as one of the most, if not the
most, technically challenging piano compositions in the world. It demanded incredible dexterity and
extraordinary stamina and was far beyond her capabilities. Hell, Hammerklavier was far beyond
most pianists’ capabilities.
“I can’t.”
“You can. I believe in you.”
She frowned at his praise. “I need the sheet music. This isn’t a piece I am very familiar with.”
“Try.”
Oh God. It was a test, wasn’t it? A test she would fail. And then what would happen? Was that the
point where he would reveal his true malevolence? He might have said this wasn’t about sex, but
trusting a man who’d broken into her home, drugged her, and brought her to fuck knew where would
be a mistake of epic proportions and one she could not make.
She closed her eyes, visualizing the musical notes, hearing them in her mind… and began to play.
Her first mistake came after only seven notes. Another one by the start of the second bar. Tremors
in her fingers made playing almost impossible, but she plowed on, steeling herself for some kind of
punishment that never came.
Somehow, she made it to the end. Exhaustion bowed her shoulders, and she blew out a slow
breath between pursed lips, then risked a glance at her captor.
“You will practice, and you will become proficient.”
She canted her head, a bemused chuckle crawling into her throat. “I don’t think so. The greatest
pianists in the world have trouble with this piece.”
He prowled up the stairs, freezing her in place. Her heart raced, thumping against her rib cage as
he reached out a hand. She flinched.
“My darling Destiny.”
He ran his palm over her hair, caressing the back of her head. “You will triumph. You must.”
“And if I don’t?”
The smile behind the mask distorted. “Then your subjects will suffer.”
 CHAPTER NINE

“I HAVE THE RESULTS .”

Loris gripped the phone tight enough to crack the screen. He’d known Darren would come through
as soon as possible, but Loris had braced himself for a significant wait. Results in less than twenty-
four hours was more than he could have hoped for.
“Send them to me.”
“Already done.”
Loris checked his emails. Sure enough, there it was, right at the top.
“Good man. I’ll transfer the funds today.”
“No rush. Hope you find whomever you’re looking for.”
Me, too. This is my only lead.
Loris ended the call, opened the email, then signed into the database he shouldn’t have access to.
He entered the details, hit Return, and waited. The cursor blinked and then—
“Fucking pay dirt.”
“You say something?”
Dutch appeared in the doorway to Loris’s study. Loris had invited him to stay at Montford until
they found Destiny, and Dutch had been only too eager to agree.
“William Henry Blackwall.”
Dutch frowned, hands braced against the door frame. “You lost your shit finally?”
“That’s the guy. The DNA. Darren came through.”
“Oh, fuck.” Dutch shot around to Loris’s side of the desk and peered at his screen. “He’s young.”
His forehead wrinkled. “I expected him to be older.”
“Eighteen, almost nineteen. Recently arrested after a stop and search found him with two grams of
heroin. Second offense. Up in court in next month.”
“You got an address?”
Loris stood, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair. “What do you think?”
Blackwall lived in a high-rise building in the middle of a rough council estate. Graffiti covered
the walls—not the Banksy kind—and a burned-out car sat on bricks, the wheels having been stolen.
There was litter everywhere, and a couple of rats were fighting over a half-eaten greasy burger
someone had discarded.
“This doesn’t add up,” Loris said, scouting out the location. “Why would someone who lives in a
place like this even know who Destiny is? Neither her professional circle nor her social circle would
bring her into contact with Blackwall.”
“I agree.” Dutch scratched his cheek. “Maybe he was paid to plant those discs. If he’s a druggie,
then he’s going to be constantly on the lookout for his next fix.”
“I’m thinking along the same lines, although I’ll refrain from jumping to conclusions until we
question him.”
“Then let’s go. See what he knows.”
“Imagine a future that looks this hopeless.” Loris shook his head as he climbed out of the car.
“Gotta feel for these kids. What fucking chance do they have?”
He beckoned to a spotty boy around thirteen or fourteen wearing ripped jeans and a T-shirt that
used to be white. He sloped their way, his gaze shifting as he ran his eyes over two burly guys well
over six feet tall.
“Hey, kid.” Loris held out two twenty-pound notes. “Make sure the car is in one piece—including
the wheels—and when I return, I’ll double it. Deal?”
With greedy eyes the youngster reached for the money, dirt under his fingernails and a large wart
distorting the middle knuckle on his right index finger. Loris snapped the cash out of reach.
“Don’t double-cross me, kid. You won’t like what happens if you do.”
Rapid blinking and a nod meant he understood. Loris handed over the money, then jerked his chin
at Dutch. The two men made their way into the stairwell. It stank of piss, and used needles were
discarded on virtually every stair.
Bedraggled women who were chain-smoking filled the balcony. A few had kids hanging off their
skirts, the children undernourished and dirty. Jesus. What a bloody failure of society when one of the
richest nations in the world had people living in rat-infested social housing and unable to feed and
clothe their offspring. Loris didn’t know what the answer was, but repeating the same old shit and
hoping for a different outcome had epically failed. Time for a change, although when that would come
was anyone’s guess. In the meantime, these poor bastards suffered.
One of the women wolf-whistled as he and Dutch strode toward flat 7B on the third floor. He
didn’t bite, nor did Dutch. They reached Blackwall’s flat. The number 7 hung upside down, one of the
screws holding it in place having come loose. Loris rapped three times on the door, flakes of peeling
paint falling to the ground.
Blackwall answered the door in a pair of jeans that hung off his skinny hips and a Led Zeppelin T-
shirt that was a couple of sizes too big. His eyes widened as he looked the two men over, his tongue
running along his bottom lip.
“Yeah?”
“A word.” Loris entered the flat with Dutch at his six. Blackwall stumbled and fell on his arse.
Dutch kicked the door closed.
“Wh-who are you?”
Reaching down, Loris gripped the teenager by the scruff of the neck and muscled him into the
living room. If it could be called such, given that there was a single chair, a stained, threadbare
carpet, and a TV from the 1990s balancing on a rickety table. Empty lager cans were strewn across
the floor, and the place stank of pot.
“Sit.” Loris jabbed a finger at the only seat in the place, his belief that this wasn’t the man who
had taken Destiny growing by the second. He looked like he could hardly take care of himself, let
alone stalk and snatch a woman from her home without leaving a single trace other than the DNA
found on those digital tags. His arms were full of needle tracks, and looked like it’d been a while
since he’d eaten a decent meal.
Face ashen, Blackwall’s knees buckled, and he dropped into the chair. He gripped the arms tight
enough to turn his knuckles white.
 “I got no money,” he blurted. “Look around you, man. I ain’t got nothin’.”
“You do have something of value.” Loris leaned forward and planted his hands right next to
Blackwall’s. “Information.”
Recoiling, he licked his lips. “What information? I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
Loris dug his phone out of his pocket and pulled up a recent picture of Destiny that he’d had Dutch
send to him. He showed Blackwall the screen.
“You know this girl?”
On a reflex, Blackwall shook his head, paying the photo almost no attention. “I don’t know
nothin’. I said already.”
Loris rammed the phone against Blackwall’s nose. “I said, do you know this girl?” He moved the
phone back a few inches. “Don’t mess with me, motherfucker. You have no idea who you’re dealing
with.”
Beads of sweat appeared on Blackwall’s top lip. He gave the phone more than a cursory glance,
unable to hide the flare of recognition in his eyes. “She looks like a lot of girls. Pretty.”
They were wasting time. Loris had patience for days, patience he’d used to good effect during his
military days when questioning prisoners of war. But this was Destiny, and his fuckup had resulted in
her being taken. Now wasn’t the time for patience. This situation required action.
He moved so fast that Blackwall never saw it coming. His large hand closed around Blackwall’s
scrawny throat, and he hauled him out of the chair and slammed him against the wall. Eyes bulging,
Blackwall’s face turned red and then purple as his lungs screamed for oxygen.
“I know you know her. Who paid you to plant that stuff on her?”
Loris loosened his grip by a few millimeters, just enough to allow Blackwall to squeeze out a
couple of words.
“I-I can’t,” he rasped.
“So you do know her?”
Blackwall gave a single nod of his head.
“Who hired you?”
“I don’t know his name. Swear to God, man. I don’t.”
Blackwall tried to burrow his fingers between Loris’s death grip and his rapidly bruising neck.
Loris let his feet touch the floor, but his hand stayed right where it was. “You planted those tags on
her?”
Blackwall nodded.
“And you didn’t wear gloves?” Whoever this guy was who’d hired a heroin addict to do his dirty
work was either stupid or crazy. Or maybe he just didn’t care if Blackwall was uncovered as the
culprit.
“He told me to. But her stuff… it was soft. And it smelled good. I… just took them off for a
minute.”
“How did he contact you?”
“By phone. Call came outta the blue. He offered me money and I needed it, man. I needed the
money.”
“Where’s your phone?”
“In my pocket.”
“Give it to me.”
He gave Blackwall a few inches of room. Foraging inside his jeans, Blackwall produced an old-
fashioned mobile phone and handed it to Loris.
 Loris let him go. Blackwall pitched forward, gasping for air and rubbing his bruised neck. He
staggered to the chair and plunked down. Dutch moved into position, blocking the only exit in case
Blackwall made a run for it.
“Anything?” Dutch asked as Loris scanned the call list and the message log.
“No. Not that I expected anything.” He slid the phone into his coat pocket. “How did he pay you?”
“In cash. He left it in an envelope in a rubbish bin on the other side of the estate and texted me. I
was fuckin’ lucky it wasn’t robbed before I got there. People round here would whip the shoes from
your feet while you were still wearin’ ’em.”
“Do you still have the envelope?” Loris didn’t think for one second this guy would be so stupid as
to leave his fingerprints or DNA anywhere on that envelope, but it was worth a try.
“Nah, man. I tossed that thing ages ago.”
“When was the last time you had any contact with this man?”
“Weeks ago. I haven’t heard from him since he paid me what he owed.”
Weeks. That meant he had taken his time executing the abduction. He must have tracked Destiny’s
movements for a while. But if that was the case, why hadn’t Destiny seen the notifications on her
phone that her movements were being monitored? Unless he’d somehow hidden the notification so
she’d only have seen them if she’d gone looking.
Or maybe he’d hacked into her phone and was deleting the notifications. The one Loris found
might’ve been an oversight on his part, or perhaps he was so overconfident once he’d snatched her
that he hadn’t cared whether the tags were found or the notification seen. Perhaps he’d planned this
entire thing and knew the trail would lead here, to Blackwall, where it would come to a grinding halt.
Fuck.
He fired a glance at Dutch, his eyes bleak with despair as their one and only lead turned out to be
a dead end. He jerked his chin at the exit.
“Let’s go.”
“Th-that’s it?” Blackwall stammered. “You’re not gonna kill me?”
Loris slowly faced Blackwall. “Do you want to die?”
“Nah. Nah, man.” His hands came up beside his head. “We’re cool. It’s all cool.”
Loris pointed at his eyes and then at Blackwall. “I’m watching you. I hear that you lied to me and
you’re going to beg for me to kill you. Got it?”
Blackwall’s nod was so vigorous it was a wonder his head stayed on his skinny little neck. “I
hear you, man. I swear, that’s all I got.”
As much as it pained Loris to admit it, he believed him.
Which meant that they were no closer to finding Destiny and tearing the limbs off the man who’d
taken her.
 CHAPTER TEN

AFTER FAILING TO SUCCESSFULLY PLAY HAMMERKLAVIER— NOT A SURPRISE TO HER—DESTINY’ S

captor returned her to the puke-inducing pink room. As she stepped over the threshold, she heard him
lock the door. She couldn’t help giving him the finger and hoped he saw it on whatever fucking device
he was using to spy on her.
A summer dress had been draped over the made bed in, yup, pink. Dear God, what was this man’s
obsession with a color only girls aged five or less with pigtails should ever be forced to wear?
Wait. Hang on. He’d been with her every moment since she’d tried to escape, which meant
someone else had made the bed and laid out fresh clothes. A search of the room also turned up five
sets of underwear, all identical, all in pink, and a pair of flip-flops. She hadn’t noticed it earlier, but
there was an adjoining bathroom with a shower and those tiny bottles of toiletries that people
sometimes took on holiday to keep under the airline luggage allowances.
A bottle of water and a cheese and ham sandwich sat on the little table beside the bed, as well as
a Pink Lady apple and a small bunch of red grapes.
Noticeably absent? Razors, scissors, and any kind of weapon.
Shame.
His lack of any interest in her sexually had brought about a sense of calm. Without the threat of
rape, she could think, plot, plan her escape. The only frisson of fear lurking in the back of her mind
was his talk of these “subjects.” What had he meant when he’d said that they’d suffer if she didn’t
master Hammerklavier? And why had he fixated on that piece in particular?
She took the clothes into the bathroom and shut the door. A thorough search didn’t turn up any kind
of surveillance equipment, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t watching her. He could have buried
cameras in the walls or put them behind the light fittings, or a million other ways he could spy on her.
But her desire to clean up overcame her angst of being watched.
Pulling the bloodied and torn nightgown over her head, she quickly showered and dried off, then
dressed, used the toilet, and tied back her hair, securing it at her nape with a bobble she found. No,
not found. He’d left it for her. Everything about this situation felt planned, executed with the kind of
precision that didn’t leave a trail.
Which meant… how would Loris ever find her? Was he even looking, or would he have refused
Dutch’s plea for help as he’d refused hers?
No, he wouldn’t do that. Dutch worked for him, and one of the things she knew about Loris
Winslow was that he took care of his own. If Dutch asked Loris for help, even if it was to find out
who’d taken her, he wouldn’t let him down, no matter how much he hated her.
She had to cling to that hope. Without it, all faith was lost.
 There were no books in the room, no TV, or even a radio to listen to. With nothing to occupy her
time, she sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor and began to meditate. In her mind, she saw the
notes of Hammerklavier, visualized her fingers on the keys, the feel of the music in her soul. Maybe
mastering the piece was the key to her freedom, and the freedom of these “subjects,” shadowy figures
that, for all she knew, were a figment of his imagination.
But before long, a different vision appeared behind her closed lids.
Loris.
Over the past five years, she’d rarely allowed herself to think about him at all. Nor had she, to her
shame, thought too much of Sophia, keeping herself ridiculously busy to avoid facing up to the past.
The memories were too painful and too horrific to linger upon for very long. Sophia’s suffering at the
hands of the man who’d murdered her had kept Destiny awake for weeks afterward. In the end, her
mother had forced her to go to the doctor. She’d medicated herself through it for two long months
before realizing that wasn’t the answer. Dropping the prescription drugs cold turkey, she’d turned to
music as a way to silence the screaming in her head.
She thought of Loris now, picturing his strong jaw and aristocratic cheekbones. His thick black
hair and intelligent blue eyes that could turn from warm to glacial in a second. His strength of
character, his integrity and strong moral code.
His love for his sister… and how her death had changed him forever. He used to smile, to laugh,
to joke around, even though his job in the Royal Marines had meant he’d witnessed the horrors of war
and the very worst of mankind. But whenever he’d come home on leave, he’d kept the truth of it to
himself. At Montford, he’d been the same old Loris, the man she’d known and loved for as far back as
she could remember.
And now… now she may never get the chance to earn his forgiveness. No, not forgiveness. His
understanding. He might blame her for not staying with Sophia that night, and for a long time
afterward, she’d blamed herself, but over time she’d begun to believe that it wasn’t her fault. Or she
tried to remind herself of that, at least.
What she now prayed for was for Loris to feel the same. Without his understanding, she’d never
truly find peace.
Her stomach growled. How long had it been since she’d eaten? Her gaze traveled to the food left
for her. Rising to her feet, she picked up the sandwich and peeled back the bread, taking a sniff of the
contents. It smelled normal, but what if it was poisoned, or drugged? She’d only just shaken off the
fuzzy feeling and weakness in her limbs from the drugs he’d given her to keep her unconscious on the
journey here. If she was to have a chance to escape this fucked-up freak, then it was imperative to
keep her wits about her.
In the end, hunger overcame trepidation, and she wolfed down the sandwich, drank half the bottle
of water, and ate the fruit. Belly full, she waited. No wooziness, no feeling of drifting off, no floating
sensation. If he had drugged the food, she’d have felt the effects by now.
Letting out a heavy breath, she wandered over to the window, pressing her palms to the glass.
Below her, white-tipped waves crashed against an outcrop of rocks, and the sun continued to beat
down from a sky bluer than Loris’s eyes.
She pressed her hands to her face. God, please, Loris, find me.
The door handle rattled, and she spun around, heart leaping into her throat. What the fuck did he
want now? Another rendition of Hammerklavier? Was he truly ready for another earsplitting disaster
this soon?
Her jaw dropped as a woman entered, stooped over as if she was ninety and suffering from
curvature of the spine. But she couldn’t be more than sixty. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back
into a severe bun, and a shapeless taupe dress that fell to mid-calf hung off her too-thin frame. She
kept her head bowed, her eyes cast down as she shuffled over to where Destiny had left the empty
plate and apple core.
Destiny rushed over, gripping the woman by her arms. Good God, she was nothing more than skin
and bones. She finally lifted her head and looked right at Destiny. The woman’s eyes bulged, and her
mouth opened and then shut without a single word being uttered. She reached out a hand and caressed
Destiny’s face as if she knew her, grabbing a fistful of her shapeless outfit with the other.
“You have to help me,” Destiny pleaded. “He’s keeping me prisoner. Please. I’m begging you.
Help me get out of here.”
The door was wide open, but Destiny already knew there was no point in running. Been there,
done that.
The woman slowly shook her head, her green irises swirling with a mixture of terror and
resignation. Tingles ran along the back of Destiny’s neck. Whoever this woman was, she was also
trapped here.
“What’s your name?”
The woman’s gaze flickered to one corner of the room. Destiny followed her line of sight. She
couldn’t see anything, but she’d put a sizable bet on that being the spot where he’d hidden the camera,
or one of them at least. Destiny shifted her body to block the woman from view.
“Please, talk to me. Say something. Anything.”
What the hell had he done to her to make her this afraid?
The woman pointed to her mouth, then shook her head again.
“Don’t you speak English? Is that it?” Destiny scoured her mind, trying to remember her high
school French lessons. It was the only other language she knew. “Quel est ton nom.” She’d probably
butchered the French for “What’s your name?” but it was all she had.
The woman gave her a smile tinged with pity, then opened her mouth.
Oh, Jesus Christ Almighty. She had no tongue.
The food Destiny had eaten rolled around in her stomach. Don’t be sick. Don’t be sick. Breathe.
There might be a simple explanation.
Destiny dropped her voice to a whisper. “Did he… did he do that to you?”
Another flash of those despairing eyes to the corner of the room and then… the smallest nod.
Oh God. And here she’d been, fearing rape or being trafficked for the pleasures of men, while the
man who’d taken her got off on torturing innocent women.
Your subjects will suffer.
Was this poor woman one of the subjects? Or—
“Are there others here? Like me?”
“So many questions, my queen.”
Her captor strode into the room, the thick carpeting in the hallway masking his approach. The
elderly woman blanched, curving in on herself as if to make her frame as small as possible. She bent
her head, eyes on the floor, much as she had when she’d first walked in, her body braced for
punishment.
“Time to go, Mother. Your chores await.”
Mother. Oh, Christ. Destiny stumbled backward. She pressed a fist to her mouth, cramming down
the scream that threatened to tear from her throat as her abductor placed the empty plate in his
mother’s hands and steered the woman into the hallway.
 Her knees gave way, and she slumped onto the bed. She knitted her fingers together to stop them
from trembling. If he’d mutilated and tortured his own mother, what fate lay in store for her?
“I’m sorry if she was bothering you. I shall ensure it doesn’t happen again.”
“She wasn’t bothering me.” A tremor in her voice gave her away, but despite that, she locked her
eyes on him, staring at him with a recalcitrant glare. Seemingly unconcerned by her ire, he smiled
behind that creepy mask.
“I shall leave you to sleep. Tomorrow, it will be time for my queen to meet her subjects.”
 CHAPTER ELEVEN

DESTINY ROSE WITH THE SUN , HAVING SOMEHOW GRABBED SNATCHES OF SLEEP IN BETWEEN RECURRENT
nightmares where her abductor came to her brandishing a knife and cut out her tongue. After his
admission that he wasn’t interested in her sexually, she’d thought herself safe when, in truth, she was
in more danger than she’d thought possible.
She paced the small room, startling as the lock rattled and the man from her nightmares entered,
carrying a steaming bowl of something and a bottle of water. Her stomach churned as he set the items
on the table beside her bed.
“I hope you like porridge.”
“I’m not hungry.” She grabbed the water and retreated to the other side of the room, eyeing him
warily. This man had cut out his own mother’s tongue. She couldn’t divert her attention away from
him for a second. His genial demeanor was fake, and she could not allow herself to feel comforted by
it.
“You should eat.”
“I said I’m not hungry.”
He shrugged. “It is your choice, of course. I shall leave it here in case you change your mind after
meeting your subjects.”
He spun on his heel and vanished into the hallway, leaving her door open. She only hesitated for a
second. Driven by curiosity despite the nausea swishing around her stomach, Destiny followed her
captor. As soon as he traipsed down to the basement level, she guessed where they were going. The
music room, as she’d decided to think of it. He reached the entrance a few seconds before her,
waiting for her to catch up. When she did, he tapped on the keypad and opened the door and, as last
time, gestured for her to go in first.
This time, though, she wasn’t greeted by an empty room.
Every seat, apart from the bench in front of the piano was occupied. Not one of the women looked
at her, their gazes locked on the floor. But it didn’t matter. She recognized several of them, and her
heart almost stopped.
Katerina Levchenko, the Russian violinist who, it was widely believed, had been incarcerated by
the state more than two years ago after she’d spoken out against the oppressive regime. She was
Destiny’s hero, yet their paths had never crossed, until now.
God, Katerina.
And Kim Chin-Hua, the North Korean cellist who’d escaped to freedom in the south, only to
vanish from her bed in the middle of the night after she’d returned from a tour of North America.
Again, people had blamed her country of origin for her disappearance.
 She also recognized Ursula Schmidt, a clarinet player from Munich who’d retired and then fallen
off the radar like so many professionals in a variety of fields did after they were no longer active.
Same could be said of singers or film stars or authors.
This couldn’t be. It was too… too…
“Their fate is in your hands.”
Destiny jumped, startled by him. She’d almost forgotten he was there, standing beside her. She
met his gaze behind the mask, her mouth opening and closing without anything coming out. Words
failed her.
Heart battering her rib cage, she took several breaths through her nose. Eventually, her heart rate
slowed to something akin to normal. She almost laughed. There was no normal. This was as fucked
up as it got.
“What is all this?” She gestured to the twelve women poised to play the instruments they clutched
in their hands. “What are you doing with these women?”
“Creating a masterpiece.” Pride filled every syllable, his eyes gleaming in triumph. “And you, my
darling Destiny, are my pièce de résistance. You complete me, and you complete the orchestra I’ve
created.”
She laughed. Couldn’t help it. You complete me? Who the fuck did he think he was? Tom Cruise in
Jerry McGuire. What did that make her? Renée Zellweger? Oh, no, wait, she was the queen.
The man had lost his marbles. Gone loco down in Aca-fucking-pulco. A man, she was forced to
acknowledge, who had the smarts, and the funds, to snatch them all without interference from a single
branch of law enforcement. Katerina Levchenko had gone missing over two years ago, which meant…
which meant…
Had she been here this entire time? How long had this psychopath been planning this? Dear God,
why hadn’t someone noticed that classical musicians from all over the world were going missing?
She had the thought but knew the answer. Police forces didn’t talk to one another. They acted in
silos, fixated on meeting their targets. It would take collaboration on an unheard-of scale to connect
the dots.
The only chance she and these women had lay with Loris Winslow. A man who hated her guts.
“Take your seat, my queen.” He swept his hand toward the piano. “It is time for us to begin.”
Begin what? Not a single one of the women had looked at her or acknowledged her presence. Had
he scared them in some way, forcing them into compliance? Maybe he’d threatened to cut out their
tongues.
Oh God. Maybe he had cut out their tongues.
It crossed her mind to refuse to sit at the piano, but the only way to get some answers was to let
this play out. As she made her way to the raised platform, the women didn’t move a single muscle.
Destiny risked a glance over her shoulder. He’d moved to the conductor’s podium at the front of the
room, his attention diverted for the briefest of moments as he fussed with something at his feet.
“Are you okay?” she whispered to a woman she didn’t recognize who held a bow to the strings of
a double bass, primed to play.
No answer.
Destiny repeated her question. Still no answer. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.
She tried again.
“Please—”
“Shh,” Ursula, the clarinetist hissed. “Sit the fuck down and do as you’re told.”
So they weren’t mute. Just… brainwashed? Scared? Well trained?
 She opened her mouth to ask further questions, then caught the creep straightening. Scuttling to her
place behind the piano, she sat.
He pointed the baton at her. “Play.”
She was about to ask him what he wanted her to play, but she already knew. Hammerklavier. Fine,
if he didn’t mind his ears bleeding while she—
Wait a minute. If she obeyed him, then she was giving him her power. If she was his queen, as he
creepily referred to her as, then didn’t she have some control? Worth a try, at least.
“No.”
“Play.” His voice took on an edge. The women tightened their holds on their instruments until
their knuckles turned white, but not one of them moved a muscle.
“I said no. I don’t feel like playing today.”
“For God’s sake, play,” Katerina begged, whispering out of the corner of her mouth.
His lips thinned. “As you wish.” He set the baton on the podium and left the room.
“What is this?” Destiny asked the second the door closed, leaving her alone with the women.
“What’s going on?”
“Oh no. No, no, no.” The trumpeter pitched forward, moans of pain spilling from her lips. “It’s
me, isn’t it? It’s my turn.”
“You should have played.” Katerina shook her head. “You stupid girl.”
“I-I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t. You’re new.” This from the percussionist, whom Destiny didn’t recognize.
“Then explain it to me. Tell me what’s going on.”
A grinding sound came from up above. Destiny looked up. Everyone else returned to their
previous positions, eyes on the floor, hands gripping their instruments. Their captor appeared behind
a large pane of glass. The trumpeter emitted another soft moan.
“Put down the trumpet.” His voice boomed over the loudspeaker.
The trumpeter set down her instrument.
“Stand.”
She rose to her feet on legs that wobbled like cooked spaghetti.
“Walk.”
She appeared to understand his instructions, obeying with a weary acceptance that sent a tremor
of fear through Destiny’s body. Whatever this was, it wasn’t the first time it’d happened. What had
she said? “It’s my turn.” Her turn for what?
Drawing to a halt in front of a solid wall, the woman stood there, waiting. And then the wall
vanished. Just like that. Destiny blinked. Where did it go?
The woman stepped forward. Behind the wall was a high-backed chair in a dark wood.
Mahogany, maybe. As she turned and sat, fear peeled her eyes open, and beads of sweat appeared on
her forehead. She placed both forearms on the arms of the chair, her fingers gripping the edge.
“Please.”
Destiny couldn’t hear her plea from over here but lip-read it easily enough. The snap of shackles
around her ankles and wrists made Destiny jump.
What the hell is this?
“I said you had the power, my queen. And this is you, exercising it.”
Destiny snapped a glance up at the masked man. His smile, even from here, was filled with
malevolence, a twist to his lips and a flash in his eyes clear evidence that whatever he was about to
do, he was getting off on it.
 A cry filled the music room, jerking Destiny’s attention back to the shackled woman. Oh my God.
What was he doing to her? Jesus Christ.
The young woman’s body contorted, legs and arms violently shaking, eyes rolling back in her
head.
Oh, fuck no.
“Stop!” Destiny lurched to her feet, sprinting toward the woman. She tripped over the double
bass, and it went flying out of its owner’s hands. “For God’s sake, stop this madness!”
“Go near her, and I’ll turn up the power.”
Destiny skidded to a halt, a few feet in front of the terrorized victim, who slumped back into the
chair as her tormentor turned off the electricity. Sweat coated every inch of her skin, her hair a wild
mess, and blood dripped from her mouth. She must have bitten her tongue or her cheek, maybe.
“Just stop.” Destiny held up her hands. “I’ll do whatever you want, but please, don’t hurt her
anymore.”
“Good girl.” The shackles unlocked, and the woman dropped to the floor. Destiny lurched
forward.
“I told you to leave her,” he barked.
“But she needs help.”
“And she’ll get it. Now play, or your inactivity will force me to pick someone else.”
Classic gaslighting. The man was insane. No, not insane. Vicious. He enjoyed inflicting pain on
others. “It’s my turn.” Had each of these women been subjected to electrocution, or was this just one
of his methods of punishment?
Shoulders bowed, Destiny made her way back to the piano, the hate-filled glares of the women
burning into her skin as she passed.
She was trapped in a nightmare with no way to wake up, and what terrified her the most was that
this was only the beginning.

One by one, the women rose to their feet and filed out of the music room, leaving their instruments
behind. None of them spared her a glance, their eyes on the floor as they put one foot in front of the
other until she was the only one left. He’d removed the injured trumpeter earlier, hoisting her over his
shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Seconds later, he’d returned, taken his position at the podium, and
proceeded to conduct. Obediently, they’d played for an hour, maybe, and then he’d set down the baton
and walked out. He’d escorted her to the music room, but it looked as if he expected her to make her
way back to her room alone.
A slice of freedom, and one she intended to exploit. She needed information, and the only way to
get that was to ask the women who’d been here far longer than she had what the fuck was going on.
Destiny sprang upright, shaking out her arms and hands to loosen the stiffness from playing. She
caught up to the last woman in line as they trooped up the stairs. They all seemed to know where they
were going, their steps sure-footed.
“I’m sorry,” Destiny whispered to no one in particular.
“Shh,” the woman in front of her chided. Destiny thought she was the flutist, but as they were all
dressed in the same shapeless outfit as his mother, it was hard to tell them apart. “No talking.”
 “But he’s not here.”
“He’s everywhere,” she whispered. “The walls have eyes and ears. Just stop. I can’t…” She
trailed off.
“Can’t what? Please, tell me what’s going on. How long have you been here?”
“I don’t know. A long time.”
“There has to be a way out.” They reached the top of the stairs and turned right. One after the
other, they disappeared into unlocked rooms, closing the door behind them until it was only Destiny
and the woman left. As she turned, Destiny recognized her. It was the flutist.
“There is no way out,” she replied in a flat tone. “The sooner you accept your fate and do as he
says, the better off we’ll all be.”
She disappeared inside and closed the door. None of the doors were locked, at least as far as
Destiny could tell. Yet he locked her in. Why? Did she have to earn her freedom in some way? Or
were these women so reduced by fear and punishment that they didn’t need a lock on a door to keep
them inside?
And was that to be her fate?
No. Never. She refused to succumb to the idea that this was what her life had become. She’d fight
to the bitter end, no matter what punishments he doled out.
“Did you get your answers?”
She startled as that deep baritone rumbled in her ear. Spinning around, she came face-to-face with
that creepy mask, the malevolent twist to his lips, the glint of evil in those emerald-green eyes.
“I-I—”
“It’s okay, my queen.” He reached out to stroke her hair. She jerked her head back, the action a
reflex. His eyes darkened, his displeasure evident. “What do you want to know?”
“Jesus Christ, where do I start? Why you took these women. Why you took me. What your purpose
is. How long you intend to keep us here. Why you tortured that poor woman for my transgression.”
She glared at him. “Next time, you punish me, not them.”
“Such a brave queen.” He went for her hair again, the warning in his eyes freezing her in place.
He ran a hand down the back of her head much as one would tenderly stroke a child. “Be careful what
you wish for, my love.” He cocked his head, beckoning to her to follow him. “It is time to eat and then
rest. You did not eat breakfast, and I cannot have you getting sick.”
As tempting as it was to scream “Fuck you!” to his retreating back, she feared his reaction to such
dissidence enough to follow him back to the pink room. The porridge had been removed, replaced by
a sandwich and a bottle of water, and more fruit. She sat on the bed, her eyes boring a hole in his back
as he went to leave.
“Is she okay?”
He paused, then swiveled. “She will recover.”
“How could you do that to her?”
“Me?” He pointed to himself. “I didn’t do anything to her, my queen. You did.”
He gave her another sinister smile, then left, the click of the lock a knife to her heart. Alone, the
woman’s screams echoed through her head, the way her body had contorted and shaken, the sound
she’d made as she’d slumped to the floor. How still she’d been, even when he’d thrown her over his
shoulder as if she were a lump of meat.
And she’d made that happen by refusing his command to play.
It wouldn’t happen again. If her obeying his every order kept these women safe, then she wouldn’t
put a foot wrong. Everything he asked her to do, she’d jump to it. In a way, it’d be easier if he
punished her rather than them. But that was his plan, wasn’t it? Whatever fucked-up reasons
motivated him, he’d decided this was how it would be, and all she could do was try to play by the
rules and pray for rescue.
 CHAPTER TWELVE

LORIS ’ S NIGHTS WERE FILLED WITH HAUNTED DREAMS WHERE DESTINY’ S SCREAMS AND PLEAS FOR
help wrenched him from sleep, leaving him exhausted and desperate. Two weeks of dead ends and
still they were no closer to finding out who’d taken her.
Two fucking weeks. He couldn’t stand it.
For only the second time in his life, he felt truly helpless. The first had been when his CO had
broken the awful news about Sophia. He’d failed to protect his baby sister from the horrors of true
evil, and now, he’d failed to protect her best friend. Had his bitterness condemned Destiny to a fate
possibly worse than death? Or was she dead already, freed from a living hell at the hands of… who
the fuck knew?
Every lead he’d followed, every contact he’d spoken with, every forlorn shred of hope he’d clung
to had come up with nothing. It was as if she’d disappeared off the face of the earth.
Dutch had left Montford Hall yesterday. There was little point in him hanging around until they
uncovered something concrete that they could act upon, and while Loris had become accustomed to
living alone—coveted it, actually—he found that he missed having the guy around. He wasn’t as close
to Dutch as some of the other Intrepid guys, but the man was a solid presence.
Dawn was still an hour off. Loris trailed downstairs, the hollow quiet of the house and the echoes
of his footsteps down corridors he’d barely noticed until now amplified his isolation. He entered his
study and flicked on the light, sinking into his chair. His eyes stung from lack of sleep, and he couldn’t
remember the last time he’d eaten a hot meal, despite Booth’s best efforts to the contrary. In the end,
his butler had taken to leaving a sandwich on the corner of Loris’s desk and refusing to leave until he
ate it.
He’d done everything to come at this from a different angle, to think outside the box and try to find
clues to her whereabouts in unorthodox ways. The usual investigative techniques had drawn a blank,
so he’d turned to artificial intelligence to throw up some off-the-wall ideas.
For eleven days, he’d had his computer running scripts, looking for clues where there were none,
unusual patterns that might just produce a nugget of information he could seize upon, asking it to
search for coincidences, random acts, natural events, disasters, anything that might deliver the answer
he sought. Some of his requests were outlandish, crazy concepts. Others, more conventional, such as
checking the CCTV at each of her concerts for the last six months for anyone that had attended more
than one event. It wasn’t unheard of for fans to go to several performances, but at least it would
narrow the field down a bit.
But so far, the algorithms he’d written hadn’t thrown up anything. He stared at the reams of code,
despair a heavy weight on his chest. Think. What else could he ask it to search for?
 “Sir.” Booth entered his study, brandishing a tuxedo. “You have to leave shortly.”
Loris frowned, bemused, and then it came to him. Oh, for fuck’s sake. The luncheon at the Duke of
Gloucester’s estate had slipped his mind. It’d been in the diary for weeks. If it were anyone else, he’d
ask Booth to make an excuse, but as this was a charity bash in aid of wounded servicemen and
women, he felt compelled to attend. Perhaps a few hours away from his desk while the computer did
its thing wasn’t such a bad idea. Staring at it and willing the answer to present itself hadn’t worked.
“Can you pack the tux, Booth?”
“Of course, sir. Will you require an overnight bag?”
“No.”
Booth didn’t question the odd request to pack the tux and nothing else. He simply bowed and
backed out of Loris’s study, closing the door after him.
Loris gave the screen a final glance. If he didn’t get a hit from the current scripts running, then
he’d write more preposterous algorithms until one returned a lead. He’d never give up searching for
Destiny. Never. He owed it to her. Finding her and bringing her home safe was his salvation. The last
five years had been hell on earth. If she turned up dead, he’d voluntarily hand his soul over to Lucifer
and accept his fate.
He returned to his suite of rooms and changed into his leathers, then made his way to the garages
at the rear of the house. His Harley CVO stood gleaming next to an array of vehicles that satisfied
Loris’s passion for speed. Cramming a helmet over his head, he fastened the strap, tied the suit bag on
the back, and kick-started the engine. As the seat vibrated beneath him, a rare smile pulled at his lips.
As he tore down the winding country lanes, the noise he hadn’t succeeded in quieting since he
heard the news of Destiny’s abduction dulled. God, he needed this. Freedom, risk, danger, the feel of
the wind whipping past as he weaved through the traffic, the need to blow away the cobwebs before
his legendary calm vanished and he put his fist through the wall, which, considering Montford’s walls
were two feet thick, wasn’t a stellar idea.
Arriving at the duke’s enormous estate—one that even dwarfed Montford—in full leathers would
draw a few raised eyebrows from aristocrats who thought that turning up to an event in anything less
than a Bentley counted as slumming it. He fucking loved it when they looked down their aquiline
noses at him as if he’d trailed shit from his shoe across the Axminster.
Rolls-Royces, Bentleys, and Maybachs were parked like soldiers outside Alexander’s home.
Chauffeurs hung around, grabbing a sly smoke and probably bitching about their unreasonable
employers. They turned, synchronized, at the growl his Harley made as he rolled it to a stop. He
dismounted, grabbed the tux off the back, and jogged up the stone steps to where Alexander’s butler
waited with a glass of champagne. Good man didn’t even bat an eyelid at Loris’s attire. The same
couldn’t be said for Lady Helena Sutton, a distant relative of Alexander’s, whose jaw popped as he
sauntered past her, leathers creaking, tux slung over his shoulder.
“Earl Winslow, this is hardly becoming of a gentleman.”
Jesus, the aristocrats of this nation needed a colonic to remove the poles from their arses. Their
idea of suffering was finding out they had to eat Hackleback caviar instead of Beluga. This, right here,
was why he holed up at Montford and only “peopled” when forced into it.
“A pleasure, as always, Lady Sutton.”
He swept by her and ducked into the downstairs cloakroom. He quickly changed, and with as
much enthusiasm as volunteering to have his balls waxed, he went in search of Alexander.
He lasted a torturous forty-five minutes making small talk with people who were so wrapped up
in their own sense of self-importance that they refused to acknowledge there was a whole screwed-up
world outside their privileged lifestyle. He kept seeing Destiny’s face, the way she’d implored him
with her eyes to help, and how he’d dismissed her with a viciousness she hadn’t deserved.
Shame it had taken her abduction for him to wake the fuck up. When he brought her home—and he
would, or die trying—he’d sit her down and apologize for his heinous behavior, not just after
Sophia’s murder, but also for his more recent conduct. If ghosts existed, then Sophia would’ve
haunted the shit out of him these last five years for the way he’d treated her best friend. Loris couldn’t
remember a time when Destiny hadn’t been a part of his life, and yet he’d ostracized her at the very
time he should’ve pulled her close.
Sometimes, he’d lain awake at night, the longing for her so fierce that he’d struggled to breathe. If
only he’d allowed her to comfort him. That might have been the catalyst for her to realize they were
meant to be together. Instead, he’d shunned her and thrown himself into building Intrepid as a way to
overcome his grief. And look where that had gotten him. Sure, he had a successful company that he
was proud of, and he’d achieved his mission statement of providing high-quality bodyguards to those
in the public eye, but it wasn’t enough. Strange how a tragedy often opened one’s eyes to the truth.
He changed back into his leathers and was halfway to the exit when Alexander caught up to him.
“Oh, Loris, you’re not leaving already, surely? I had a bet that you’d last more than an hour.”
Loris chuckled, clapping the man on the back. “Sorry, old buddy. I’m sure you can carry the loss.
Write it off against your taxes.” His watch buzzed, and he lifted the sleeve on his leather jacket.
Fuck. Jesus Christ Almighty. The computer had a hit.
“Shit. I have to go, Alexander.”
He heard his friend call out something, but he was already sprinting toward his bike. He mounted
it, fired up the engine, and gunned down the driveway.
“Could be nothing, don’t get your hopes up,” he muttered to himself as he broke every speed limit
on the way back to Montford. Despite that, it still took him seventy-two minutes to make the journey.
Leaving the bike out front, he sprinted into the house and burst into his study.
Tearing off his helmet, he dropped it on the floor and pulled his seat closer to his desk. He
scanned the computer screen, scrolling down several pages as he absorbed what the computer had
found.
Could it be… or was it a coincidence?
No, he didn’t believe in coincidences.
He sent the information to the printer, highlighted the names the computer had returned, and typed
the first one into Google. He did the same with the second and the third until he’d been through all
thirteen names.
Dear God, if this was true, then he was onto something far bigger than Destiny’s disappearance. If
he found her, then there was a chance of reuniting twelve other women with their loved ones.
Unless they were already dead. One of the women, Katerina Levchenko, had gone missing more
than two years ago, the longest of all the women. To keep someone against their will for that length of
time took planning and resources. To keep thirteen of them was a whole new level of evil.
The hairs on the back of his neck lifted, his mind struggling to accept that so many women—all
musicians—could possibly disappear without some fucker, anyone, making the connection. Then
again, the women came from all over the world, played in different orchestras, had varying
backgrounds. No one would think to look for such a strange link. He hadn’t. All he’d done was write
a script to search for any kind of pattern. Something of this magnitude was far beyond what he’d
expected the computer to find.
He picked up the phone and called Dutch.
“Get over to Montford. I might be onto something.”
 CHAPTER THIRTEEN

HER CAPTOR KEPT DESTINY IN ISOLATION OTHER THAN WHEN HE’ D ESCORT HER TO THE MUSIC ROOM
and force her to play. Sometimes it was an unknown piece that he provided the music for, but mostly,
he demanded she play Hammerklavier.
And each time she made a mistake, one of the women would suffer. Sometimes it was the electric
chair, other times a beating. Yesterday, he’d dislocated two of Katerina’s fingers, and still forced her
to play.
Every night, the women’s screams as he tortured them came to her in the darkness, cries for help
that she was powerless to provide. The harder she tried to master the Beethoven piece, the more
mistakes she made, resulting in crueler punishments. The fatal error in her assumptions was that if she
did as he asked, the women would be safe, but that was a lie. It was as if he’d decided to break them
physically and break her mentally.
The worst of it? He was succeeding. By treating her differently, he’d divided the group, aligned
her with him. Her fellow captors weren’t her allies. They were her enemies. Oh, not from her point of
view, but from theirs. The bitter resentment with which they looked at her every time she missed a
note, the pleas for clemency they’d utter under their breath, the way they’d slump in their chair when
they realized it was someone else’s turn all contributed to the “them and us” he’d so brilliantly
crafted. She was alone here.
The night terrors gradually increased in frequency until she forced herself to stay awake rather
than relive the horrors of that day. But her exhaustion then caused her to make more mistakes, and
he’d inflict more atrocities on the women, each one doled out in her name.
Destiny forced herself out of bed as another day dawned, the effort to keep herself clean and
civilized growing more and more challenging as time passed. The day after she’d arrived, she’d
begun tearing off little pieces of toilet paper, which she kept in a drawer as a way of marking the
passage of time. There were twenty-two pieces of paper, which meant she’d been here twenty-three
days. More than three weeks and still no signs of rescue. Had the other women gone through the same
thing, determined that they’d survive, that they’d be found and rescued? At what point had they given
up and faced facts? A month? Six months? A year?
What would her breaking point be?
There were no mirrors in her room, no way of reminding herself what she looked like, and while
she’d never been one of those women who paid that much attention to her appearance, too wrapped
up in her music to bother very much with makeup or the latest hairstyle, it had started to bother her.
Which made little sense, but then, nothing did here. The usual rules no longer applied. He’d torn them
up and scattered them like leaves on a stiff autumn breeze.
 She missed her mum and her dad, and her friends. She missed her house and chats over the fence
with Mary, her neighbor. She missed lemon muffins from her favorite coffee shop and walks through
the park.
She missed Loris, which was ridiculous, considering she’d managed fine without him for over
five years. Okay, not fine. That was a lie. She’d worked hard to push thoughts of him to the back of
her mind, burying him under the weight of a busy life. But here, with so much time on her hands and
the hopelessness of her situation emerging with startling clarity, he’d become her lifeline, something
good to cling to. Her beacon of hope.
After discarding her pink nightgown for the equally pink dress, she gazed out the window at the
familiar sight of waves crashing against the rocks, nature in all her glory showing her might. Apart
from that very first day when she’d made a run for it, she hadn’t been outside. She yearned to feel the
warmth of the sun on her skin, to smell the salty sea spray, to curl her toes into the cool grass, but he
showed no inclination to allow such a thing. Why not? If they truly were on an island, then what was
the harm in allowing them a little freedom? Unless they were positioned on a shipping lane of some
kind and he didn’t want to risk them being seen and perhaps drawing unwanted attention.
Regardless, she’d ask. What harm could it do?
He might punish the others.
She sank to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. Funny how it didn’t take very long to break
the human spirit. Each person thought they’d be strong in the face of adversity, yet the truth of the
matter was that a single man could subdue thirteen women—fourteen if she counted his mother—
when their collective might could easily overpower him.
Wait… that was it. Why hadn’t she thought of this before? All she had to do was convince the
others to help her, and they had a chance of getting off this island and returning to their homes.
Unless… had they already tried that before she’d arrived here, and failed? Regardless, it had to
be worth a conversation at least, which in itself wouldn’t be easy, considering she was only left alone
with the women on their walk back to their rooms and, like the flutist had told her on that first day, the
walls had ears.
She had to try. She owed it to these women to take the lead and find a way to get off this island
and back to those who loved them.
With renewed vigor and purpose, she jumped to her feet, anxious for the door to open and the day
to begin.
 THE COLLECTOR

PRIDE FILLS MY CHEST AS MY QUEEN TAKES HER PLACE AT THE PIANO , A REGAL TILT TO HER CHIN,
spine erect, talented fingers poised on the keys. It has taken her a while to accept the new order of
things, but the past few days, I have noticed a marked shift in her demeanor. An acceptance of her
position in my life.
She is magnificent. Brilliant. Everything I could ever have wished for.
It can’t be easy for her, knowing that each mistake she makes has terrible consequences. But
the path to true greatness is littered with painful lessons. No one improves unless they have truly
suffered, and for Destiny to reach the heights I demand, she, too, must suffer. Success requires
failure, and failure must be punished.
My chest aches for her each time she errs, her eyes widening in horror at what she now
understands is the penalty for the slip. In the beginning, she pleaded with me, begged me not to
carry out the sanction on one of our subjects. Now, she simply accepts her fate—and theirs—with
grace and majesty, patiently waiting until it is over, only to redouble her efforts to succeed the
next time I bring my ensemble together.
Renata would be so proud of all I have achieved. All this is for her, to honor her memory and
her sacrifice. Destiny must master Hammerklavier. She must. It is my salvation, and I will not fail.
A familiar agony ransacks my mind. It is always the same whenever I think of Renata. My
sister hadn’t deserved what happened to her, but then again, neither did I. Life is a cruel beast. Or
rather, the people God created are cruel, especially those expected to care for the children they
brought into the world. I’ve had a gutful of it, and now, it is my turn to mete out punishments.
At least when I punish these women, I have a higher purpose, a true goal in mind.
I close my eyes, letting the music cleanse my soul. Renata’s beautiful face appears before me.
She took it upon herself to protect me fiercely from the bullies who taunted me for something that
wasn’t my fault, and she paid the ultimate price. Even now, all these years later, I can see that day,
as clearly as if it were happening this very second.
The young girls who took such pleasure in kicking my sister to death while a group of older
boys pinned me to a wall, forcing me to watch as her life ebbed away while I struggled and fought
and begged for mercy.
How I cradled her in my arms as she took her last breath.
The taunts from the girls as they ran away, taunts I grew used to hearing as I matured into a
man. I heard them all… Ugly, disgusting, hideous, grotesque.
And then my parents, the very people who should have protected me and kept me from harm,
instead turned on me, doling out the most heinous of punishments. They blamed me for Renata’s
death. One hundred percent my fault. If I wasn’t a freak, a monster, a disfigured, talentless idiot,
then Renata wouldn’t have had to stand up for me against the bullies. Their precious daughter,
their perfect golden child, would still be here, fulfilling her dreams of playing in a symphony
orchestra.
But my parents had forgotten one important fact: children don’t stay children forever.
I paid them back, made them suffer as they’d made me suffer.
And now, through my queen, Renata’s dreams would finally become a reality.
Destiny misses a note. I snap my eyes open, dragging my attention back to the present through
her error. The room falls silent, twelve pairs of eyes cast to the ground, each one hoping I won’t
pick them. Only Destiny keeps her head up, but she doesn’t plead with me for clemency. Not
anymore.
For she knows it won’t come.
 CHAPTER FOURTEEN

LORIS ADMITTED DUTCH TO THE ESTATE AND WAITED BY THE FRONT DOOR FOR HIS CAR TO MAKE ITS
way up the long driveway. Dutch pulled up in front of the house, slewing to a halt. He cut the engine
and exited the vehicle almost before it had come to a complete stop.
“What have you found?”
“My study.”
Loris spun on his heel and strode into the house. He closed the door and gestured for Dutch to take
the seat opposite, then skirted around his desk and sat.
Dutch lowered his huge frame into the chair, his knee bouncing up and down. “Well?”
Loris steepled his fingers and laid them on his desk. “You know that I wrote a bunch of scripts
that were designed to search the net for, well, anything, really.”
“Yup. You said you didn’t hold out much hope, but without any real leads and the Met police
doing fuck all, anything was worth a try.”
“Correct. Well, today, the computer returned something. And it’s fucking interesting.”
He pushed the piece of paper containing the names of the thirteen musicians who’d all
disappeared in the last two-plus years across the desk.
Dutch dragged it toward him, his eyes scanning left to right as he read.
“Katerina Levchenko. I recognize that name. Destiny mentioned her. She plays violin, I think. Or
rather, played, before she came under fire for speaking out against the Russian government.”
“That was the story that went around at the time, so I’ve read. Recognize any of the others?”
Dutch shook his head. “Classical music really isn’t my thing.” He smiled a little. “Destiny used to
try to convert me, but it was hopeless.”
“Mine either. And Sophia tried the same thing.”
Loris tapped a nail on the paper. “Every one of these women is a classical musician, all from
different parts of the world. Every one of these women plays a different instrument. And every one of
these women has vanished.”
Dutch’s eyes flared. “You’re kidding me?”
“Nope.”
“But… if that’s true, why aren’t the police jumping all over this? Why aren’t other law
enforcement agencies in the countries these women come from looking as well?”
Loris shrugged. “Lack of resources, international hostilities, ignorance, a general malaise to put in
the work. There could be myriad reasons why. And before you ask, I checked with a contact at
Interpol. No open case.”
“Jesus.” Dutch ran his fingers through his hair. “So you’re telling me that some freak out there has
created his own personal orchestra and is holding these women who the fuck knows where? Like a
freakish collector of talented musicians.”
“That’s what the evidence points to.” He leaned forward. “This is good news, Dutch.”
“You think?” He snorted.
“When I first looked up Katerina Levchenko and saw that she went missing over two years ago,
my first thought was that she must be dead. But then, as I uncovered all these other women and
realized they’d been abducted at different times over the past two years, and from different parts of
the world, I came to the conclusion that this isn’t a kidnap and murder situation.”
He picked up a stray paperclip. “He’s chosen these women specifically for their talents as
musicians. Which means there’s a very good chance that Destiny is alive.”
“But where is he holding them?”
Loris twisted his lips to the side. “That I don’t know yet.”
“So what’s the plan?”
“I’ve concluded that this guy is rich. He has to be in order to pull this off, to sneak into these
different countries and snatch these women, or he paid someone to deliver them to wherever he is,
which means—”
“Everyone leaves a trail.”
Loris pointed his finger at Dutch. “Bingo.”
“Do we take this to the police?”
Loris shook his head. “I don’t have enough evidence yet. This is all circumstantial, and while it’s
compelling, we need more. Plus, if we get law enforcement involved, they’ll slow us down. I have a
few contacts who can help us gather more intel.”
“What can I do? Investigative grunt work is beyond my skill set, but I’d still like to be involved.”
“I’m going to come at this from two angles. One is old-fashioned detective work, which involves
trawling through CCTV, piecing together the women’s movements before they disappeared, looking
into their backgrounds. Friends, family, ex-boyfriends. That kind of thing. That’s what you can help
with. I’ll put you in touch with a couple of private detectives I’ve worked with in the past. They’re
good guys, and this is their bread and butter.”
“And the other angle?”
“I have a friend who sends satellites into orbit for the private sector. Communication devices and
the like. I’m going to ask him to run some facial recognition software against his satellite images
starting on the day Destiny disappeared, to see if we can pick her up anywhere. It won’t be quick, and
it’s a long shot, but it has to be worth a try.”
“Are they detailed enough to do that?”
“These days, yeah. For years, the military had access to perfect satellite images that they used to
their advantage in wars and the like, but huge strides in technology means that private businesses can
launch their own satellites. A lot are media companies, but more and more businesses are using them
for a variety of reasons. Because they’re smaller, they’re a lot more affordable.”
“Must be like the M25 up there.”
“Pretty much.”
Anxious to get on with it now that he had a potential lead, Loris jerked his chin toward the door to
let Dutch know the meeting was over.
Dutch read the room, stood, and stuck out his hand. “Thank you, man. I owe you.”
“No, you don’t. I owe you, and I owe Destiny.” The words stuck in his throat, weighed down with
guilt. “I shouldn’t have—”
 “Forget it. What’s done is done. Let’s just focus on finding her and, if you’re right, finding these
other women, too.”
Loris dipped his chin. “Copy that.”
He put in calls to the private detectives and gave them Dutch’s contact info, then reached out to
his contact at Spire Inc., a privately owned communications company based in New York.
Jonathan Spire, the CEO, was an old friend of his father’s, and as soon as Loris briefed him, he
vowed to get right on it.
His hopes were pinned on one of these two lines of inquiry coming up trumps, and soon.
The idea of Destiny at the mercy of a man who’d snatched at least thirteen women and gotten
away with it turned his stomach. She must be in hell.
And he was the man who’d put her there.
Once he brought her home, he’d beg for her forgiveness.
But it’d be a long time before he’d ever forgive himself.

“It’s been a week, Jonathan. How long is this going to take?”

A wry chuckle came over the phone line.
“Do you have any idea how much data is collected by my satellites each day, let alone four
weeks’ worth? They circle the earth once every ninety minutes. That’s a lot of shit to search through,
even by automated means.”
Loris palmed his neck, feeling the knots in his muscles. He rolled his head, stretching out the
ligaments and tendons.
Every minute Destiny was at the mercy of her abductor was a minute too fucking long.
“Is there any way to speed it up?”
“Yeah. Travel into the future when we have better tech.”
Loris sighed. His patience was running thin with no one to take his ire out on. But when he caught
up with the bastard who’d taken Destiny, he’d have an outlet for his anger.
“I hear you. Just call me as soon as you know anything.”
“Oh, that’s what you want me to do? Here I was thinking I’d just sit on it for a while.”
“I’m flipping you the bird, just in case you’re interested.”
Jonathan laughed. “So that’s what the pain in my ass is.”
“Fuck you.”
Loris hung up, a hint of a smile pulling at his lips. His father had always spoken so highly of
Jonathan Spire, and it was easy to see why. He was a great contact to have, and if anyone could come
up with the goods, it was him.
Restless, he changed into athletic gear and went for a run. Criss-crossing the land, he found
himself on a path he didn’t take very often, one that led him out to the lake.
Had to be the fact that Destiny was constantly on his mind that brought him here.
He stopped to catch his breath, his gaze shifting to the island in the middle of the expanse of
water.
Sophia was buried on that island, a place of peace and tranquility that could only be visited by
boat.
 When she’d died, he’d often row over there and sit beside her grave for hours at a time, talking to
her and telling her about his plans for Intrepid. How he was determined that no one else would ever
go through what she had because the protective forces they’d hired to keep them safe had fucked up
royally.
Filled with an urge to talk to her that he hadn’t felt in a while, he untethered the boat and rowed
across to the island.
His staff who tended to the estate were forbidden from visiting, and in his absence, nature had
been left to her own devices, with overgrown shrubs, wildflowers left to roam, and weeds running
out of control.
Not that Sophia would care.
She’d always preferred the more natural habitat than the regimented borders and closely mowed
lawns of the majority of Montford.
Maybe he’d leave it like this, an homage to his beloved baby sister.
He picked a few wildflowers and brought them to his nose to smell their sweet scent. Dropping to
a crouch, he laid them in front of Sophia’s headstone.
“Hey, sis. So listen. I fucked up.”
He could almost hear her now.
“Don’t be silly, Loris. You never make mistakes. You’re the coolheaded one of the family. I’m the
hothead.”
She had been, too.
Friends of the family had often joked with his father that he’d brought the wrong child home from
the hospital. Winslows were calm, always in control, and thought through problems before taking
action.
Sophia had been the complete opposite. Fiery, rash, and she’d made decisions on the fly,
oftentimes with disastrous consequences.
God, he missed her.
Even now, more than five years on from her murder, he struggled to acknowledge that he’d never
again see the way her eyes lit up when she smiled or hear her sing with the voice of an angel.
Never get to laugh at her terrible jokes.
Never again be able to tickle her until she begged for mercy.
His love for her would never die, but somehow, he had to find a way to put his anger behind him.
That suppressed rage at losing her precious light had driven him to turn Destiny away when she’d
needed him, and his denial had put her right in the path of a zealot.
If Sophia were here now, she’d leave him with no doubt about what she thought of his behavior.
Then again, if Sophia were here now, his relationship with Destiny might be on a very different
footing.
Yeah, right. She wasn’t interested in you then, or now.
“I’ll bring her home.”
He traced the gold lettering on the headstone with his fingertip.
“I promise, if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll bring her home, the way I couldn’t for you.”
He eased to his feet, gave Sophia’s resting place a final lingering look, and climbed back into the
boat.
Halfway across the lake, his phone rang. He set the oars inside the boat and plucked the phone
from his pocket.
“Winslow.”
“It’s Jonathan. I’ve had a hit.”
 CHAPTER FIFTEEN

THE SCREAMS WERE GETTING LOUDER, BUZZING INSIDE DESTINY’ S HEAD , AND BEHIND HER EYES WAS
the women’s terror, their full-body tremors and rasping breaths playing on a loop. A horror movie she
was forced to watch over and over again.
Curled up on the bed in that damned pink room, she clamped her hands over her ears to drown out
the noise. But that would only work if the noise was coming from outside. How could she shut it off if
the screams were on the inside?
She’d tried to talk to the girl closest to her as they’d lined up to leave the music room again today
but had been met with a stony silence. They all despised her, and she couldn’t blame them. They
suffered for her missteps. She was getting better at Hammerklavier, but still, the mistakes kept
coming, and so did the unspeakable punishments.
The ease with which their captor meted out torture shocked her to her core. She knew that evil
existed in the world. Hell, Loris had come home on leave with horrific stories of war, but hearing
about evil—even Loris’s cleansed versions—and witnessing evil were two very different
experiences. Even if she escaped this place, she’d never be the same again. The trauma would live
with her for a lifetime, but that paled in comparison to the suffering of her fellow captives.
There had to be a way off this island. They were all well fed and watered, which meant either
provisions were delivered here—which she doubted—or he traveled to pick up what was needed.
The latter was far more likely. She couldn’t see how he’d allow his mother to leave the island to go
shopping. From what Destiny had observed, she was as much a prisoner as they all were.
She climbed off the bed and paced, shooting the occasional glance to the corner of the room his
mother had alerted her to that very first day where, she believed, the camera was buried in the wall.
Or one of the cameras. Was he watching her right now? Did he watch all the women? What was he
hoping to see? What was his end goal? He couldn’t keep them here for the rest of their lives.
Could he?
She padded over to the door and pressed her ear against it. Out of habit, or maybe hope, she
turned the knob. Locked. She listened for any sounds, but the hallway was silent, as always, the
women having filed back to their unlocked rooms like the well-trained captives they were. It was as
if they’d been brainwashed and even if an escape route presented itself, they’d return to their rooms
anyway.
Well, not her. She’d stopped begging him for clemency long ago when her pleas had fallen on deaf
ears and the faint curve to his lips had sent a message that he enjoyed hearing her pleading. After that
first horrific day, she’d obeyed his every demand. But she hadn’t given up fighting, and she never
would.
The lock to her room rattled, and Destiny shot off the bed to an upright position, swinging her legs
onto the floor. His mother entered with dinner, as was the routine, but tonight she was alone.
This is new.
Usually, he came with his mother, and after she left, he’d stay to watch Destiny eat like some
creeper and talk to her about music, as if she gave a damn about his opinion or his thoughts on the
matter. But she’d play along, the goal of escape driving every action. She’d smile and nod and even
ask him the odd question. But each time she tried to stray from the topic of music, he’d answer a
question she hadn’t asked and draw the conversation in a direction of his choosing.
The plate clinked as his mother set it on the bedside table, eyes cast down, as was her normal
demeanor.
“All alone tonight?”
His mother didn’t respond. Not that Destiny had expected her to. She turned to leave.
“Has he gone to the nearest mainland or a bigger island to get supplies?”
A slight stiffening of her shoulders gave her away. Destiny’s heart beat faster. So he had left the
island. A frisson of hope trickled down her spine. If it was only the mother here, then maybe she
could overpower her, knock her out or something.
No, if she did that, then he’d punish the mother. She knew it. And his mother had suffered enough.
Maybe she could pick the lock and try to find a way off the island while he was gone.
“Why don’t you escape? When he leaves, I mean?”
His mother pivoted. She met Destiny’s gaze and gave a despondent shake of her head as if to say,
“There is no escape.” She drew a heart shape around her face, then pointed at Destiny and smiled.
And then she left.
Destiny dug her fingers into her temples and let out a frustrated scream. This was the first time
he’d left the island in the four weeks she’d been here. Four weeks and two days, to be precise. A
month. Which, she guessed, meant that he wouldn’t leave again for another month.
She couldn’t wait that long.
Ignoring the meal of turkey slices and root vegetables on the table, she crouched in front of the
door. With any luck, he watched them live rather than recording any feed from their rooms, so he
wouldn’t see her attempt at an escape. But how did she pick a lock without any experience or tools?
Shame she didn’t have a bobby pin. She’d watched enough TV programs and films where the
protagonist had used something like that to pick locks. How hard could it be?
She strode into the bathroom and scanned the sparse space. Nothing useful here, either.
Goddammit. Returning to the door, she gripped the knob and—
Oh my God!
It opened.
His mother must’ve forgotten to lock it after she left. Or… had she left it open on purpose? No,
she wouldn’t have done that. She was probably too terrified of reprisals to disobey him, and he likely
didn’t trust Destiny enough yet to leave her door open like he did with the others. Or perhaps he kept
her locked away for her own safety. Or punishment. Who knew? The man was unbalanced. There was
no logic to his behavior.
Heart in her throat, she dared to open the door and venture into the hallway. Shutting it behind her,
she walked a few feet, then stopped outside one of the other rooms. She lifted her hand to knock. This
could be her opportunity to gather allies, to make them listen to her without fear of him overhearing
their conversation. But something stopped her. What if he was in the house and they screamed? Then
he’d discover what his mother had done, and she’d lose her chance to get help.
Best to leave them sleeping until she found a phone, or another way off this godforsaken island.
Skirting the wall, she hurried along the thickly carpeted hallway, passing the door that led down
to the music room. From what she’d seen, that was the only room down there, and no phone.
Small lights buried into the skirting boards provided enough illumination for her to see where she
was going. She didn’t dare turn on the main lights. Sending several furtive glances behind her, she
tried every door she came to. Most of the rooms were empty save for a couple of odd pieces of
furniture. And no goddamn phone.
She came across the kitchen, the one where he’d tended her knee that first day. There wasn’t a
landline, but maybe he kept a mobile phone or a radio in a drawer. She opened the first one, holding
her breath in case it squeaked. She felt around inside. Empty. She tried the next. Also empty.
Come on. Come on.
There had to be something useful here. A knife or a corkscrew that she could use as a weapon.
Her fingers closed around a long, heavy tube. A torch!
Please work. Please work.
She pressed the button on the side. It came on.
Okay. Good. Breathe. It’s fine. You’re fine.
She might not have found a phone, but she could use this. She slipped outside, taking a deep,
cleansing breath of the salty ocean spray. With no idea what she was looking for, she tracked around
the entire house. On all sides, the jagged cliffs fell away to the sea, and the house was the only
structure on the entire island. No outbuildings or barns or sheds.
How are you coming and going, you fucking freak?
She turned back toward the house. Her foot caught on something, and she stumbled and fell.
Rolling onto her back, she shined the torch at what had tripped her. A large metal ring lay flush with
the ground.
A trapdoor?
It had to be.
Her pulse raced. God, could this be it? The way out? She fired a glance over her shoulder. The
house remained dark. Blowing out a breath between pursed lips, she gripped the ring and pulled. The
trapdoor opened without a squeak.
She peered into the hole. A set of wooden stairs with open slats led underground. With a final
look back at the house, she shined the torch inside and tiptoed down.
Her heart thudded against her rib cage, and despite the chill underground, sweat dripped between
her shoulder blades. Move, Destiny. At any moment, he could return and find her down here.
The tunnel split in two. She picked the left one. The ceiling lowered and the walls grew narrower.
She rounded a corner and stuttered to a halt, faced with a wooden door with black hinges and a latch
with a heavy metal ring on it. She gripped the ring and opened the door.
She shined the torch inside.
A scream tore from her throat, and she stumbled backward, striking her shoulder on the door
frame.
“Dear God Almighty.”
Breathe. Just breathe.
 A naked, emaciated man was strapped to a chair, leather cuffs around his ankles and his forearms
holding him in place. Stumps were where his hands should have been, both his shoulders were
devoid of skin, the muscle and sinew open to the elements, and his head was shaved, the scalp cut to
ribbons. She could count every single one of the man’s ribs as they stuck through his papery skin. His
head hung low, and his eyes appeared to be closed, although it was difficult to see from this angle.
He moaned. She crept toward him, pushing her terror at getting caught to the back of her mind.
“Sir.”
Her fingers trembled as she placed a hand on his forearm. He flinched at her touch. “Who did this
to you?”
His only reply was another moan.
“I’m going to get help, okay?” No idea how, but her bid for freedom had become a matter of life
and death. His, and hers. And the women on this island. A man who could torture another human like
this hadn’t a shred of humanity in his soul. How his heart continued to beat was a miracle.
“I’ll save you. I promise.”
A light overhead came on, and a cold voice uttered, “My queen. I see you’ve met my father.”
 CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“F- FATHER?” DESTINY’ S HEAD SWIVELED FROM THE CREEPY MASKED MAN WHO ’ D BEEN HER CAPTOR
for more than four weeks to this pathetic creature strapped to a chair and tortured to the verge of
death. “Wh-what?”
“This man—” Her captor made a flippant hand gesture. “No, not man. This animal is responsible
for my presence on this earth.”
Adrenaline triggered by shock and terror coursed through her veins. He was the animal. He’d
savaged this man. He’d cut out his mother’s tongue. He’d abducted and terrorized thirteen innocent
women, and for what?
“Why are you doing this?”
“Ah, that’s quite the story. Are you sure you’re ready to listen?”
The man groaned. His son moved behind him and ran a hand over his bald head in an almost
tender touch. He leaned over him, his lips brushing the man’s ear, but his eyes were on her.
“Shall we tell her, Papa? Shall we tell her what you did to your only son?”
“Please…” she whispered. “Please let me call for help.”
A laugh gurgled in his throat. “And spoil my fun? Now why would you want to do that?”
“You’re torturing him.”
“I’m getting justice!” For a second, the calm demeanor he’d shown throughout her captivity
deserted him. His lips thinned as he paced around the chair. “When I was fourteen, my sister was
kicked to death right in front of me.”
Destiny gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh God.”
“Most parents would comfort their remaining child after they’d suffered such a terrible trauma.
Protect them. Watch over them, knowing how fragile life was. But not mine.” He’d moved behind the
man again. “Not you, hey, Papa?” He gripped the man’s shoulders, where the muscle and sinew were
exposed. Destiny flinched at his raw cry of agony.
This couldn’t be happening. There had to be a way to stop this, to get this man the help he so
desperately needed. The door to the cell was wide open. She could make a run for it. But even as she
had the thought, she dismissed it. He was faster, stronger than her, and he’d know these tunnels far
better than she did.
“You see, because of the disfigurement I was born with, my parents always treated me differently.
It wasn’t my fault, but they hated me for it anyway. Renata, though, she was so beautiful, so perfect, so
talented. A musician, like yourself. A pianist who would rival the greats one day. They put all their
time and energy and vast wealth into making her the best she could be.”
He released his father, moving closer to her. She backed up, reaching a hand behind her, meeting
only thin air.
“When Renata died, they blamed me for her death. She was sticking up for me, standing up to
bullies who’d made me the target of their viciousness for years. But rather than love and protect and
console me, they beat and tortured and punished me. The day she died was the last day I attended
school. When you’re wealthy, it is easy to make a child disappear without alerting the authorities.”
Jabbing a finger at his father, he glowered. “He would attach electrodes to my genitals while she
egged him on with that cruel tongue of hers. He would break my bones and leave them to heal on their
own while she stood by, laughing. He would starve me for days while she ate heartily right in front of
me. The list goes on and on. Don’t feel sorry for them, my queen. They don’t deserve your empathy.”
No, but maybe he did. What his parents put him through horrified her. How could they do that to
an innocent child? That such cruelty existed in the world caused nausea to amass in her stomach. But
that didn’t change the fact that he was doing the same thing to innocent women. Torturing them, hurting
them, keeping them away from their loved ones.
And none of this explained why he’d abducted her and the others. Why he forced her to play
Hammerklavier over and over. Why he punished the others but not her.
Keep him talking.
“I’m so sorry.”
He stared off into the distance, carrying on as if she hadn’t spoken at all. “Renata was so
beautiful. So special. She played piano with the grace of an angel. She had dreams of joining a
symphony orchestra, like you, of hearing the crowds rise to their feet and applaud her brilliance.”
He came to stand in front of Destiny. She took a step back.
“She loved the color pink. She made Father decorate her room in pink, and she’d wear it
whenever she could.”
That explained his obsession with the color pink.
Reaching out, he caressed a lock of Destiny’s hair. She steeled herself not to flinch.
“She looked… like you. Same warm caramel hair, same luminous amber eyes, same incredible
talent, same kind heart.” He smiled thinly. “She could be you. If life weren’t so cruel, she would have
been you.”
His confession penetrated her fear with startling clarity. Oh God. That was the reason he’d taken
her. Because she reminded him of his sister. He was trying to bring a woman back from the dead. She
wrung her hands.
“So the orchestra is for her, to honor her memory?”
“Yes.”
She blinked. “And Hammerklavier?”
“Ah… she tried so hard to master it, and failed. There wasn’t enough time. But you, my queen,
you will master it. You will succeed where she didn’t.”
She jerked her head back. “No. I can’t.”
“Do not worry, my queen. Have faith. We have all the time in the world.”
Her stomach clenched. God help me. He planned to keep her here forever. Bile burned her throat,
the taste as vile as this man’s soul. She had to get off this island, to get help for the others and even
for his parents, although what they did to their son was unspeakable. It was up to the authorities to
deal with them and hold them accountable for their crimes.
“Why do you punish them?” She swallowed. “The women, I mean? Why punish them for my
mistakes?”
He canted his head to the side. “You don’t remember me, do you? Why would you? Our encounter
was fleeting, and I wasn’t wearing a mask that day.” He crossed his arms and paced around his father.
“I saw you play, at the Royal Albert Hall, a few years ago. I was in awe of your talent. I hung around
backstage to speak with you. You were kind to me.”
He pointed at the mask. “Behind here, I’m a monster, but you didn’t see a monster. You saw a
man. Women, they don’t see a man. They jibe and taunt and laugh at me. But you’re different. You’re
her. You’re perfect, just like she was.”
Nausea circled her gut. This was all her fault. Not just the suffering of these women for her
mistakes at the piano, but also the entire reason they’d been brought here. She searched her mind,
trying to recall that night at the Royal Albert Hall. She’d met with many people after the show. No one
had stood out. Except…
A memory rushed her. There had been a man. He’d hovered in the background as she’d shaken
hands and posed for photographs for what had felt like hours. And then she’d noticed him watching
her and had wandered over to talk to him. Yes! She remembered thinking afterward that he’d looked
as if he’d been wearing prosthetics. She’d seen actors do that on stage when they needed to achieve a
certain look. She’d spent maybe two or three minutes speaking to him about the show, and then she’d
gone home and never given him a second thought.
And all this time, he’d… he’d waited in the wings for the perfect moment.
“Women, they don’t see a man. They jibe and taunt and laugh at me.”
She hadn’t. She’d shown him kindness, given him attention, spent time with him.
It all made sense now. He’d created an orchestra to honor his dead sister and used Destiny’s
failure to master Hammerklavier as grounds to punish women for ridiculing him. It didn’t matter that
these women weren’t guilty. It was all women he took issue with. All women… except her. Because
she looked like his sister, played the same instrument as his sister, lived a life he’d wanted for his
sister. And one time, she’d shown him a sliver of kindness.
A faint vibrating sound interrupted her thoughts. He moved his shirt cuff and looked at his wrist.
His eyes peeled wide.
“No. That’s not possible.” He grabbed her hand. “Move. Now.”
Hauling her behind him, he strode into the tunnel and slammed the door to his father’s prison cell.
The latch clicked into place with a finality that almost stopped her heart. Something was wrong.
Terribly wrong.
“What’s happening?”
He ignored her, moving faster, forcing her to run to keep up with him. She stumbled and almost
fell, saved only by his viselike grip on her wrist. He yanked on her arm, and she cried out.
“Please, you’re hurting me.”
His hold loosened, but still he dragged her along. They reached the steps that led to ground level.
He let go of her wrist and shoved her in the back.
“Go.”
She stumbled up the steps with him right behind. Her heart pounded against her rib cage. She
neared the top and—
God. Could she? It might be her only chance. But if she failed…
She whipped around and brought up her knee, ramming the sole of her foot into his chest. He fell
backward, the crack of his skull against the concrete zipping through her. She stared down at him. He
wasn’t moving.
Springing up the rest of the stairs, she emerged into the inky night. With a scream, she heaved the
trapdoor into place.
 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Fifty-Two Hours Earlier…

THE SOUND OF DUTCH’ S HEAVY BOOTS POUNDING THROUGH MONTFORD ’ S HALLOWED HALLWAY LIFTED
Loris’s head from the satellite images Jonathan had emailed to him several hours ago. As much as his
instincts had urged him to get on a plane and rescue Destiny from the clutches of a fucking madman,
this extraction required a solid strategy and a detailed plan. If they went off half-cocked, Destiny’s
life, and the lives of those other women this fucker had abducted, could be at risk.
Dutch shouldered his way into Loris’s study. “What’ve you found?”
Jerking his chin at the chair opposite, Loris pushed the photographs across the desk. “These
images were taken two days after she disappeared.”
Picking up the one closest to him, Dutch narrowed his eyes. “And you think this is her? Image is
blurry as fuck.”
“It’s her. Facial recognition software confirms it.”
“God.” Dutch palmed his neck. “Where is she?”
“It’s a privately owned island in the Med. Southeast of the Greek islands, close to Crete.”
“Who owns it?”
“Ah, that’s the million-dollar question.” Loris twisted his lips. “It was purchased through several
shell companies. No way of identifying the owner.”
“You’re fucking joking?” When Loris shook his head, Dutch snorted. “That can’t be legal.”
“It’s perfectly legal.”
“Well, it damn well shouldn’t be.” Dutch tossed the pictures away in disgust. “We’re going in to
get her, right? Like, now?”
“We are, but not now.”
“What is this? Comedy bloody Central?”
Loris motioned with his hands, palms down. “Chill. A search and rescue mission like this
requires planning. The island is a bugger to get to with vicious currents and only one landing point
that I’ve identified as safe based on the satellite images I have, and we can’t exactly helicopter in.”
“Why not?” Dutch held up his hand. “Strike that. We don’t know what this guy is capable of.”
“Exactly. He could have the place rigged with explosives, or a plan to shoot his captives if he’s
found, or a hundred other unknowns. He’s planned this for a long time, and he’s gotten away with it,
too. Until now. And as he’s had Destiny for a month, it’s best if he continues to think like that. We
need to tread carefully.”
“Can we get any live images?”
“My contact is working on it, but that’s a little trickier. He’ll have to call in partners, and that
takes time.”
“Which we haven’t got.”
“I’m not sure live images would give us any more than these have. It’s not as if the island will
have moved in the last month. We know she’s there, so we mount a rescue plan, and then we go get
her.”
Dutch planted his palms on Loris’s desk, his upper torso leaning forward in a sign of urgency.
“Then let’s plan.”

It took two days to get everything in place and have boots on the ground in Kythira, a small Greek
island not too far from Crete. The island where Destiny was being held was ten miles southeast of
here, reachable only by boat.
Loris stood in the center of the room and locked eyes with the six men he’d handpicked for this
mission, each of them highly trained former military search and rescue operatives. For him, the key
thing was to find Destiny alive and well and bring her home.
Once they’d captured the perp and secured the women’s safety, he’d call in the Greek authorities
and go from there. The authorities would be pissed that Loris had carried out this mission on their
soil without their involvement, but tough shit. He knew all too well how these things went down: if
they alerted the authorities, they’d spend days, if not weeks, bogged down in red tape while their
evidence was combed through with all the urgency of a snail.
“Hawke, you take the lead on B team. Dutch, you’re with me. From what I’ve witnessed on the
satellite images, there doesn’t seem to be a path or a set of steps leading from the landing site up to
the house, but they could be hidden behind one of the outcrops of rocks. We won’t know until we get
there and can search properly.”
He’d been over the entire plan with the team already, and he trusted every one of these men with
his life, but reiterating the details wouldn’t hurt.
“No fuckups, gentlemen. Women’s lives are at stake. Are we clear on the plan?”
“Clear,” repeated six voices.
“Everyone clued in on their responsibilities?”
“Yes.”
“Yup.”
“Roger.”
“Copy that.”
Loris gave a curt nod. “Then let’s go.”
A mile out from the island, they cut the engine and rowed the rest of the way in. The landing site, a
small inlet with a pebbled beach, lay to the east. As they approached, Loris glanced up at the sheer
cliff face. Moonlight glinted off the rock, shiny with algae and moss. That’d make for an interesting
climb. There had to be a better way off this island, but satellite images weren’t detailed enough to
spot it. Once they got on land, they could recon the entire island and see if there was a safer route out.
Three of them pulled the boat up onto the shoreline and secured it. After a hushed conversation
with the team, they set up their climbing equipment and began the climb up the cliff face. It took forty-
five minutes for them all to make it to the top. Staying in the shadows, they crouched behind a hedge
to regroup. Light shone from a couple of windows in the house, but most of the building was in
complete darkness.
Loris checked his watch. 1:05 a.m. Right on time. He drew his weapon, and the rest of the team
followed suit. He gestured to the rear of the house. One by one, B team broke cover, darting across
the vast lawn. They disappeared around the side and vanished from view.
Hawke’s voice sounded in Loris’s ear. “Clear.”
“Wait on my mark.”
“Copy.”
Keeping low, Loris and Dutch sprinted to what appeared to be a front door. He crouched and
examined the lock. Flimsy didn’t even cover it. Then again, given the location of this place, burglars
would hardly swing by on a whim. In five seconds, a click sounded. Holding his breath, Loris opened
the door. It didn’t creak, and no alarms sounded. Lucked out.
“We’re in,” Loris murmured to Hawke. “No alarm. You’re a go.”
“Roger.”
With panther-like stealth that belied his size, Loris stole through the house. The place was
enormous with room after room that needed searching.
“Hawke, check in.”
“All clear.”
“Keep moving.”
“Copy.”
They turned a corner into a long, wide hallway with thick carpeting and doors on either side.
Loris turned the knob on the first one, and it opened. He peered into the sparsely furnished room. A
single bed was pushed up against the wall, a thin blanket covering the frame of a woman with blonde
hair. She was fast asleep, her knees tucked to her chest, facing away from him.
Odd. He hadn’t kept the women locked up? Then again, even if he allowed them to roam free,
where the fuck were they going to go?
He eyeballed Dutch. This was tricky. If she woke and screamed, she might alert the guy who’d
kidnapped her, and that was an unknown he could do without. The question of whether the women
were here had been answered. Or one woman, at least. Time to check for the others.
He backed out of the room and signaled for Dutch to try the next door. It was a repeat of the first.
A couple of bits of furniture and a sleeping woman. They checked several more rooms. Same result.
And Destiny wasn’t in any of them.
And then they came across an empty room. But this one wasn’t like the others. It looked like
Barbie had puked all over it. The walls, carpeting, bedding, and curtains were all a putrid pink.
It was also empty, the bed made and unslept in. This had to be Destiny’s room. He could almost
smell her scent. He picked up a pillow and sniffed. Might be guilt messing with his head, but Destiny
had been in this fucking room. He knew it.
Loris circled his finger in the air. Dutch backed into the hallway, and Loris followed.
“Hawke.” He kept his voice low. “Report.”
“All clear.”
“Roger. We found the women. They’re on the first floor and appear unharmed. No sign of Destiny.
Rendezvous.”
“Copy that, boss.”
Loris and Dutch stole along the hallway to head back outside to regroup and come up with a plan
to find the only person he gave a fuck about. And after that, they had to locate this motherfu—
A woman’s scream ripped through the air.
It came from outside the property.
“Go.” Loris shoved at Dutch, and they sprinted for the exit.
 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

DESTINY SPRANG TO HER FEET AS THE SOUND OF A DOOR COMING OFF ITS HINGES REACHED HER. S HE
whipped around toward the house as two huge guys in military gear hurled themselves out of the
house, guns drawn. Her thigh muscles locked, urging her to escape. He must have had guards this
entire time, and now… and now… oh God.
She turned and ran. A pair of strong arms locked around her waist, lifting her clean off the ground.
“Let me go!” She thrashed and kicked. She wouldn’t let them take her. She’d rather die than suffer
the kind of torture he’d put his father through. Had he done it, or had his hired muscle cut off his dad’s
hands and electrocuted his privates?
“Destiny, calm the fuck down. It’s me. It’s Loris.”
Loris? She went limp in his arms. Was she saved? Was it over?
“Dutch is here, too. You’re safe. We’ve got you.”
Her feet touched the cool grass, and she spun around. In the dark, all she’d seen was two
shapeless figures racing toward her with guns. But now, this close, she could make out Loris’s strong
jaw, his aristocratic nose, his eyes, more black than blue in the darkness.
“Loris?” She patted him down, unable to believe he was here. He’d come for her. He’d come for
her! “It’s really you. Is it really you?”
“It’s me.” His voice was all gravel and gruff. “C’mere.” He wrapped burly arms around her and
held her against his chest. He was wearing too much gear for her to hear his heart, but it was there,
beating beneath the surface. No matter how much he hated her for what had happened to Sophia, there
must have still been a sliver of empathy there, a shred of care, a flake of compassion.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.” Not physically, anyway. Emotionally? She couldn’t bear to think about it.
“Sure?” He ran his gaze over her.
“He didn’t harm me.” He kept that for the others.
Dutch muscled in and Loris stepped back. Her cousin hugged her tightly, murmuring comforting
words, his lips in her hair.
“Thank God you’re safe. We’ve been going out of our minds with worry.”
Several more guys appeared from the side of the house, sprinting toward them. “You got her,” one
of them said. “Good stuff.”
She locked eyes with Dutch. “The women. You have to help them.”
“We will. Don’t worry. You’re all safe now.”
“Where is he?” Loris’s tone was all business, the faint husk in his voice when he’d held her gone.
“Where is the fucker?”
 She pointed behind her. “There’s a trapdoor in the ground. I pushed him and he fell. But, oh,
Loris, there’s a man down there. It’s his father.” A sob crawled into her throat. She swallowed it
down. “He needs medical attention. It’s… God, it’s horrific. What he’s done to him. You have to help
him.”
“Is anyone else here?” Loris asked. “Apart from the women and him, and the injured man?”
She nodded. “His mother. She’s in the house.”
Loris’s eyebrows flew up his forehead. “Mother?”
“Jesus Christ,” Dutch muttered. “What kind of fuckedupness is this?”
“It’s complicated,” Destiny said.
“Fuckin’ A.” Dutch shook his head.
“You three.” Loris jabbed his finger at three of his men. “Guard the women’s rooms, but try not to
wake them. It’s better that they sleep for now.”
“First floor,” Hawke relayed to them from his earlier conversation with Loris.
“Copy.” The three men jogged back to the house and disappeared inside.
“Show me where you pushed him.” Loris brushed her arm and she almost leaned in, craving more
of his touch.
She led them both over to the trapdoor. Loris lifted it and pointed his gun into the hole. “You
pushed him here?”
“Yes.” She peered inside. Her captor wasn’t there. “I swear. He was lying right there.” She
pointed to indicate the spot where he’d fallen. “I think he hit his head.”
Loris climbed down into the underground tunnel. “Can’t see any blood or signs of injury.” He
holstered his weapon and held out his hand to her. “It’s a lot to ask, but can you show me where his
father is? You’ll be perfectly safe. Hawke and I will be right there with you.”
She nodded, although the idea of seeing her captor’s father and his horrific injuries again turned
her stomach. Loris could locate him without her, but it might take longer, and from the looks of him, he
was only minutes or hours from death.
Loris set his eyes on Dutch. “I’ll take care of her. You make sure no one comes down here.”
Dutch dipped his chin and gave her arm a squeeze. “Got your six, boss.”
Hawke led the way with Loris bringing up the rear and sandwiching her between the two of them.
As they reached the fork in the tunnels, she called out to Hawke to turn left. She kept expecting to see
her captor, but as they approached his father’s jail cell, there was no sign of him. He hadn’t come out
the trapdoor, which meant he must have taken the tunnel on the right. Maybe that led to the way off this
island.
“There.” She stopped, pointing ahead. “Behind that door.” She hung back, wringing her hands,
taking little sips of air. “I can’t go in there.”
Loris’s warm hands rubbed her arms. “You don’t have to.” His voice was unusually soft, his
mouth so close that his breath lifted her hair. For the second time, an urge to lean against him, to have
him support her both physically and emotionally, overwhelmed her. But that was a dangerous path to
go down. Loris was only being nice to her because of what she’d been through. Once they were back
on British soil, he’d file her right back under persona non grata. An outcast. A pariah to the man
she’d loved since she was a teenager.
Normal service is resumed.
Hawke entered first. “Jesus, fuck. Christ Almighty.” Loris followed, a sharp hiss of breath his
only reaction. She was on her own for less than five seconds when he reappeared and took her hand,
leading her away from the room.
 “What’s happening? Aren’t you helping him?”
“I’m getting you out of here. Hawke will stabilize him, if possible, but he’s beyond our help. He
needs proper medical attention.” He grimaced. “We need to alert the authorities.”
“They don’t know you’re here?”
A brief shake of his head was his only response. It wasn’t long before the smell of the sea reached
her and she climbed out of the dark, damp tunnels and into clean, crisp air.
“You weren’t gone long,” Dutch said.
“We need a medevac.” Loris jerked his chin. “It’s time to wake the women and get the fuck off
this island.”
“Any sign of the perp?”
“No.”
“The second tunnel,” Destiny said.
“My thoughts exactly.” Loris pulled out his phone and put several feet between them as he spoke
rapidly into it. Five minutes later, he returned. “Help’s on the way. Destiny, can you go with Dutch
and wake the women? It’ll be good if you’re there. A familiar face. We don’t want to terrify them any
more than necessary.”
“Where are you going?”
“Following that second tunnel. If there’s even a slim chance of lifting this fucker, he’s mine.” He
eyed Ryan. “Watch my six.”
Loris disappeared back inside the tunnel. She watched him go, his absence a bitter chill. She
shivered. Dutch slipped an arm around her waist, hugging her to him.
“I got you. You’re safe.”
She nodded, letting him think she’d shivered from fear. He guided her into the house. She stopped
outside the flutist’s room first. She still didn’t know her name, despite trying to talk to her each time
they’d left the music room.
“Stay here,” Destiny said. “It’s better if I go in alone.”
She slipped inside. The room couldn’t be any more different from where he’d kept Destiny. Bare,
untreated floorboards were underfoot instead of luxurious carpet, and apart from a single bed with a
threadbare blanket, and a three-drawer unit, the room was devoid of furniture.
“Hello,” she whispered, terrified of waking the woman too suddenly and have her scream or hit
out or have a heart attack or something. “Wake up. It’s me, Destiny.” She touched the woman’s
shoulder and shook her as gently as she could. “Wake up.”
The woman stirred, a weary moan sounding in her throat. Her lids fluttered open. As she set eyes
on Destiny, she jerked awake in an instant, scrambling up the bed, horror stealing across her face.
“No. No! Get out. Get out! We’re forbidden from talking to you. He’ll… he’ll punish me.”
“Shh.” Destiny reached for the woman. She plastered herself against the wall, warding Destiny
off with her hands.
“Don’t touch me!”
“It’s okay. You’re safe. There are people here. They’ve come to rescue us.”
“No.” She shook her head violently. “No, it’s a trick.”
“It’s not a trick. I know them. They’re here to save us.” She gripped the woman’s thin fingers and
squeezed. “You’re going home. We’re all going home.”
 CHAPTER NINETEEN

THE CEILING OF THE TUNNEL LOWERED AS LORIS TREKKED THROUGH THE DANK, DARK SPACE, MEANING
he had to crouch to avoid cracking his head against the jagged roof. Moisture dripped down the walls,
the smell of dampness filling his nostrils. The feel of Destiny trembling as he’d held her caused
waves of emotions to well up inside him. He quashed them. Now wasn’t the time for sentiment. Cold,
calculating determination to find the fucker who’d robbed these women of their liberty drove him
forward.
The sound of waves lapping on shore and the salty smell of the sea were the first signs that he was
getting close to the end of the tunnel. Seconds later, he emerged into the fresh air. Ahead was a jetty
hidden by an outcrop of rocks overhanging from the cliff face. A thick rope that tethered a boat to its
mooring lay on the slippery dock. Given the size of it, the boat it had been used to leash was a sizable
vessel. Despite that, the position of the jetty would hide the boat from view unless you were directly
in its sightline, which was the reason it hadn’t been photographed by the satellite orbiting over the
earth.
Loris stared out to sea. There was no sign of the vessel, the perp long gone. He glanced up at the
sky. The clouds had parted, revealing a full moon, but dawn was still a few hours off. Rotating, he
made his way back inside the tunnel, climbing through the trapdoor twenty minutes later.
Had the perp paid to have those tunnels dug out, or were they decades old, maybe built for
smugglers in years gone by? If he’d created them, then there had to be records. A single man couldn’t
tunnel through rock and stone by himself. He made a mental note to add that to his list of leads to
follow up. One way or another, this fucker was going down. Loris would see to it personally.
He owed Destiny that much.
In truth, he owed her a hell of a lot more, but ensuring that the man who’d kidnapped her never
hurt another soul was the start to paying the debt he’d accumulated.
“Hawke, report.”
“I’ve done all I can to stabilize him, but I doubt he’ll make it.”
“Copy that. I’ll rendezvous with the others. Stay with him until the authorities arrive.”
“Roger.”
By the time he made his way inside the house, his men had woken the women and brought them
downstairs into a living area adjacent to the kitchen. Some were huddled together, offering comfort to
one another. Others were staring blankly into space as if they couldn’t grasp the reality of the
situation. One or two were crying, silent tears tracking down their cheeks.
A woman in her sixties sat in a straight-backed chair by the fireplace, rocking back and forth. The
mother? Destiny stood off to one side, clinging to Dutch, who raised an eyebrow as he approached.
Loris shook his head. Dutch’s lips thinned and he held Destiny tighter.
“Did you find him?” Destiny asked.
“No.”
“So he… so he… he’s still out there?”
His arms ached to hold her, to reassure her, but it wasn’t his place. Dutch was her family, and that
was his job. Loris was just some arsehole who’d taken a five-year-old vendetta and used it against a
woman he loved in her hour of need.
Who the fuck was he? Not the first time he’d asked himself that question, but the recurrence of it
had increased since Destiny had reappeared in his life.
“Is that the mother?” He jerked his chin over toward the fireplace.
Destiny nodded. “She’s in shock, I think.”
“What’s she said?”
Destiny’s face darkened. “She can’t talk. He… he cut out her tongue.”
Holy fuck. These women, his woman, had been in the clutches of a madman. He needed air.
“I’ll find out an ETA for the authorities.”
He made his way across the room.
“Loris.”
He glanced over his shoulder, schooling his expression in case he crumbled right in front of her.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
A punch hit his stomach. He hadn’t earned her gratitude, yet she gave it anyway. Jesus Christ
Almighty. “Not necessary.”
He made it outside, then slumped against the wall. The adrenaline he’d stored and called upon to
get them to this point vanished, leaving him exhausted. She was safe. She was unharmed—at least on
the surface—and he could bring her home to her parents. He’d done his job.
Except… the man who’d taken her remained at large, free to try again. No one planned and
executed the kidnapping of thirteen women without being driven by a powerful force, one that he
wouldn’t relinquish easily. If he left her unprotected, what was to stop her from being taken for a
second time?
He looked up to the sky. What do I do, Sophia?
The answer flew at him with startling clarity. Montford. He could protect her at Montford. The
place was sewn up tighter than royal palaces and presidential homes. She might resist, but she would
lose. Until the perp was in custody or—more preferably—dead, then he wouldn’t leave Destiny’s
side. And as he had a business to run, the only way he could do that was to have her move into
Montford Hall.
A sense of calm settled over him. The last month of living with heightened emotions wasn’t
something he was used to, and he welcomed the return of his normal state of being.
Two hours later, the first of the police helicopters landed on the tiny island. Not long after, the
place swarmed with law enforcement and paramedics. News of his involvement traveled as far as the
UK ambassador to Greece, who called him, not to congratulate him but to burst a fucking eardrum
with a furious rant about international relations and the right way to go about things.
Loris barely listened. As soon as the man drew a breath, Loris hung up. The fallout from his
decisions didn’t matter. He’d handle them with ease. All he cared about was that Destiny was safe
and twelve other women would return home to their families. All this other noise was just political
bullshit. He might be a renegade, but he and his men had gotten the job done.
 Almost done. He could only close the book on this one when the kidnapper was behind bars.
The perp’s father was brought up from his underground prison, somehow still clinging to life. A
needle protruded from his arm, a paramedic holding the saline solution up high as they hurried across
the grass and into a waiting helicopter. Not long afterward, the women and the mother boarded a
couple of police helicopters, where they were to be taken to a hospital in Crete. When Destiny’s turn
came, she sought out Loris, then reached out a hand.
“Come with me. I don’t want to go by myself.”
His chest tightened. He wanted nothing more than to be the one she turned to for comfort, but it
wasn’t his place.
“Dutch should go with you.”
Her face crumpled. “I want you,” she whispered.
Echoes of her uttering those same words to him the night he’d turned her away reverberated inside
his head. He shot a glance at Dutch, who dipped his chin once.
“Go with her. I’ll travel back with the guys in the boat, then make my way to Crete.” When Loris
didn’t move, Dutch pushed him. “Go.”
He followed Destiny onto the helicopter, and it rose into the sky. She touched his forearm, then
slid her hand down to his, linking their fingers. He closed his eyes and memorized the feel of her skin
against his. He’d give himself this one moment. If it comforted her to have physical contact, then who
was he to deny her that, after everything she’d been through?
They landed a mile from the hospital, where ambulances waited on the tarmac. Destiny kept a
tight hold on his hand the entire way. She didn’t speak, and he didn’t either. The police would
bombard her with questions soon enough, and the last thing she needed was a prequel from him. He’d
get a chance to talk to her soon enough, at Montford and away from the circus she was about to find
herself in the middle of.
A story like this was newsworthy, and as soon as it broke, journalists from all over the world
would descend, hoping for an exclusive. Loris planned to spirit Destiny away long before that
happened. The minute she got the all clear from the doctors and the police had questioned her, he’d
have her on a plane home. He’d already made arrangements to have his jet flown to Crete and put on
standby for a hurried departure.
At Destiny’s request, Loris remained by her side as the medics checked her over. They gave her a
clean bill of health—thank fuck—and hearing her confirm that the motherfucker who’d taken her
hadn’t touched her sexually or physically made his shoulders droop with relief. That wasn’t to
diminish the psychological trauma she’d suffered, but it was one less thing to deal with. She’d need
therapy, and he’d make sure she got access to the best available. He’d seen enough cases of PTSD to
know what was coming, but so far, she was holding it together like a fucking pro.
The police interviewed her at the hospital rather than taking her to the station. She handled their
questioning better than he’d dared to hope, answering them with clear, concise responses. To listen to
her talk about the torture he’d inflicted on the other women steeled Loris’s determination to find this
fucker and nail his balls to a stake while rats gnawed at his dick. She didn’t have to say aloud that she
blamed herself for their plight. It was right there in the bleakness of her stare as she recalled the
electrocutions, the breaking of bones, the beatings, and the removal of skin from the fingers of women
who had then been forced to play their instruments through unimaginable agony.
He dug his fingernails into his palms as she relayed what her abductor had told her in the
underground tunnel after she’d found his father. Loris didn’t buy the whole “my parents abused me”
shit as reason to perpetrate the same crimes against others. Far too many kids were abused, but they
didn’t go on to treat others as badly as they’d been treated. Nah, this bastard enjoyed the torture; he
reveled in it. To torment and abuse innocent women, to cut out your own mother’s tongue and chop off
your father’s hands, took a special kind of psychopath, one without a conscience or a soul.
“Are we done?” Loris barked when the police began to go over questions Destiny had already
answered. “She’s been through enough, don’t you think?”
The male police officer began to protest, but his female counterpart took over, rising to her feet
and declaring that they were done for now but that they’d be in touch if they had any further questions.
By the time they left, Destiny’s eyes were already closed. Not all that surprising. It was eleven in
the morning, and she hadn’t slept all night. Neither had he, but this wasn’t his first all-night rodeo.
He’d gone five days and nights without a wink of sleep before now.
“I’ll leave you to rest.” He touched her arm, and she murmured, then snuggled further under the
covers. “I’ll be right outside.”
He slipped into the hallway just as Dutch strode toward him. “She’s sleeping.”
“She okay?”
“A fucking warrior.”
Dutch smiled. “That’s our Destiny. I called her parents. They want to come over. I told them I’d
find out the state of play and call them back.”
Loris shook his head. “No point. They expect to discharge her later today. I have a plane on
standby to take us back to the UK.”
“You’re a legend.” Dutch clapped him on the arm. “I owe you.”
When should he broach the Montford issue? Guess there was no time like the present.
“I want to take her back to Montford Hall.”
Dutch’s head snapped back, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Why?”
“Because that perp is still out there, and I can’t protect her while she’s living in a house in
Hampstead Heath that’s as easy to breach as walking into a burger joint.”
“Have you asked her whether she’s okay with that?”
Loris shook his head.
“Jeez, boss, I’m not sure. I mean, you two have a pretty checkered history. I can’t see her
agreeing, to be honest.”
“I don’t care if she agrees or not. She’s coming to Montford.”
Dutch canted his head and whistled. “If you like your balls attached right where they are, I’d
rephrase that before you put the idea to her.”
Loris flattened his lips.
“And even if she does agree to go, what about her folks? They thought they’d lost their daughter. I
think they might want to keep her close for a while.”
“They can move into one of the cottages on the estate, or if they don’t want to do that, they can
visit at any time. But she’s far safer at Montford than anywhere else on the planet.”
Dutch breathed out through his nose. “Got it all figured out, huh?”
He hitched a shoulder. “You good with it?”
“Would it matter if I wasn’t?” Dutch grinned. “If you want my honest opinion, I think it’s long
overdue for you two to iron out your differences, and if being thrown together for the foreseeable
future is the way to do that, it gets my vote. Maybe something good can come out of these last few
terrifying weeks.”
Yeah, Loris thought. Maybe it could.
 THE COLLECTOR

RAGE BLINDS ME .
The kind of rage that causes men to start wars and burn entire countries to the ground.
How did they find me?
Where did I mess up?
I have been so careful, and now my vision, my dreams, my hopes for the future lies in tatters.
My masterpiece shattered by mercenaries.
They will search for me, but they will fail in their quest.
I am not stupid.
I planned out in intricate detail the steps I’d need to take if the worst happened. I have time,
money, resources. I can rebuild in another location.
There are several to choose from.
My queen and I will reunite. Soon. I refuse to allow them to take her from me. She is mine.
Without me, she will wither and I refuse to allow that to happen.
I will rebuild. However long it takes is unimportant. What matters is that I will prevail.
Regrets are pointless. Action is what counts. My single regret is not killing my father before the
infiltrators force me to flee.
Then again, he is already so close to death that, with any luck, he will die on the way to the
hospital.
Partial justice served up ice-cold. Nothing less than he deserves. He is evil, the devil hidden in
plain view, and he must be punished.
Shame I won’t be there to see his final demise, and cheer from the sidelines.
My mother won’t tell them anything. I know her too well. She will live the rest of her life in
fear of my return. She knows what I am capable of, what I will enact upon her should she betray
me more than she already has.
She’s getting off lightly, but vengeance burns brightly inside me. It is reflected in the scars I
carry, both physical and emotional.
One word from her to the authorities, and I will come for her and make her sorrier than she
ever imagined.
She is ultimately a coward who will put her own interest first. Always.
I press my fingers to my temples as a headache hammers inside my skull.
Concentrate.
First things first.
Destiny.
 My queen is magnificent, but without me by her side, her star will fade.
She doesn’t know it yet, but she needs me almost as much as I need her.
A month hasn’t been long enough to show her the path to redemption, but once I regroup and
come for her, rescue her from those who dared to take her from me, then she will understand.
This isn’t the end.
It is only the beginning.
 CHAPTER TWENTY

DESTINY STARED , OPEN - MOUTHED , AS LORIS FINISHED SPEAKING . HAD SHE HEARD THAT RIGHT ? HE
wanted her to go to Montford Hall, with him, and live there? For how long? Could this be the turning
point to put the ghosts that had haunted them for years to rest?
She wasn’t a vengeful person by any means, but her first reaction was to tell him he had rocks in
his head if he thought for one second she’d move into Montford Hall after five years spent in the
wilderness, and then, when she did come to him for help, he’d refused her plea.
But to cast aside the one opportunity to have Loris back in her life again was a prime example of
harming oneself without payoff. This could be the moment she’d waited all these years for. A chance
to get close to him, to break down his defenses, to heal each other’s open wounds that Sophia’s death
had left behind. Loris would also keep her safe while the police found her captor.
“Why would you do that? Open up your home like that. You hate me.”
His eyes crinkled in an almost wince before he schooled his expression. “I do not hate you.”
“Bullshit.” She snorted. “Don’t paper over the truth just because I’ve been through hell these last
few weeks. Don’t pretend something isn’t a fact when it’s stared both of us in the face for years.”
“I…” He palmed the back of his neck, his jaw locked tight. “I owe you. You came to me for help
and I turned you away, and then you were taken. I owe it to you to keep you safe until the perpetrator
is found.”
Her heart sank. She was such an idiot. She’d dared to hope that he might feel something for her
and really want to work things out between them, and here he was, offering to protect her only to
assuage his own guilt.
Turned out she was a vengeful person after all.
“I respectfully decline your offer. I want to go home.”
He flexed his fingers, and a nerve beat in his cheek. “You’re coming back to Montford.”
“You can’t make me.” She glared at him, challenging him. Bad move, Destiny. His eyes tightened,
and his nostrils flared as he breathed out noisily.
“If you want to test that theory, go ahead.”
Rather than pissing her off, his dominance had a different effect. A heat that curled in her stomach
and made her thighs press together to relieve a growing ache at her core. A fantasy she’d once had,
and had since quashed, roared to the surface. Of Loris dominating her, ordering her to kneel before
him, taking out his enormous pierced cock, and pushing it between her lips. Yeah, he had a piercing.
Actually, he had three piercings. Two bars through his cock and one through his right nipple.
She winced at the idea of pushing a metal bar through such sensitive parts of one’s body. Loris
had no idea she knew about his body jewelry. About six months before Sophia had died, he’d
returned home on compassionate leave after his father had been rushed to the hospital with a
suspected heart attack. They’d fitted him with a pacemaker, and he’d made a full recovery, but when
she’d heard Loris was home, she’d wrangled an invite to Montford for the weekend.
Spying on him hadn’t been intentional. Sophia had asked her to go upstairs to his bedroom and tell
him dinner was ready. Eager for any one-on-one time with him, she’d readily agreed. When he hadn’t
answered her tentative knock, she’d gone inside. The sound of the shower had drawn her across the
room. She’d peered around the edge of the door at the exact moment he’d climbed out of the stall,
rubbing his hair with a towel.
Eyes wide, she’d stared for a good three seconds at his cock hanging down between his legs, two
silver jewels buried into the head. As if it had happened yesterday, she remembered the rush of
wetness pooling between her legs, and then he’d wrapped a towel around his waist, and she’d darted
from the room before he’d noticed her.
Intrigued, and filled with intense sexual stirrings, she’d looked up the type of piercing and
discovered it was a dydoe, also known as a zephyr or a king’s crown. The latter name had amused her
to no end, given Loris’s aristocratic status. Not that he’d ever become king. About a hundred people
would have to die before he ascended to the throne, but that didn’t make him any less regal in her
eyes. But the piercing was a deviation from his blue-blooded roots. Then again, Loris Winslow
wasn’t the kind of man to follow traditions. He forged his own path, as evidenced by joining the
Royal Marines rather than obeying his father’s wishes to support him in running the Montford estate.
“I’ll talk to my parents and get back to you.”
“Already done, and they’re supportive.”
Her jaw hung open. He’d gone behind her back and spoken to her mum and dad without her
permission?
“How dare you?”
He braced his hands on the edge of her hospital bed and leaned forward, his startling blue eyes
digging into hers. At this rate, they’d burrow right through to the back of her skull. Her instincts were
to shrink back, but she wasn’t afraid of Loris, only intimidated by him.
And hellishly turned on.
“Plane leaves in an hour. I’ll give you some privacy to get dressed.”
Two strides and he’d gone, leaving her alone and aroused. She lifted up the hospital gown and
touched herself, the lightest brush of her fingers against her clit pulling a loud groan from her. Loud
enough that if Loris was standing guard outside the door, he’d have heard her. But, God, it felt too
good to stop. The combination of ecstasy at being rescued and Loris’s commanding presence and
barked orders brought her to orgasm in seconds. But instead of satisfying her, she felt more on edge
than ever.
Only Loris could satisfy her, but the chances of that happening were somewhere between slim and
none. Strike that. More like none and not a cat in hell’s chance.
As she flung back the covers, the bracelet her abductor had made her wear jangled. She’d gotten
so used to it that she hardly noticed it anymore. She yanked it from her wrist, stormed into the
bathroom, and threw it in the waste bin.
“Fuck you,” she muttered. “Fuck you to hell and back.”
After dressing in a pair of jeans and a black shirt that Dutch had dropped off earlier, she ventured
into the hallway. Great. Loris was right outside. She glanced up at him, trying to read his expression
to see if he’d heard her pleasuring herself, but his face remained as stoic as ever, jaw locked tight,
torso erect, legs planted ever so slightly apart, hands locked behind his back. The man was a walking
advert for the military despite having left the service five years ago.
Once a Royal Marine, always a Royal Marine.
“Ready?”
“Yeah.”
A half hour later, she sank into a plush leather seat on Loris’s private jet. The man himself sat
opposite with Dutch adjacent. Was it bad of her to wish it were just the two of them, her and Loris?
She loved her cousin. They spent a lot of time together, but with him acting as some kind of
chaperone, it meant Loris wouldn’t have to engage her directly in conversation.
Gah! What was she talking about? The man would happily sit in stony silence, ignoring every
attempt she made at drawing him into conversation. Better to keep reminding herself that he’d insisted
on her living at Montford only to assuage his own guilt at failing to protect her when she’d come to
him for help. Loris Winslow was a lot of things. Morose, taciturn, abrasive. But he also had integrity,
courage, and a deeply instilled sense of duty. To allow her to be taken after she’d alerted him to the
possibility of a stalker meant, in his eyes, he’d failed in his duty as both a former Royal Marine and
as the CEO of Intrepid.
It sucked big-time to realize that was all she was to him. A way to realign his moral compass and
ease what he saw as his culpability in her abduction.
She didn’t even need him to say all that out loud—not that he ever would. She knew the man more
than he would ever admit to her or himself. Sure, he’d changed since Sophia had died, but underneath,
he was the same Loris she’d grown up watching and yearning for and loving. She had to believe that,
although the evidence was rather to the contrary.
Live in hope. What else is there?
Apart from one bout of turbulence, the flight back to London went smoothly, and they landed at
just after seven in the evening. Time was such an odd entity. Twenty-four hours ago, she’d been
locked in that vile pink room, despairing of ever seeing home again and trying to keep her faith alive
that Loris would come for her.
And he had.
But it was far from over for her. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the twisted agony on her
fellow captive’s faces, heard their screams of pain, their cries for help, the way their eyes had dulled
a little more after he’d carried out each horrific episode. They were free now, but their road to
recovery was far longer than her own. She’d witnessed their torture, but they’d endured it.
The plane door opened. Destiny’s parents were waiting at the bottom of the airplane steps, and
she flew down them and threw herself into their outstretched arms. Tears and hugs and kisses were
given and received, and even when Dad let her go, Mum clung to her hand, unwilling to take the final
step and release her.
“Come on, love,” Mum said. “Let’s get you in the car.”
Loris cleared his throat. “Elizabeth, Charles, the offer stands of a cottage on the grounds if you’d
prefer to stay close.”
“It’s good of you, Loris,” Dad said. “But we have work, and the commute into London is bad
enough at the best of times.” He chuckled. “And we know she’s safe with you.”
“Well, if you change your mind…” He gestured to the car. “After you.”
Loris was the last to climb into the car, a sleek black limo with Booth behind the wheel. She
leaned forward to hug the old butler, who patted her hand and, she was sure, wiped away a tear.
The interior of the limo oozed luxury, the leather softer than a feather pillow. Sometimes she
forgot how rich Loris was. He never acted that way. He wasn’t a snob like a lot of the British
aristocracy. Sophia had been the same, as had their father, Laurent, the 16th Earl of Montford.
Dutch chattered the entire way back to his place with his trademark lighthearted banter and
incessant jokes that had her dad laughing and Mum rolling her eyes. In stark contrast to the joviality,
Loris didn’t say a single thing. Not that he’d spoken very much on the flight either. She didn’t think
grunts counted as proper conversation.
“I’ll come and see you in a day or two,” Dutch said as the car stopped outside his flat in London.
“Call me if you need anything.”
They dropped off her parents next. They both hugged her and promised to come visit on the
weekend. She hadn’t shared the true horrors of her captivity with them, and as they hadn’t probed too
deeply, she guessed that Loris had clued them in. Something else she had to thank him for. The list
was growing by the minute.
“Take us home, please,” he instructed Booth as she refastened her seat belt.
Home. A long time ago, she’d dreamed of Montford becoming her home, of returning to the estate
as Loris’s bride. Fanciful stargazing of a young girl who’d believed in fairy tales until the beast had
come and ripped off her rose-tinted glasses in the cruelest of ways.
As the car pulled away from the curb, she felt Dutch’s and her parents’ absences keenly. Loris
stared out the window, a tic in his jaw the only sign he was still breathing, and as he’d invoked the
privacy screen, she couldn’t even strike up a conversation with Booth to soften the thick atmosphere.
“Are you having second thoughts about inviting me to stay at Montford?”
He didn’t even look at her. “No.”
“Great. Wonderful. Marvelous.”
Even sarcasm didn’t get through to the man, or if it had, it didn’t summon a reaction. Silence was
the last thing she needed, but from where she was standing—sitting—she’d better get used to it.
“Is there an update on his father?”
He glanced at her, briefly, but that was at least better than no eye contact at all.
“He didn’t make it.”
“Oh.” Sorrow for a man she didn’t know, and, if her abductor had been telling the truth about his
childhood, wasn’t warranted, soaked into her bones. Or maybe it was the stress of the last month or
the speed of her rescue that sent tears coursing down her cheeks. She tried to hold them back,
swallow them down, but like a fizzy drink poured into a glass too fast, they spilled over. A sob crept
from her throat, and she stuffed a fist into her mouth to cram it back in.
“Are you crying?”
There was no warmth to his tone, only a mild irritation. She kept her gaze averted. If he wouldn’t
look at her, then she wouldn’t look at him either.
“No.”
He cursed. Unfastening his seat belt, and hers, he gathered her into his arms and lifted her onto his
lap. “I’ve got you.” He rocked her, much as one would a child, his warm breath fanning her hair.
“You’re safe. I’ll never let anything happen to you again.”
“You can’t promise that.” She hiccupped her way through each word. “No one can.”
“I fucking can,” he growled.
A spark of hope lit a flame within her. Was his sudden possessiveness a sign of a shift in his
attitude? Had the idea of almost losing her for real forced him to take a long, hard look at himself and
realize he had feelings for her after all?
“It’s what Sophia would have wanted.”
Hope died on the back seat of Loris’s stretch limo, drowning her in a sea of despair. His
motivations were twofold: allaying his guilt and respecting his sister’s memory and her place as
Sophia’s best friend. She, as a sole entity, didn’t even figure. His feelings for her began and ended
with his goddamn duty and strong moral code.
“Of course it is.”
She returned to her seat, dashing a final tear from her cheek. At the click of her belt, his
penetrating stare turned on her. She ignored him. Gave him a taste of his own medicine.
God, she was tired, the last dregs of her energy stores depleted by Loris’s reiteration of his
reason for bringing her to Montford. Meanwhile, the man himself refastened his seat belt and resumed
his staring out of the window.
As they turned into Montford Hall, a yearning came over her, so strong that it flattened her lungs.
More than five years had passed since she’d last visited, but given the memories it evoked as Booth
drove up the driveway toward the hall, it might as well have been yesterday.
She recalled her last day here all too clearly. His father had held the wake at Montford, and as the
last of the mourners had left the estate, she’d remained behind, her need to offer Loris and his father a
few crumbs of comfort blinding her to his simmering rage.
She’d put his subdued state down to grief when, in reality, he’d only bided his time until the
formalities were over. And then he’d unleashed on her a fury she hadn’t thought him capable of. The
savage words he’d used to heap blame on her shoulders had haunted her to this day. Which was the
reason she rarely allowed herself to think of that time. The pain of losing two people who meant
everything to her wasn’t something she was all that keen to examine closely.
“I had Booth fetch a few things from your house,” Loris said as he lifted a case from the boot,
shaking his head at Booth’s offer of assistance.
“That’s… nice of you.”
He cocked his head. “If you’d like to come with me, I’ll show you to your room.”
His formal attitude grated on her few remaining nerves, but she swallowed her desire to snap and
trailed after him into the house.
She made her way down a hallway she hadn’t expected to ever see again, taking in the rich gleam
of priceless furniture where a speck of dust dared not fall, the ancestral pictures of family members
long since passed, and the noise of heels on the ancient wooden flooring. But missing was the ever-
present freshly cut flowers, the sound of a member of staff humming as they bustled about the place,
the drone of a mower as it cut the endless lawns.
It all felt wrong.
Montford Hall smelled the same, looked the same, was the same, apart from one glaring omission.
It had lost its soul.
 CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

S ILENCE HUNG IN THE AIR, THICK AND HEAVY, LIKE THE AIR BEFORE A SUMMER STORM. LORIS GLANCED
across the table, signed, then set his fork down.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Destiny glanced up from where she’d spent the last five minutes pushing chunks of steak in a
peppercorn sauce around on her plate. She’d hardly said a word since they arrived back at Montford,
and he couldn’t blame her. After giving her little option other than to move into the Hall with him, he
hadn’t exactly put down the welcoming mat.
Engulfed with emotions he wasn’t used to dealing with, he’d chosen to handle the chaos inside
him by ignoring her.
He’d snubbed her attempts at conversation on the plane, grunted at her in the car, then done a
complete one-eighty and showed her a little compassion, only to fuck it up by making out that he was
only doing this for Sophia.
Time for honesty.
He was doing this for him.
Not only to ease the gut-wrenching guilt that had ravaged his insides from the moment the news of
her abduction had reached him, but also because he still fucking loved her.
He loved her so much, it was a physical ache, a pain in his chest that wouldn’t abate.
It was almost laughable how an almost thirty-four-year-old man couldn’t summon the courage to
tell a woman what was in his heart.
But this wasn’t just any woman.
It was Destiny.
Their turbulent history stopped him from revealing the truth, as did the very real possibility that
she’d laugh in his face.
Once or twice during her later teenage years, he’d caught her looking at him with what appeared
to be interest, but he’d been too concerned about their age difference and being accused of taking
advantage of an impressionable eighteen-year-old that he’d kept his feelings to himself.
And then Sophia had died, and his life had crumbled.
“Not really.” She dropped her fork with a clang. “I think I’m going to go to bed.”
He dipped his chin. “As you wish. If you need anything during the night, call Booth.”
As you wish?
Jesus, Winslow, get the stick out of your arse. What the fuck is wrong with you?
“And drag a sixty-year-old man from his bed?” She snorted. “I’ll manage.”
She made her way across the vast formal dining room, a space he hadn’t used for years. But
something had stopped him from inviting her into his personal suite of rooms. It felt too… intimate.
Ridiculous, considering half the Intrepid team had been in there.
“Destiny?”
She paused on the threshold but didn’t turn around. “Yes?”
“I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you’re safe.”
Her shoulders stiffened, and still she kept her back to him. “See you in the morning, Loris.”
He rubbed his chest, but the ache remained. He thought that by finding her and bringing her home,
the void that had opened up inside him from the minute he’d heard she’d gone missing would
evaporate.
Instead, it had widened, threatening to swallow him whole.
It was far too early for him to go to bed, so he made his way to his study and opened his email
program. He had a few contacts in the Greek police force, and he’d elicited promises from them to
keep him updated on the case.
As much as he yearned to remain fully involved, he’d had no choice other than to step back,
especially after it had taken a sizable donation to the police retirement fund to smooth things over
after he’d pissed all over their authority by carrying out a search and rescue mission without
involving the correct local agencies.
Wouldn’t change a goddamn thing.
If he’d gone through the normal channels, Destiny would still be on that island, under the influence
of a psychopath, and those twelve other women would still be living with the fear of imminent torture.
At least money helped to avoid an international incident. He did not need the Prime Minister’s office
calling him and giving him an earful for causing problems with the Greek authorities.
There wasn’t any great change in status, not that he’d expected much this early into their
investigation. The families of the other women had started to arrive in Crete.
He scrubbed a hand down his face.
Jesus.
He couldn’t even begin to imagine what that must be like for some of them. Destiny had only been
gone a month, and he’d barely held it together. The family of the Russian woman, Katerina something,
who’d been missing for more than two years, had to be equal parts ecstatic and terrified. She had a
long road to recovery ahead of her.
They all did.
He checked in with a couple of his team who were over in America guarding a traveling UK
businessman who’d received death threats after he’d taken over a rival company and proceeded to
make the entire workforce redundant. Social media and the availability of those in the public eye had
created a vigilante culture that, while good for his business, was awful for society at large.
Nothing worse than keyboard warriors with access to information, too much time on their hands,
and an ax to grind. The death threats his client had received would probably turn out to be nothing, but
these days, it wasn’t worth taking a risk.
With little else to occupy his mind, he reluctantly went to bed.
After barely two hours of sleep, he got up as dawn broke. Maybe a run before breakfast would
clear his head.
He dressed in athletic gear and jogged down the stairs. Unbolting the heavy front door, he opened
it and—
“Can I come?”
He spun around. Destiny was halfway down the stairs, dressed in a pair of stretchy running pants
that finished below the knee and clung to every delicious curve, and a crop top that showed off her
toned, bare midriff.
He swallowed a groan.
Thank Christ he’d worn baggy shorts rather than anything more… fitting. Although, if he didn’t
avert his gaze, they wouldn’t hide his growing arousal for very long.
“You’re not too tired?”
“Yeah, I’m exhausted.”
She laughed, but it wasn’t the laugh he’d grown up with. It had a bitter, hollow sound to it. He
didn’t like it. In fact, he hated it.
“But exercise might just keep my mind off… well, you know.” She winced.
“Sure you can keep up?”
She arched a brow. “Is that a challenge?”
“No.” He smiled a little. “Because I know I can easily beat you.”
“Ohhh, Winslow. Challenge accepted.”
She darted past him, and by the time he realized she’d gone, she had a hundred-meter head start.
He caught up to her easily and hovered a few feet behind, torturing himself with the curve of her
arse and the flare of her hips in the tight pants. Not the best idea he’d ever had.
His stiff cock rubbed against his shorts, the friction and the visuals making him even harder.
“What’s the matter?” Destiny slowed, which brought him level with her.
“Nothing, why?”
“You just groaned. Are you struggling to keep up? Do you have a stitch?” She grinned broadly.
“Such a disappointment. I thought you were far fitter than that.”
Shit. Different type of groan altogether.
“I wouldn’t want to crush you too early in our run.”
“Rubbish. You never let Sophia and me win at anything. Chess, cricket, tennis. You weren’t the
kind of man to give an inch then, and you aren’t now.”
He stopped. Destiny took a few seconds to realize he wasn’t alongside her before she pulled up
and jogged back to him.
“Why’ve you stopped?”
He scratched above his left eyebrow as he studied her face. She was too calm, too normal, too
jocular for someone who had been through a horrific ordeal that she’d only escaped from thirty-six
hours ago. Destiny had witnessed things that even hardened military guys would find difficult to
process.
When she’d given her statement to the police, she’d glossed over the details of the torture she’d
witnessed, and the policewoman questioning her hadn’t pressed.
But all that shit was in there, in her head, and while her behavior led him to believe she’d buried
it, trauma always broke free, and the longer it stayed buried, the worse the eventual breakout could
be.
No two trauma victims were the same.
There wasn’t a “right” and a “wrong” way to deal with PTSD, and anyone who said such a thing
was a fucking idiot. Regardless, he wanted her to face up to what had happened sooner rather than
later, and the only way to do that was to get her to talk about it.
“How are you?”
Good a place to start as any, even if the left-field question did cause a flash of surprise to cross
her face.
 “I’m… okay. Legs a bit achy due to the forced inactivity from the last month, and my lungs aren’t
happy with me.” She grinned. “And I’m tired. But I’m okay, Loris.” She shielded her face from the
rising sun. “I will be okay.”
He sighed, rubbing the gap between his eyebrows. “If you want to talk…”
“I’ll hire a therapist.” A laugh burst out of her. “No offense, but you don’t have the chops to
counsel me.”
When he said nothing, she shook her head.
“Look, I’ll never forget what you did for me, how you never gave up on me, but if you and I are to
talk, Loris, then it needs to be about us. About Sophia. About everything that happened. That’s what
you and I need to unpack, and until you’re ready to do that, then…” She shrugged. “As for what that
freak did to me, I will see someone. When I’m ready.”
She set off running again. He stared at her retreating back, her words having knocked the very
breath from him.
For five years, he’d buried his feelings in a blanket of grief and anger and bitterness. But
Destiny’s abduction had ripped the blanket away, leaving him raw and exposed.
As much as he loathed to admit it, her point was a valid one. They did need to talk. But, just as
she wasn’t ready to face up to what happened on that island, neither was he ready to unwrap the years
of shit caused by Sophia’s death and his reaction toward it.
Stalemate. For now.
He caught up to her, and they jogged along in silence, winding through the vast woodlands that
encircled the estate. Emerging into the sun, Destiny came to a stop, bracing her hands on her knees as
she caught her breath.
“Jesus, what is it they say? For every week you don’t run, it’s a month to recover?”
“Something like that,” Loris agreed.
“Terrific. So I have four bloody months before I’m back to my pre-kidnapping fitness.” She
straightened and winked, probably in reaction to his glower. “Jokes are good, Loris. Humor is the
best medicine. You should try it sometime.”
“I’ll pass,” he muttered.
“You used to smile and laugh and joke around. A lot.”
He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, staring into space. “Experiences change people.
You’ll realize that soon enough.”
Her lips parted, then flattened into a thin line. She breathed out noisily through her nose. “You are
such a sanctimonious prick, Loris Winslow.”
As his eyebrows shot up in surprise at her unexpected outburst, she plowed on.
“My experiences changed me long before that jerk broke into my house and snatched me. You act
as if you were the only one who lost Sophia, but I lost her, too. She was my best friend, my
confidante, the person I would talk to about music and plan world domination with. To me, she was as
close as a sister could be, and I loved her just as much as you did.”
He scrambled around for the right thing to say and came up short. But Destiny hadn’t finished
berating him. Not even close.
“Do you have any idea of the guilt I carry around with me every single day? Of how I wish I
hadn’t gone out that night? It took me months of popping pills before I could sleep without waking up
sobbing. So don’t you dare”—she prodded a finger in his chest—“think you have the ownership on
grief.”
Her chest heaved as she sucked in lungfuls of air. Her eyes were filled with a bitterness he hadn’t
seen before. He reached out, not sure why, and she stumbled backward as if he’d come at her with a
knife.
“Don’t touch me.”
He hung his head, running his tongue along his lower lip. “I know you lost her, too,” he said softly.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Then try this on for size. I didn’t just lose her, did I? I lost you as well. And Laurent. You
wouldn’t even let me come to his funeral. He was like a second father to me, and I never got to say
goodbye.”
He winced. “I should… I… uh… I should have handled things differently.”
“But you didn’t.” She sniffed and wiped her nose. “You treated me like I was nothing.”
He sucked in a sharp breath as if he’d taken a punch to the gut. This was the point at which he
should say something, tell her she was everything. Instead, he remained mute, unable to give freedom
to his inner feelings.
Talk about emotionally stunted.
Fuck, maybe it wasn’t Destiny who needed therapy. It was him.
“I lost my virginity that night.”
She spoke, whisper-soft, but the effect of her confession… God, it… it stunned him.
“What?” He blinked rapidly. “What did you say?”
“The night Sophia died, I lost my virginity.”
No. That wasn’t right.
It couldn’t be.
Destiny had had more dates than he’d had hot dinners. He used to hear her talking about it with
Sophia.
Jesus Christ, his goddamn dick piercing was because of her. Too much fucking whiskey one
drunken night after returning home on leave. He’d overheard her bragging to Sophia about sleeping
with a guy with a Prince Albert and how amazing it had been, and with jealousy searing his insides,
he’d gone to a local tattoo parlor and trumped the PA with a king’s crown.
Two piercings beat one.
Oh, and a bar through the nipple for good measure.
Woke up the next morning with a hangover sent by the devil himself and two steel barbells in his
dick. Stubbornness and an inability to admit to himself that he’d behaved like a complete prat had
prevented him from taking the stupid things out. Now, years later, he hardly noticed them. They were
as much a part of him as Montford.
“When I returned to the hotel in the middle of the night, there were police everywhere. And that
was when I found out what had happened to Sophia.”
She stared off into the distance, shivering as sweat cooled on her skin while he stood there
struggling to process it all. She’d been a virgin. At twenty-one. She hadn’t slept with all those guys.
All along, she could have been his if only he’d told her how he’d fucking felt, and hadn’t bottled it.
Instead, he’d boiled with jealousy while she’d spun stories to Sophia.
Why had she done that? Why make all that shit up? Why lie to Sophia?
“Not sure why I told you any of that.” She stretched out her hamstrings. “I’d better get back before
I catch a chill and my muscles seize up.”
She sprinted off into the distance, leaving him speechless and bewildered.
 CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CURLED UP ON THE SOFT LEATHER SOFA IN THE LIBRARY, DESTINY FLICKED THROUGH VARIOUS APPS ON
her phone.
Nothing kept her attention.
She’d been back at Montford for a little over two weeks, and while people’s lives continued, hers
stood still. She couldn’t go back to the person she’d been before, and she couldn’t move forward
while her abductor roamed free and the horrors he’d inflicted on her grew and festered.
The guilt… it crippled her.
She’d gotten off lightly compared to the other women. It occurred to her sometimes that it might
have been easier if he’d tortured her as well.
At least she’d have something physical to focus on.
And then she’d berate herself for such a ridiculous notion. Only an insane person would put their
hand up for torture.
But her conscious mind was a vortex of chaos where jumbled thoughts ran riot and sleep brought
her no respite.
She was about to toss her phone and choose a book from Loris’s extensive library when a news
article caught her eye. She stopped the scroll and read the headline.
Russia’s National Treasure Returns Home.
Underneath was a video. She pressed Play.
The footage was of Katerina with her family. Her mother clung to her as if afraid to let go, her
father rested a comforting hand on his daughter’s shoulder, and Katerina beamed as she waved to the
crowds who’d flooded onto the streets to welcome her back to her homeland.
To everyone in that crowd, she looked thrilled and happy to be home. But Destiny saw the truth in
her eyes.
The slightly vacant expression.
The twist of pain pulling at the corners of her mouth and furrowing her brow.
The brief moment where she stared off into the distance before yanking herself back to the
present.
Those who didn’t understand thought rescue was the end of the nightmare.
In reality, it was just the beginning.
“There you are.”
Loris entered the library and came to sit beside her. Apart from that first morning when they’d
gone for a run, he’d left her alone most of the time, citing Intrepid business that had piled up while
he’d put his energies into searching for her. But she didn’t believe him.
 He was avoiding her.
To be fair, she hadn’t sought him out either.
It wasn’t difficult, in a place the size of Montford, to go days without seeing a soul other than the
gardeners tending to the grounds or the team of cleaners Loris brought in once a week to clean every
inch of the grand house.
She turned her phone toward him, showing him the screen. “She’s home.”
He watched the video play for a few seconds, then nodded. “All the women are back with their
families now.”
Her spine stiffened. “You didn’t think to tell me?”
“You didn’t ask.” He stroked a palm over his beard. “I figured when you were ready, you’d ask.”
Fair point.
“They hated me, you know.”
His eyes flared and he squared his shoulders. “What do you mean, hated you?”
“They blamed me for their torture, and they were right. If I’d mastered Hammerklavier, then
maybe he’d have let them go.”
“He wouldn’t have. He’d have made you work on something else.”
“Perhaps.” She glanced at the video again. “She was one of my heroes. So bloody talented. Yet
after the media stopped reporting on her disappearance, I forgot all about her.” She rubbed her eyes.
“What kind of person does that make me?”
“A normal one with a busy life of her own.” He breathed out through his nose. “Have you thought
any more about therapy?”
Her chest rose with a deep breath. The idea of sitting down with a stranger and telling them what
happened grew more terrifying the more time passed.
But she wasn’t an idiot.
She knew that talking was the route to healing.
“I have. I’d like to talk to someone.”
“That’s good. I’ll make some calls.”
She opened her mouth to tell him she could do it, but, well, she couldn’t. Googling “therapists”
would throw up a million results, and knowing her luck, she’d end up with some quack who’d make
matters worse.
“Thank you.” She picked at a fingernail. “Is there any news about… him?”
Loris shook his head. His lips flattened, a surefire giveaway that he was growing frustrated with
the lack of progress. Loris didn’t share much information about any developments, but he had passed
on the man’s name.
Michael Evans.
She’d assumed knowing his identity would help.
It hadn’t.
In a way, it had made things worse. She preferred to think of him as a monster. A name legitimized
him in a way he didn’t deserve.
The abductor’s mother, after weeks of intensive therapy in a mental health facility and promises
that she wouldn’t be held accountable for her son’s actions—her own were still under investigation
apparently—had finally plucked up the courage and told the authorities a few scant details.
The man himself, though, remained a ghost. The source of his wealth, tied up in convoluted and
complicated shell companies and subsidiaries, made tracking him almost impossible.
There was a very real possibility he might never be caught.
 And if he wasn’t, what did that mean for her?
She couldn’t live out the rest of her days closeted behind Montford’s walls under Loris’s
protection.
“He can’t hide forever.”
She widened her eyes at his comment. It was almost as if he’d read her mind. “Can’t he?”
Loris pinched his lips together, his fingers dancing on the side of his thigh. “No. He can’t.”
He stood and walked across the library, their conversation, such that it was, effectively over.
“Hey, Loris?”
He turned back to her. “Yes?”
She almost lost her nerve. Drawing on rapidly depleting stores of courage, she asked, “Are we
ever going to talk about Sophia?”
His expression hardened, like it always did whenever she brought up that goddamn elephant that
sat in the corner of every room they were in together. And then he sighed and returned to sit beside
her.
“What do you want me to say, Destiny?”
“I don’t want you to say anything. I just want to talk about her. The only person who knew her
better than I did is you. I know you’ll never fully forgive me for what happened that night. God knows
I’ll never forgive myself either, but you can’t hate me forever.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, his taut chest rising on a deep breath. He released it slowly
through his nose. “I don’t hate you.”
“You did. For a long time. You cut me off at the very time we could have comforted one another.”
He rolled his tongue around the inside of his cheek, his gaze fixed on one of the myriad
bookshelves that surrounded the room, each shelf filled with priceless first editions collected over
generations.
“I did what I had to do.”
“That’s just it, though. You didn’t have to do it.” When he remained mute, she whispered, “I miss
her.”
A tear plopped onto her cheek.
He grimaced, then swept the tear away with the pad of his thumb. “I miss her, too.” He ran his
palm over his mouth. “And you. I missed you.”
Her heart skipped at least three beats. “You did?”
She pulled in her lips, reluctant to say anything else in case it broke the spell and the Loris who
hated her made a return.
“I’ve known you since you were five. Of course I missed you. But I couldn’t be around you. Not
after…”
He blew out a breath through pursed lips.
“Sophia was all the good parts of me, and when she… when she died, she took all those parts
with her to her grave, leaving behind a husk of a man who, to this day, still hasn’t come to terms with
the fact that he’ll never see his sister again.”
His switch into third person revealed his coping mechanism in dazzling clarity. Aversion,
distance, pretending it had happened to someone else.
“Maybe we should both go to therapy. Separately, not together.”
She softened the suggestion with a smile. Loris Winslow was a proud, stubborn man who
struggled to acknowledge weakness of any kind. Yet going to therapy took strength; hence, it’d taken
her two weeks to pluck up the courage to admit it was a good idea for her.
 He frowned, looking down rather than at her. “Maybe we should.” Heaving a sigh, he got to his
feet. “I’ll go make those calls and arrange for someone to come to the house.”
She almost called him back again, but this time, she let him go. She wrapped her arms around
herself. His admission that he’d missed her was a sliver of optimism she hadn’t expected to witness.
In time, maybe, just maybe, she and Loris might find their way back to each other.
Friends first, then more, perhaps.
She clung to that shred of hope. It was all she had.
 CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

THE DAYS DIDN ’ T WHIZ BY LIKE THAT TIME SHE AND S OPHIA HAD GONE TO S T . TROPEZ ON HOLIDAY.
They dragged like the time she’d run the London marathon for charity and crossed the finish line on
all fours.
But the point was that she’d survived.
Thriving was a little ways off, though she took each day she woke having slept more than a couple
of hours as a bonus.
She’d been at Montford double the time she’d spent in that godforsaken pink room, yet it had
begun to feel like just as much of a prison, only with larger spaces and access to fresh air.
She might have freedom of the entire estate, but as enormous as it was, she yearned to go beyond
the gates and the walls and the heavy security.
Her parents and Dutch came to visit regularly, and her therapist called by twice a week, but the
more that normal life went on around her, the less she felt a part of it. The lack of progress on the
whereabouts of her kidnapper eclipsed any positivity she found in her therapy sessions.
The other women were on her mind more often than not, and she’d thought about reaching out, but
fear of rejection and, worse, judgment, stopped her.
Offers of work had poured in almost from the day the news had broken that she’d been found alive
and well, but she’d turned each one of them down.
The truth was that she couldn’t play.
Every time she tried, her fingers froze on the keyboard, music that had once filled her mind
noticeably absent.
She hadn’t found the courage to mention this to her therapist yet, their conversations centering
around her inability to sleep and the coping mechanisms for when she felt overwhelmed by the
simplest of daily activities.
One sunny day on her regular daily walk around the estate, she found herself at the back of the
house where the garages and workshops were. Entering the first garage, she ran her hand over the
shiny paintwork of a white sports car. No idea what it was called, but it was sleek and low to the
ground with a dark gray leather interior and nine-spoke wheels in pewter.
A smile pulled at her lips. It was just like Loris not to get a sports car in red. He always had
preferred to swim against the tide, to do the exact opposite of what was expected of him while
maintaining a strong sense of connection to his roots.
Loris Winslow and Montford Hall went together like strawberries and cream on a brilliant
summer’s day at Wimbledon. They were impossible to separate, and life wouldn’t be the same
without them.
 Yet her hopes of living under the same roof bringing them closer together hadn’t materialized.
Everything between them was on the surface.
She’d hoped that his admission a few weeks ago that he’d missed her might be the first step
toward healing, but if anything, it had pushed them further apart. Whenever she tentatively broached
the subject, he’d suddenly have an urgent call to make or something important on the estate would
require his immediate attention.
For a man who faced problems head-on, he sure as hell worked hard to avoid the issue of him and
her.
As she made her way through the third garage, her breath hitched. Parked on the far side was an
impressive Harley, all black and chrome and reeking of masculinity.
Memories of Loris taking her and Sophia on motorbike rides through the estate rushed at her. If
she closed her eyes, she could feel the wind chapping at her skin, her hair flowing out from
underneath the safety helmet he’d insisted they wear even though they were on private property and
therefore not subject to the laws of the land. But most of all, she remembered what it felt like to hold
on to his solid body and smell the leather from his jacket.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?”
At the sound of Loris’s deep baritone, she whirled around, guilty as a kid caught pinching sweets
from the corner shop.
“Sorry, I just… wandered in here.”
Loris didn’t walk. He prowled. As he came toward her, like a predator who’d cornered their
prey, she had no desire to run.
“It’s not the same bike.”
“No. This one is a lot bigger.”
He ran his palm over the handlebars as if he were caressing a woman’s body. She suppressed a
groan that would have given away how sexy she found that simple movement. Why a man—no, not a
man, but Loris—touching an inanimate object turned her on wasn’t a question she had an answer for,
but the dampness between her thighs and the crazy fluttering in her abdomen were damning evidence.
“Do you want to go for a ride?”
His voice had changed, inflected with a rasp that arrowed right to her core. She clamped her
thighs together as butterflies took flight in her stomach.
What the hell was wrong with her today?
It was as if she were in heat or something. Or maybe it was two long months living with a man
she’d dreamed of sleeping with for years that’d gotten her hot under the collar.
“Can we leave the estate?”
He frowned, his lips pursing. “Feeling a bit of cabin fever?”
She held her forefinger and thumb an inch apart. “Just a tad.”
One of Loris’s rare smiles lifted his lips at the side. She took a mental picture, locking it away for
all the days he scowled instead.
“Let me grab a couple of things. Won’t be a sec.”
She waited for him to vanish out of sight and then jumped up and down like a kid on a trampoline.
Not only was she finally getting out of here, but she’d also be able to snuggle up to Loris and pretend
things were different between them.
Pretend that he was hers and she was his and they were a happy couple out for a blast on his bike
on a warm summer’s day.
He returned fifteen minutes later dressed in full leathers and wearing a stout pair of boots. A
second set of leathers lay over his arm, and a bag was slung across his body.
She ran her gaze over him, a starved woman faced with a delicious banquet of her favorite things.
The more time she spent at Montford, the deeper she fell for its elusive owner, but Loris showed no
more interest in her than he had during her formative years, or as she’d grown into an adult who
garnered lots of male attention, except from the only man who held her interest.
“Here, put these on. They should go over your clothes and offer protection.”
Protection.
The man was all about protection.
She stepped into the leather trousers and zipped up the jacket. They almost fit. A bit long in the
leg, but other than that, perfect.
A dart of jealousy curdled in her stomach.
These were women’s leathers. She hadn’t seen Loris with a woman, but that didn’t mean he
wasn’t involved with someone.
“Do they belong to your girlfriend? Are you sure she won’t mind me using them?” Her voice
sounded tart, like she’d sucked on a particularly bitter lemon.
“They were Sophia’s. I’ve never been able to bring myself to throw them away or give them to
charity.”
Ah, fuck.
“I’m sorry.”
He passed her a helmet and a pair of boots, ignoring her apology. At least he hadn’t changed his
mind about taking her. She laced up the boots and put the helmet on, holding her breath as Loris
fastened the strap, his blunt fingers brushing the sensitive skin on her neck. Goose bumps lifted the
hairs at her nape.
She closed her eyes, allowing the rush of pleasure to engulf her.
“Ready?”
Loris’s muffled voice brought her back to reality. His eyes were the only thing visible behind the
helmet, and as she nodded, he flipped down the visor, cutting his sky-blue irises from view.
He mounted the bike first, patting the seat behind him for her to climb on. This bike was far wider
than the one she’d ridden on as a teenager, and the spread of her legs and the angle of her body as she
leaned forward to wrap her arms around his waist meant the seat brushed her clit.
The roar of the bike’s engine and the ensuing vibration beneath her drowned out her groan of
pleasure. Maybe this had been the worst idea of her life, or maybe it’d been the best. Either way, she
might not survive the trip without spontaneously orgasming.
They left Montford behind, whizzing along country lanes at breakneck speed. Adrenaline buzzed
through her as Loris opened the throttle and really let the Harley have her head.
This was what she’d craved.
No talking, no awkward glances or clearing of throats as they cagily moved around each other,
just the rush of air, the thrill of speed, the feel of his body so close to hers.
He drove for an hour, then turned onto a country lane and pulled over. Cutting the engine, he
dismounted and removed his helmet, hanging it on the handlebars. She did the same, smoothing her
sweaty hair and mourning the idiotic move not to bring a hat. She tilted her face up to the sun and
breathed in the scent of cut grass and summer flowers.
“Come with me.”
She opened her eyes. Loris’s hand was stretched toward her. She stared at it for a moment, then
pressed her palm to his. “Where are we going?”
 “You’ll see.”
The hillside sloped upward, the gradient gentle and not too taxing. Loris kept hold of her hand the
entire time. She shouldn’t put too much emphasis on it, but any kind of physical contact was okay by
her.
More than okay.
She longed for more of it, although Loris was as meager with his touch as he was with his words
and his smiles.
“How much farther?”
“Almost there.” He glanced down at her, a quirk to his brow. “Want a fireman’s lift?”
Clasping a hand to her chest, she faked a gasp. “Did… did you just make a joke?” She pressed the
same hand to his forehead. “Are you coming down with something?”
He batted her hand away. “Very funny.”
“It was. Hilarious, in fact.”
His lips twitched.
“Was that a smile, too? Or wind, maybe.” She cupped her chin and studied his face. “Definitely
wind.”
“That’s it.”
He bent at the knees, gripped her around the thighs, and hoisted her over his shoulder. She
squealed so loud that a flock of birds took flight, wings flapping as they soared into the air.
“Put me down this second.”
“Yeah, I don’t think I will.”
He marched up the hill, carrying her as if she weighed nothing.
“This isn’t funny.”
If that were true, why couldn’t she stop laughing?
“Tell yourself that.”
She slapped his backside. He returned the favor, only harder.
“Ow.”
“Equality in action, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart.
He’d just called her sweetheart.
Her heart drummed in her chest, warmth radiating through her body. Something had changed in the
time between leaving Montford and now, and she was almost scared to breathe in case she frightened
it away.
What felt like an age later, yet still too soon, he set her down on the ground. She wavered,
gripping his leather-clad arm for support. And then she saw the reason for the hike up the hill.
“Wow, Loris, it’s stunning.”
“God’s own country.”
“I’ll say.”
Beneath them, the valley was protected by three mountains. White and yellow flowers dotted the
hillside, and sheep grazed on lush grass. The direction of the sun cast shadow and light across the
entire vista, and the whole view was just… breathtaking.
“It’s warm.” She unzipped her leather jacket and slipped it down her arms. “Leather and sun do
not make good bedfellows.”
“Another reason I suggested leaving your clothes on underneath the leathers.”
He removed his jacket, too, tossing it on the ground. His biceps bulged beneath a tight-fitting,
black short-sleeved T-shirt, the material stretched across his pecs. Eyes out on stalks, she tore her
gaze away before he noticed her gawking. Damn, he was beautiful. Morose and moody with a laser-
sharp tongue, but a feast for the eyes.
“How did you find this place?”
“I stumbled across it one day when I was out on the bike and needed to stretch my legs. Now,
whenever I want to clear my head, I come here.”
“I can see why.”
She took off the boots and removed the leather trousers, glad she’d taken his advice and kept her
shorts underneath. She flopped onto the grass. He kept his boots and his trousers on, the leather
creaking as he folded his large frame onto the ground, long legs kicked out in front.
“Aren’t you going to take them off?”
“No.”
“Aren’t you warm?”
“Yes.”
“Then take them off.”
“No.”
She huffed. “Jesus, Loris, why is everything a battle with you?”
Ignoring her—something he did pretty often—he reached into the bag and removed two bottles of
water. Twisting the cap off one, he handed it to her.
“Thanks.”
She sipped the water, surprised to find that it was cool. He must have included ice packs in the
bag. He took a long drink, his gaze on the horizon. She couldn’t take her eyes off his tanned throat as
he swallowed. He screwed the cap on, dropped the bottle beside him, and leaned back on his elbows.
“Hear that?” he asked.
She cocked her ears. “I can’t hear anything.”
“Exactly.”
He lay down fully, bracing his arms behind his head, and closed his eyes.
“Is that a passive-aggressive way of telling me to stop talking?”
He made a frustrated noise. “Destiny, not everything is a dig at you.”
Affronted, she glared at him. Not that he could see her, which meant she’d kind of wasted one of
her best death stares on a man who was oblivious. “I never said it was.”
“Fuck’s sake, woman. Lie down, close your eyes, and just fucking be.”
On principle, she refused, sitting cross-legged instead. But when he didn’t even look at her, and
her back began to ache, she caved, lying down beside him.
“ ’Bout fucking time,” he muttered.
She mentally flipped him the bird. She might love the man, but Christ, he’d test the Pope’s
patience.
Apart from the wisp of wind through the trees, and birds chirping nearby, it was dead silent. In
less than a minute, horrific images crowded her mind, and the sound of screaming rang in her ears.
She sat bolt upright, sweat prickling along her spine. This was the reason she couldn’t sleep. Too
quiet, too much room in her head for demons to visit.
“Can I tell you something?”
Loris cranked an eye. “Depends on what it is.”
She gnawed on her lip. “I can’t play.”
“What do you mean?” He sat up.
 “Every time I sit down at the piano to play, I can’t. The music, it’s just not there anymore.”
He ran a hand over his beard, his eyes boring into hers. She averted her gaze. It was too intense
when he looked at her like that, as if he could read her mind.
“And why do you think that’s happening?” His voice was unusually soft.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
Carving her hands through her hair, she stared down into the valley. If she vocalized what was on
her mind, that would make it true, and she wasn’t sure she could handle it.
“Destiny.” Loris traced her jawline with his fingertips, angling her head toward him. “Talk to
me.”
She closed her eyes, but all she saw was him and the women, and his mutilated father. She
snapped them open.
“I told you that every time I made a mistake while playing Hammerklavier, he punished them,
right?”
He nodded. Her vision blurred, but she blinked away her tears. To cry when she’d had it easy
compared to the others seemed like a betrayal of them and their suffering.
“Well, each time I put my fingers on the keys, I see the agony on their faces, hear their screams
followed by their whimpers as they lay on the floor.”
She hung her head. “What if I never find peace? Music is my soul, Loris, and he stole that from
me.”
He caressed under her chin, then tipped up her head to bring her eyes to his.
“There’s this guy who works for me, Mack, good guy, a real asset to the team. When he was in the
Royal Marines, he was sent on a mission to Syria. It went horribly wrong, and ISIS captured him.
They kept him chained to a radiator for three months, tortured him daily. Waterboarding, whipping the
soles of his feet, hanging him upside down for hours at a time. Real pieces of fucking work.”
A disgusted expression flashed over his face, and her stomach rolled. She didn’t need him to spell
it out to know what this man had endured.
“I led the team that rescued him, but getting him back to the UK was just the start of his recovery.
He was a mess. PTSD on steroids. He found solace in the bottom of a bottle. Cost him his marriage
and almost his freedom. But he got help, turned it around, and now he’s one of my top guys. Found
happiness again with a peach of a woman and is based over in America. Never seen a happier
couple.”
He took hold of both of her hands. “What I’m trying to say is that you’ve got to give it time.
Recovering from trauma doesn’t happen overnight, and being hard on yourself won’t do you any good
in the long run. But I would also say this. Don’t let that fucker steal your power.”
That speech might be the longest one Loris had ever spoken, and she included the time before
Sophia had died in that assessment. For as long as she could remember, he’d been a taciturn man,
using his words sparingly.
“Have you told your therapist about not being able to play?”
She shook her head.
He made a frustrated noise. “And you haven’t told your parents or Dutch either.”
She almost answered in the negative, then stopped. He’d made a statement, not a question.
“Have you been talking to my parents about me? To Dutch?”
A flicker of guilt crossed his face. The shutters came down damned fast, but not fast enough.
“Great. You’re all whispering behind my back like a bunch of gossipy old women with nothing
better to do with their time. Well, you know what, Loris? Screw you.”
She half rose to her feet, ready to stomp off to anywhere that wasn’t here. He snapped a hand
around her wrist, tugging her back to the ground.
“Jesus Christ, Destiny. You can be one frustrating woman. Dial back on the salt. They ask me how
you’re getting on because every time they ask you, they get hit with your favorite word. ‘Fine.’
They’re worried. That’s all.”
She should thank him for keeping her loved ones updated when she seemed incapable of saying
much of anything at all. Instead, she replied with, “I am fine. Fine is a perfectly good description of
where I am.”
“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Talk to your goddamn therapist, Destiny.”
He stood, brushing blades of grass off his leathers. Reaching down, he swiped up the bag, tossed
the almost empty bottles of water inside, and grabbed his leather jacket.
“I need to get back.”
Without waiting for her, he began the trek down the hill. By the time she wrestled into her
leathers, laced up her boots, and jogged down the hill to where they’d left the bike, he was already
astride with the engine running. And her temper boiled hotter than the oil in that damn engine.
“Thanks for leaving me,” she petulantly shouted over the bike noise. “Anything could have
happened. I thought you were supposed to protect me.”
He cut the engine and lifted his visor. “Don’t tell me how to do my fucking job. I had my eye on
you the entire time. Now stop behaving like a child and get on the damn bike.”
Job?
Child?
Her vision turned red. She wrenched off the helmet, tossed it at him, and kicked the bike tire for
good measure. “Nice to know you think I’m a job. You know what? You’re fired. I’ll make my own
way back.”
She’d taken less than five steps when ironlike arms clamped around her body, lifting her off the
ground. She kicked out her legs and wriggled, but it was pointless. He was too darned strong, and it
pissed her off to admit it, even nonverbally. He said nothing, just waited until she’d exhausted herself.
Energy stores depleted, she slumped like a rag doll.
“Have you quite finished?” he muttered, his warm breath brushing the shell of her ear.
Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. Goddammit. She would not cry. He wasn’t worth it. This
whole fucked-up situation wasn’t worth it.
“Put me down, Loris,” she said wearily.
He set her feet on the ground. She kept her back to him while she pulled herself together.
“I want my life back. I want me back.” I want you.
Gripping her shoulders, he turned her until they were toe-to-toe.
“Look at me.”
It crossed her mind to refuse his softly spoken order, but that would play deeper into his
accusation of her acting like a “child.” She tipped back her head, squinting into the sun. “What?”
He stared at her with those startling blue eyes, and as she stared back, something shifted beneath
her feet, almost like the earth moved on tectonic plates. Except there weren’t any tectonic plates in
Surrey. Not that she knew of, anyway.
“Why do you have to be so goddamn special?” he muttered, another of those statements of his that
she chose not to answer. Because how did one reply to that when the words wouldn’t come?
“Loris,” she breathed, parting her lips.
 “Fuck.”
He ran his thumb over her lips, and then he was kissing her, and she was drowning, and the
sounds of the birds perched on thick tree branches faded into nothingness until the entire planet was
him and her in this moment. She’d dreamed of this moment for so long, fantasized about how it would
feel and what she would do if this ever came to be.
The reality of kissing the man she’d been in love with for almost a decade surpassed every dream
she’d had. Her toes curled inside her boots, electricity zinging through her veins and shocking her
heart into an uneven rhythm. She arched her back, and when the leathers stopped her from getting as
close as she desired, she growled in frustration.
Loris’s answer was to deepen the kiss. He unfastened the zipper on her jacket and burrowed his
hands underneath, running them over her back, up her sides, and lower to grip her arse. Reaching up,
she knitted her arms around his neck and pressed closer, so close that a blade of grass wouldn’t fit
between them. And still it wasn’t close enough. Naked wouldn’t be close enough, but it was better
than this.
He slipped his tongue inside her mouth, exploring, tangling with hers. His gentleness surprised
her. She’d imagined Loris to be a rough kind of a guy when it came to intimacy, all clashing teeth and
scratching and biting, but he kissed and held her as if she were made of the finest bone china.
Breaking their kiss, he rested his forehead against hers, his breathing rapid. His eyes were closed,
and so she closed hers, and they stood there, both lost in their own thoughts. Hers were chaotic,
exalted, joyous. And his… she hoped they were the same. With Loris, it was difficult to tell. But a
man didn’t kiss a woman and elicit those kinds of feelings without there being something significant
between them. Could this be the start of a deeper relationship, the likes of which she’d dreamed of for
a lifetime?
“We should go.”
He kissed her forehead and stepped back. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“Loris, I—”
“It’s getting late, Destiny. I don’t want to hit rush-hour traffic.”
He slipped on his helmet and restarted the engine. She put hers on, too, mounting the bike and
wrapping her arms around his waist.
If Loris Winslow thought he could kiss her like that and then retreat to his emotionally stunted
place of safety, he was in for a rude awakening. Instead of his attitude pissing her off, she smiled. He
didn’t know it yet, but things between them, from now on, would be different.
He could run, but the time to hide was over.
 CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

KISSING DESTINY WAS NOTHING LIKE HE’ D IMAGINED . AND HE’ D IMAGINED IT A LOT , ESPECIALLY
since she’d come to live at Montford. His nights were filled with fantasies of her naked body writhing
against his, of touch and exploration, of his cock in her mouth, in her pussy. Her lips were softer than
he’d thought they’d be, her body molding perfectly to his, the taste of her reminding him of succulent
strawberries at the height of summer.
When she’d muttered so miserably, “I want my life back,” he’d been overcome with a need to fix
everything for her, his inhibitions of taking what he’d craved for so long vanishing in the wake of her
utter desperation to rediscover the woman she’d been before her abduction.
With his background, he understood the trauma of what she’d been through better than most. Had
seen enough men and women rescued from captivity in far-flung war-torn nations to know that the
rescue was only the beginning of a long and painful journey to recovery. But hearing Destiny’s
mournful plea had urged him to act.
He should have kissed her again. He should have laid her down on the warm, lush grass and
peeled off every stitch of her clothes. He should have used his lips and his tongue and his hands on
every inch of her body to bring her pleasure and help her forget, if only for a moment.
Instead, him being him, he’d run from the intimacy of the moment.
He really was a stupid bastard.
And the worst of it, if he got the chance for a do-over, he’d repeat the same mistake. Kiss and run.
Commitment to his military unit, commitment to Intrepid, commitment to every man and woman
who’d chosen to come and work for him and help his mission to keep people safe—safer than Sophia
—was easy. But committing to Destiny, admitting what he felt for her and, maybe, having her feel the
same way, terrified him.
Losing his sister had split him in two. One half had died along with her. The other half had steeled
him to start Intrepid and work tirelessly to make it a success. There’d been no room for anything else
in his life, and that had suited him just fine. Love was pain, and he’d had enough of that to last a
lifetime.
But Destiny Rivers had the power to bring the dead parts of him back to life—and he wasn’t
ready. He could only liken his fear to a limb with the circulation cut off by a tourniquet, once removed
and the blood flowed through starved arteries, the agony was so intense that he’d seen strong-as-an-
ox motherfuckers pass out from it.
Her arms folded around his waist, her hold seeming tighter on the way back, almost as if she
sensed him slipping away, slipping back to his old self, and she thought if she held on tight enough,
she could force him to stay.
 She couldn’t.
They arrived back at Montford as the afternoon sun dipped behind the tree line at the rear of the
house. Loris stopped the bike outside the front door. He kept the engine running, and Destiny got the
message. She dismounted, removed her helmet, and handed it to him. He braced for her face to twist
with hurt or disappointment at his dismissal—for that was what this was—but instead, she hit him
with a brilliant smile.
“Thanks for the ride. It was just what I needed.”
She skipped into the house with a bright wave, leaving him staring, dumbfounded, as she
disappeared inside.
What the actual fuck?
Had he misread the signals? Had the kiss they’d shared not shifted the ground beneath her feet as
it had with his?
Isn’t this what you wanted? No drama?
Yes, and no.
Fuck, he was a paradox unto himself.
He left the bike in the garage and entered the house from the rear. There was no sign of Destiny as
he trekked through the hallways. He showered, changed his clothes, and went to work, but he couldn’t
focus. His mind was filled with that kiss. Over and over he replayed it, his cock hardening at the
visuals.
He palmed himself through his jeans, groaning at the friction of his hand and the rough denim.
Unzipping them, he slid his hand inside his boxers and squeezed his shaft, hard, a mix of punishment
and pleasure. Another guttural groan sounded in his throat, loud enough that anyone passing would
hear him.
But as he approached orgasm, even reaching across his desk to grab a handful of tissues, he
stopped. Withdrew his hand. Dropped the tissues on his desk. Panting, he breathed through the
frustration as his dick deflated.
Masturbating wouldn’t satisfy him. It would only leave him with a stronger yearning for something
more. If he couldn’t bring himself to make a move on Destiny, then he sure as hell wasn’t going to
resort to rubbing out an orgasm in the middle of his place of work with some ridiculous notion that it
would make him feel better when it would have the opposite effect.
Throwing himself into work, he lost track of time as he read the latest reports from his team in the
field. They were closing in on a potential sighting of Evans, but this wasn’t the first time Loris had
had his hopes raised, only for that bastard to slip out of reach. He was like a chameleon and Scarlet
fucking Pimpernel wrapped into one, but he couldn’t run forever. Sooner or later, he’d trip up and
Loris’s men would be there waiting.
Sometimes he wished he was out in the field himself, but if he got to Evans first, he’d kill the man
with his bare hands, show him what true torture looked like. Besides, he’d never entrust Destiny’s
safety to anyone other than himself, not even his former Royal Marine battalion or Intrepid’s top
guards. She was his responsibility and his alone.
At a firm knock on his door, Loris called, “Come in.”
Booth stuck his head inside. “Sir, dinner is served in the dining room.”
“Thanks.” He still hadn’t invited Destiny to eat in his private suite of rooms, and after that kiss
today, he couldn’t risk changing the status quo. The formal dining room was the sensible choice. It
kept things, well, formal.
“Has Miss Rivers come down to dinner yet?”
 An odd expression crossed Booth’s face, his eyes twinkling as he nodded. “She certainly has,
sir.”
Strange. Loris shook it off, locking his computer and pushing his chair back from his desk. “Thank
you, Booth.”
“Not a problem, sir. I’ll leave you to it.”
Loris made his way to the dining room. His phone buzzed as he approached. He dug it out of his
pocket.
“Winslow.”
He entered the dining room and—
“Fuck.”
“Nice greeting,” Crew drawled in his ear. “Most people say hi.”
Loris, jaw on the floor, muttered, “Bad timing. I’ll call you back.” He tapped End Call and slid
his phone onto the edge of the fourteen-seater antique dining table.
“Hi.”
Destiny glided toward him, her stunning body poured into a figure-hugging, knee-length, off-the-
shoulder number. The color, blue green, reminded him of the waters around the Maldives. Her slender
ankles were shown off by high-heeled shoes, her hair curled in waves, lying gracefully over her
shoulder, a light dusting of pink over her cheekbones, and her lips—the same lips he’d kissed—
decorated in a vibrant red lipstick.
“Wh-what… what’s going on?”
She was in front of him now, less than a foot between them. The scent of jasmine tickled his nose,
followed by the sweet smell of roses. His heart pounded, his sex throbbed, his body tingled with the
urge to touch and be touched.
She slid a hand between the gap in his shirt and drew circles on his chest, eye contact deep and
prolonged. Intense. His breath caught in his throat, lungs flattening. He dropped his gaze to her lips.
“What are you doing?” he rasped.
She slipped both arms around his neck, her fingers smoothing the gooseflesh that’d sprung up.
“Seducing you,” she murmured.

For a man who was always in control, who oozed self-confidence, dominance, and power, Loris
looked as if he’d been cornered by a potent beast he suddenly realized he couldn’t outrun or outsmart.
And he had.
After returning from their bike ride this afternoon, he’d locked himself away in his study while
she’d plotted his ultimate downfall. He’d shown his hand, and there was no backing out now. For
years, she’d thought he was impervious to her, and she’d tried everything to get his attention,
including making up wild stories about all the men she’d slept with as a way of showing him she was
a woman of the world rather than the little girl and his sister’s best friend he saw her as.
Nothing had worked.
Not even the confession she’d made the day after he’d rescued her that she’d fabricated every one
of those men had forced him to act. She’d hoped then that he might realize she’d done all that in a
childish attempt to get him to notice her, but to no avail.
 And then, today, when he’d kissed her, everything had changed. That one kiss had told her
everything she needed to know. Loris wanted her, and she wanted him. Nothing was standing in their
way other than his bloody-mindedness. She’d known him almost all her life, and yet he remained a
mystery in a lot of ways. Loris was a proud, complicated man whose actions often spawned
confusion. And as for asking him to explain himself—ha! Pointless. Loris Winslow answered to
himself and God.
Yet standing here before her, he looked like a man who’d been caught in a trap and wasn’t sure
how he’d allowed it to happen. For the first time in their long and complicated relationship, she was
on the front foot, the one in charge.
“Is that so?” He sounded husky, as if he’d gone to bed late and had only just woken up. “You think
you can seduce me?”
There wasn’t a hint of humor in his tone. He was deadly serious, his sharp blue eyes seeing far
too much. She’d thought she’d outmaneuvered him, taken charge. Oh, how wrong she was.
“I-I…” She took a breath. “I know you want me.”
He ran his tongue along his bottom lip, his nostrils flaring as he breathed, his muscular chest
rising and then falling. And still he said nothing. Her stomach flipped. Had she misread the signs?
Perhaps his kiss had been some kind of therapy, a way of comforting her after her pathetic plea of
wanting her old life back.
She didn’t want her old life back. She craved a new life with the man standing before her. The
same man she feared was on the cusp of rejecting her after it’d taken all her courage to offer him sex
on a platter.
He had the power to crush her. The question was, would he? Underneath it all, did he still blame
her for Sophia’s death? He’d said he didn’t hate her, but he’d never absolved her of blame, had he?
Would he take advantage while she stood here with her heart exposed, and exact his longed-for
revenge?
Oh God, this was all such a terrible mistake.
“Forget it.”
She dropped her arms from around his neck and veered away. He snapped a hand around the back
of her neck, yanking her to him. He crushed his lips to hers, sucking the air from her lungs. Her bones
dissolved, his grip on her nape and now also at her waist the only things preventing her from
collapsing in a heap. As he leaned into her, she backed up until her spine hit something solid. A wall
or a door, maybe. Her head was spinning, her orientation off.
He broke their kiss, his lips tracking along her jawline. She angled her neck and he took the bait,
kissing and sucking the sensitive skin and pulling a moan of pleasure from her.
“Not here,” he murmured.
Lifting her easily into his arms, he took off up the stairs. Her room was on the first floor, but he
continued up onto the second floor. At the end of one of Montford’s long hallways, he jabbed his
elbow against a door handle and pushed down, entering a room she hadn’t seen before.
Wow. What a contrast to the rest of the house.
The large living space was light and airy, with soft furnishings in cream and gold and yellow, the
complete opposite of the austere dark wood and brocade and sage-green walls of Montford Hall.
Loris strode across the room before she’d had a chance to properly take it in and carried her into
a bedroom decorated in shades of blue. He set her on the floor.
“Are these your rooms?”
He nodded. “The trust states that the public areas of Montford have to remain as they are, even
though it isn’t open for visitors any longer. But this floor has always been a private space, so… I
redecorated.”
“I like it. Shows a different side to you.”
He didn’t reply. His eyes were hooded as he gazed down at her, his attention on her mouth.
“I don’t have protection.”
She swallowed, his statement a clear indication that their relationship was about to change. “It’s
okay. I’m on birth control.”
He parted his lips, but instead of kissing her, he traced his thumb along her bottom lip, then
pushed it into her mouth. She sucked, reveling in his sharp intake of breath as she ran her tongue
around the tip.
“Take off your dress.”
His thumb popped out, and he stood back as she slid the thin straps down her arms, wiggling out
of the tight-fitting dress. His hot gaze never left her for a second. He didn’t even blink. She stepped to
one side.
“Next order, Major.”
The faintest curve to his lips sent a thrill rushing through her. Loris’s smiles were so frugal that
when one came, it gave the recipient cause for celebration.
He gripped her bra right between her cleavage and tugged her into his body. “Unbutton my shirt.”
She did as he demanded, only fumbling with one or two buttons. The material parted, revealing
that bar through his nipple, the one she’d seen that time she’d spied on him getting out of the shower.
She peeled off his shirt and flung it at the wall, then bent her head and sucked his nipple into her
mouth, tugging on his piercing with her teeth.
“Christ.” He groaned. She peeked up at him. His eyes were closed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as
he swallowed, the faintest tinge of red creeping up his neck. “Trousers.”
Still suckling on him, she flipped the button and tugged down the zipper. His trousers fell in a
heap at his ankles. Nerves swarmed her stomach. It’d been a long while since she’d had sex. More
than a year. Stephen Taylor, a talented violinist, but a major disappointment in bed.
“Hey.” Loris cupped her chin. “Having second thoughts?”
“No, just…” She gnawed her lip and averted her gaze. “It’s you and it’s me, and I’m… it’s been a
long while. I need… I need you to lead the way.”
“It’s been a long time for me, too.” He reached for her hand, placing it over his heart, and put his
on top. “Close your eyes.”
She obeyed him. His heart beat beneath her palm, strong and steady, if slightly elevated. His other
hand encircled her waist, and then his lips captured hers. He kissed her without urgency, his tongue
taking hers in a lazy dance as if they had all the time in the world.
And then she realized what he was doing. He was seducing her.
“Mmm.” The sound spilled out of her, contented, warm, safe. She felt her bra loosen as he
unfastened the clasp. His entire hand covered her boob with room to spare. He pinched her nipple,
and she thought she might die from the pleasure.
“Don’t stop,” she breathed.
“Don’t plan to.”
She didn’t remember moving, but when she opened her eyes, they were on the bed. Somewhere
along the way, she’d lost her knickers and he’d discarded his boxers. The sight of his pierced cock
had stunned her from a distance, but up close, and erect, it daunted her.
“I probably should have mentioned the piercing.” He cupped her face, his torso half over hers. “It
doesn’t hurt. In fact, the position is intended to give the most pleasure to the woman.”
“I knew about the piercing.”
His eyebrows lifted. “How?”
“I saw you once, getting out of the shower.”
“When did you…?” He shook his head. “Never mind. Time for questions later.” He took her
mouth again, and her anxiety vanished under his touch, his tongue, his lips. She arched her back to
meet him, her hands feverish while they explored every inch as she’d dreamed of doing so many
times. But the dream and the reality were different beasts. So much better. If she died tonight, her life
would be complete. All she’d ever wanted was this man, and while she doubted Loris Winslow could
ever be owned, in this moment, he belonged to her.
“Open your legs.” His palms pressed against her thighs. “Wider.”
Her muscles pulled and stretched as he settled his huge shoulders between her thighs. His thumbs
parted her, opening her to his tongue.
“Shit.”
She pressed her spine into the mattress, lifting her pelvis, as greedy as an addict promised a
mind-blowing fix.
“Jesus, God, Loris.”
She felt him smile and wished she could see it. But that would mean he’d have to stop, and if he
stopped, she’d die.
Her abdomen grew heavy, a swell burgeoning inside. She climaxed, but it was more like a
detonation, a fragmentation of mind, body, and soul. Her hearing went, and her toes curled, getting
tangled in the covers. Wave after wave crashed through her, and nonsensical words came out of her,
mumblings and moans.
At the height of her pleasure, he nudged his cock at her entrance, pushing, shoving, filling, and
stretching her. Oh God, she was going to tear. What if she wasn’t built for a man like Loris? And with
the added piercing, maybe he wouldn’t fit. She tensed, hands fisting the sheets, wincing as he pushed
in another inch.
“Relax,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Eyes on me.”
She sought him out, locking on his steady gaze. Gradually, her muscles loosened, but he still
wasn’t all the way in. This was ridiculous. Vaginas were made to birth babies. She could take a
man’s cock, even if he was frigging enormous and had metal in the crown.
“Destiny?”
She winced. “Yeah.”
“Deep breath.”
She pulled oxygen in through her nose, and at the height of her breath, he drove forward, balls-
deep.
“Fuck,” she expelled on the exhale. “Warn a girl.”
“Better this way.” He kissed her. “I need to move. You good?”
“Yeah.”
His huge hands gripped the headboard as he thrust into her, his hips surging forward, the power in
him unmistakable. In and out, in and out, her body adapting to him with each move. The discomfort
ebbed, the fullness a part of her, a joy, a delight. She traced his cheekbones, his neck, his massive
shoulders and phenomenal biceps. She couldn’t look away.
He shifted his position and—
Ohhh.
 Something inside her fluttered, an alien sensation but one that made her hips lift as she sought
more of whatever he’d done to evoke that feeling. He did it again and again, and she grew addicted.
The piercing. That was what it was. Dear God in heaven, that was out-of-this-world amazing.
Incredible.
“I’m having an out-of-body experience.” She gasped as the metal grazed her insides again. “Jesus,
Loris.”
“Too much?”
“No.”
He reared back. “Put your ankles on my shoulders.”
As she did, he cupped her arse and lifted her. The next time he thrust in, she went into orgasmic
shock. This wasn’t a waves-crashing-onto-shore climax. It was an earthquake, a walls-falling-down-
and-covering-her-in-rubble climax. It came at her so fast that she wasn’t prepared. Pulse after pulse
rocked through her until she feared her own body. Pleasure bordered on pain until she worried that
she couldn’t take it.
“You’re going to kill me.”
He laughed, and her insides melted. It’d been years since she’d heard Loris laugh, and she’d sell
a kidney to hear it again.
“If killing you means you clamp onto my dick like that, get ready to die daily.”
“Where do I sign?”
Another chuckle rumbled through his chest, but when she squeezed her muscles, he got serious,
pounding into her over and over until another swell built in her lower abdomen. Sweat coated her
skin. She couldn’t do another. It really would kill her.
“Come, Destiny, for fuck’s sake,” Loris growled through gritted teeth.
She let go, tremors racking her from the top of her head to the tip of her toes. Her calf muscles
contracted, cramping, and she bit back a cry. He’d wrecked her in the best possible way.
“Christ,” he muttered. He threw back his head, exposing his tanned neck, and his lips parted on a
long, low groan. He wrapped his huge hands around her ankles like if he didn’t hold on, he’d drift
away. Or maybe he feared that she would.
She watched, bewitched, as the hard lines and gruff expression disappeared mid-orgasm,
replaced with a serenity she hadn’t seen since long before Sophia had died. Pride filled her chest.
She’d done that. Her body had given him that moment of peace.
Gently removing her legs from his shoulders, she planted the soles of her feet on either side of his
hips and pulled him down to her. She kissed his lips, his cheeks, his closed eyelids. He touched his
forehead to hers, forearms braced at the sides of her head to keep the bulk of his weight off her.
Slowly their breathing returned to normal. Pecking her lips, he rolled to the side, resting one palm on
his ripped abdomen. He reached for her, capturing her wrist and placing her hand over his heart, then
covered it with his own.
“Thank you.” She kissed his shoulder.
“What for?”
“For finally letting me in.”
 CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

TWO BLISSFUL DAYS PASSED WHERE THEY ONLY LEFT HIS BEDROOM TO EAT AND BATHE. HE COULDN ’ T
remember a time when he’d felt this happy.
Not when Sophia had been born and he’d been blessed with a longed-for baby sister.
Not when he’d joined the Royal Marines.
Not when he’d received his first command assignment at the age of twenty-one.
Not when his CO had broken the news that he was being promoted to Major a few short weeks
before his life blew up.
Those milestones had shaped him, but this milestone he’d shared with Destiny had transformed
him. Every touch, every kiss, every tender caress was her putting another stitch in the ruined parts of
him, those parts he’d never expected to heal.
Destiny lay sprawled across his body, her caramel locks draped over his chest. She drew circles
around his nipple, tweaking the bar on every third pass. Each time she did it, his stomach turned over,
and his cock twitched.
“How long have you fancied me?”
He smiled at her question, kissing the top of her head. “Fishing for compliments? Wouldn’t have
said you were the type.”
“Well then”—she lifted herself up and sucked on his nipple—“you have a lot to learn.”
“Don’t I just?” He groaned as her teeth got to work.
“Tell me.”
“A while.”
“That could mean anything. Any amount of time.”
“I know.”
“Ugh.” She flung herself on her back and folded her arms over her chest. “You are infuriating.”
My turn for some nipple play.
He rolled on top of her, caging her with his body. Bending his head, he sucked the ripe bud into
his mouth. She reacted as expected, raising her pelvis and brushing against his cock.
“Don’t think you can get away with not answering by sexing me up.”
He grinned against her warm, soft skin. “Sexing you up?”
“Yeah, you’re too good at this.” She made a frustrated sound. “And I shouldn’t have told you
that.”
“Why not?”
“Because.” She huffed. “You’ll use it against me.”
“You make it sound like torture.”
 “Sometimes that’s what it feels like. It’s… you… it’s a lot. I’m feeling… everything. And it
scares me. What if you start to hate me again?”
“I never hated you.” He nuzzled her neck, then planted his forearms on either side of her head and
gazed down at her. “For a long time, I thought I did. But I was just sad and angry and bitter, and you
were… an easy target.” At his admission, shame coated him. He was a vigorous advocate for
women’s rights, for equality, and yet he’d intimidated and humiliated and ostracized his sister’s best
friend, laying some of the blame at her feet for Sophia’s murder.
And the worst part? The part he couldn’t shake? To a point, he still blamed her.
On a rational level, he knew what had happened wasn’t her fault. But on an emotional level…
yeah, that was another story entirely. He wanted to shake off the feeling, but no matter how hard he
tried, he couldn’t let it go.
“It felt like it,” she whispered.
“Since you were seventeen. That’s how long I’ve been attracted to you.” In war, decoys were
used to distract the enemy, allowing the good guys to escape. In bed, with the woman he loved when
the truth was too much to handle, a decoy worked just as well. Her eyebrows flew up, her forehead
wrinkling, eyes round with surprise.
“That long?”
“Yeah.” He rolled to the side and she tucked in. She slung a leg over his and placed her palm over
his heart.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You were so young, and war had hardened me. And… well, you were… busy with other guys. I
thought you weren’t interested.” Her admission of when she’d lost her virginity came back to him. “I
used to listen in on you and Sophia gossiping about all the guys you’d been with. But then you told me
you lost your virginity the night she died. Gotta say, I’m confused.”
“I made it up.” She spoke so quietly that he barely heard her. “I was desperate for you to notice
me, to think I was worldly-wise, so I used to tell Sophia all these wild tales about the guys I’d been
with in the hope that it would get back to you and you’d see me as a woman, not your little sister’s
best friend.” She chuckled. “I made one up once about a guy who had his cock pierced. I looked it up
on the internet. I thought it made me so cool. Turns out fantasy and reality are very different things.”
She ran her finger around the head of his cock, playing with the bars.
She’d made it up. She’d fucking made up the guy with the piercing. And he’d… he’d…
He began to laugh until his chest shook with the force of it. She stared at him like he’d gone mad.
“What’s so funny?”
“I overheard that conversation, and, blinded with jealousy of whoever this dick was, I went out,
got hammered, and stumbled into a tattoo parlor on the way home from the pub.”
She clamped a hand over her mouth. “Oh God. That’s when you got pierced? You? Mr. Sensible?”
“Yep. Turns out that when provoked and burning with jealousy, Mr. Sensible launches himself off
a cliff and Mr. Who Gives A Fuck takes his place. And because your made-up guy had a Prince
fucking Albert, I went one better and got a king’s crown.” He pulled his lips to one side. “Yeah, I’m a
dick like that.”
“Oh, Loris.” Her peals of laughter filled the cracks in his heart, seeping into the corners and fixing
the parts of him that’d lain dormant since Sophia’s death. “What would the upper echelons of society
say?”
“You think I give a shit about them?” He gripped her hips and rolled her on top of him. “Never
have, never will.”
 She touched his nipple. “Why did you get this pierced, too?”
“They had a two-for-one deal.” He chuckled.
“Ohhh.” She laughed again. “That is hilarious.”
“I’m English aristocracy, darling.” He laid on a thick, plummy accent. “We love a bargain. Tight
as a duck’s arse, most of us.”
“Not you. Nothing tight about you.”
“Lucky for me, there’s something very tight about you.” He raised his knees, shifting her farther up
his body. His fingers probed at her entrance. “Damn, so wet.”
She batted his hand away. “We’re talking. You never talk. You can touch me when we’ve
finished.”
“Ugh, fine.”
“Did you just say ‘ugh’? Oh my God. Who are you, and what have you done with ‘stick up his
bum’ Loris Winslow?”
Heat radiated through his chest. Just a few short weeks ago, he’d never have guessed he’d be
lying here, teasing the woman he loved and having her tease him back.
“God, I’m happy.”
Her face fell, the direct opposite of what he’d expected at his admission. She heaved a sigh.
“We’ve wasted so much time.”
He palmed the back of her head, raising himself up to kiss her. “Don’t look back. I learned that in
the military. You can’t change the past, and the future is tomorrow’s worry. Today is all we have.”
“That’s true.”
Silence enveloped them, and he pulled her close, basking in the feel of her body against his.
“I still can’t believe you made it all up. That’s some acting. I believed every word.”
“I was seventeen and desperate for your attention. And you treated me like a second sister.”
“My feelings for you were never brotherly.” He shuddered. “Okay, maybe they were when you
were twelve or something. But feelings change. Mine changed, and it came as such a shock that I
handled it badly.”
“I think I win the award for bad behavior.”
“You were young. I wasn’t. I should have known better.”
“We’ve both made mistakes.” She lifted her head, locking her eyes with his. “Let’s not do that
anymore.”
He tucked her hair behind her ears and reached up for another kiss. “Deal.”
“Y’know, I used to have this really dirty dream about you.”
He curved one eyebrow. “Tell me more.”
A blush stole over her cheeks. Interesting. Now he really wanted to hear about this dream.
“I’d return to my bedroom on the weekends I’d stay here and find a note on my bed. It ordered me
to come to your office. Your dad’s office, not the one you use now.”
“I used to hole up in there for hours when I returned from a tour. There was something about that
room that calmed me. War is noisy and chaotic and bloody. When I came home, I craved the quiet.”
“I remember.” She touched his cheek, sorrow darkening her eyes.
He shook his head. “Tell me. About the dream.”
“Well.” She nibbled the corner of her mouth. “I’d go to the office and knock on the door, and when
I entered, you’d be there, standing by the window with your hands locked behind your back. You
didn’t smile or greet me in any way. I’d close the door and wait for you to say something.”
“And did I?”
 “Yeah.” She lowered her eyes, her lashes grazing her cheek. “You’d say, ‘Kneel,’ and I would. No
questions asked, almost as if we’d practiced it a hundred times.”
His heart hammered inside his chest. “And then?”
She licked her lips and swallowed. “You’d turn around, and for a few seconds, you’d just stare,
your eyes hooded as if you wanted to hide your thoughts from me.”
Blood rushed to his groin, his cock eager to play out this dream for real.
“After what felt like ages, you’d come to me. You’d stroke my hair and tell me I was exquisite,
and then I’d hear you unbuckle your belt.”
Jesus. His stomach pulled in, desire tugging at his insides. “What happened next?” Although, he
could guess.
She blinked coyly. “I’d wake up.”
His lips parted. “That’s it? You’d wake at that point every time?”
“Yeah.” She grimaced. “With my hand in my knickers.”
“Fuck.” He sucked in a breath, blowing it out between pursed lips. “I am so turned on right now.”
One day, when she least expected it, he’d make that dream a reality. He’d write that note and wait for
her to come to him. He could hardly breathe just thinking about it.
He rolled her onto her back, settling between her parted legs, when his phone rang. He thought
about ignoring it until he glanced at the screen and saw the caller ID. Even then, he considered letting
it go to voicemail. He’d rather not have this conversation in front of Destiny until he’d had time to
prepare her, something he’d purposely put off.
“Answer it.” She nudged him.
Shit. He grabbed his phone and climbed out of bed, sitting on the edge.
“Hawke. Any news.”
“It’s a miss,” he replied. “Looks like he left in a hurry.”
“Fuck.” Loris launched to his feet, pacing back and forth, Destiny’s perplexed gaze tracking his
movement. “How did we miss him?”
At hearing the word him, Destiny sat up straight and pulled the covers up to her chin, puzzlement
morphing into fear. Bollocks. He’d kept news of Evans away from her, mainly because he hadn’t
wanted to frighten her or get her hopes up that he might be caught soon. He should’ve let the fucking
call go to voicemail, especially as the news wasn’t what he’d hoped for.
“Beats me,” Hawke said. “What now?”
“Regroup and wait for him to resurface.”
“Could be a while, especially if he ran because he got wind that we were coming.”
“Takes as long as it takes.” Which meant Destiny’s life remained on hold. Although, since she
hadn’t played a single note since her release, that wasn’t such a big problem. “I’ll set up a
videoconference for tomorrow.”
“Copy.”
Loris cut the call, placing his phone on the bedside table. He felt Destiny’s gaze on him, but she
said nothing as the mattress bowed under his weight.
“We got close,” he said. “Not close enough.”
“You’ve been tracking him all this time?”
“Pretty much.” He rubbed his lips together. “The authorities in Greece weren’t making enough
progress for my liking, so I got my guys on it.”
“Where was he? Near here?” Fear raised her voice.
“No.” He caught her hand and brought it to his chest. “Turkey. And even if he was close, you are
safe here. He can’t get to you.”
“But I can’t stay here forever.” She’d gone fully high-pitched now, eyes wide, teeth worrying her
lip.
“Says who?” He dipped his head and kissed the tips of her fingers. “It’s not like I don’t have the
room.”
She yanked her hand from his. “It’s not funny, Loris. I have a life. One I’d like to go back to
eventually.”
“And you will. I promise.”
“I still can’t play.” She nibbled her lip, averting her gaze. “I’m scared. I’m so bloody scared.
Music is all I know.”
He pulled her into his arms, and she burrowed inside, tucking her head underneath his chin. She
felt so slight, yet he knew that underneath her fear was the heart of a lion.
“Will you do something for me?”
He kissed the top of her head. “Anything.”
“Teach me self-defense.”
He’d been anticipating this request for a while, but when it hadn’t come, he’d put it to the back of
his mind. But the mere mention of Evans had brought up her fears of losing control, of being taken
against her will again, and knowing a defensive move or two couldn’t hurt.
He released her, then stood and held out his hand.
“What?” She frowned.
“No time like the present.”
 THE COLLECTOR

M Y CHEST BURNS , BREATHS COMING LOW AND SHALLOW AS I SPRINT THROUGH THE DARKNESS , DODGING
between trees and jumping over felled logs.
My escape route is well planned, but that doesn’t mean I have taken a single thing for granted.
Not after barely getting off the island by the skin of my teeth.
But how are they tracking me? And, more importantly, who are they?
Somehow, I have to shake them off my tail. How can I rescue my queen otherwise?
I cannot fail her.
Will not fail her.
She is naked without me, as I am without her. We need each other.
Without her, I am impotent to fulfill Renata’s legacy.
Without me, she is a hollow shell bereft of purpose.
Where are you, my queen? Who has taken you? Do not fear, my love, for I am coming for you.
A twig cracks somewhere behind me. Is that them? Are they closing in, or was the noise an
animal foraging for food in the undergrowth?
Just a little farther. Keep going. My queen’s life depends on my triumph.
My lungs burn, my legs ache, but I keep forging forward. If I allow them to capture me, then
everything I have fought for is ruined.
I refuse to allow that to happen.
The trees part, revealing a lake with a boat moored beside a small jetty. I ignore it, pounding
along a peaty trail. The earthy smell of ancient moss fills my nostrils, the ground soft beneath my
feet.
After a mile, I find what I was searching for. My lips stretch into a smile.
Once again, my meticulous planning has saved me, and ultimately saved her, too.
With a final glance behind me, I duck inside the cave, feeling around for a lever on the right-
hand side.
I pull on it.
A whirring noise sounds, and a shutter slides silently into place. From the outside, it will look
like there isn’t an opening here, just jagged rock that blends into its surroundings.
Exactly as I planned.
I am a master, a genius. Sometimes I pray for capture for, without doubt, books would be
written about me, movies made, scholars studying my brilliant mind.
But my place on this earth is far more important than any narcissistic fancies I might toy with
from time to time.
 I know now, with absolute certainty, that I was placed on this earth for her.
My queen.
The lights above flicker and then come on, illuminating the narrow, low-ceilinged tunnel.
The east has not been good to me. It is time to head west, to the last place they will expect me
to be.
The best place to hide, after all, is in plain sight.
 CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“OOF .” DESTINY HIT THE MAT , THE FORCE OF THE THROW PUSHING THE AIR FROM HER LUNGS .
Winded, she curled onto her side and wrapped her arms around her stomach, gasping for breath.
“Again,” Loris barked, his relentless tutoring giving her no time to recover. “Come at me.”
She pushed up onto all fours, then staggered to her feet. She’d made it clear that she didn’t want
him to go easy on her—an assailant wouldn’t—and he’d taken her at her word. They’d been
practicing in Loris’s well-equipped gym every day for a week, and she still hadn’t gotten close to
even putting a scratch on him. Then again, not everyone was a Krav Maga black belt who’d been
taught by the Israeli army, the very people who’d invented it.
She took a morsel of comfort from that.
Crouching low, she brought up her hands and danced around him, waiting for a chink in his armor,
one he’d fake for her benefit. He stood there, his hawklike eyes following her footwork. The drop of
his defenses was slight, but she spotted it and made her move.
For a big man, damn, he shifted fast. He twisted her arm behind her back and struck her in the
back of her knees. Her legs buckled and she went down. He pushed her face into the mat and
straddled her, his rock-hard thighs squeezing her hips as he captured both wrists, holding them easily
in one of his huge hands.
She screamed in frustration. He leaned down, tracing his nose along her cheek. “Good try. You
almost had me.”
“Liar.”
A chuckle sounded in his chest. Since that day they’d kissed, he’d begun to smile and laugh so
much more, yet every time it happened, it felt like a gift, one to treasure and never take for granted.
“It’s called positive reinforcement, beautiful.” He released her arms but kept her pinned to the
floor by his thighs, his torso bent over, his warm breath feathering over the shell of her ear. “I kind of
like you in this position.”
“I don’t. This mat stinks of rubber and sweat.”
“Wrong location, right position.” He rose up off her and stood. “That’s enough for today.”
She sat up, cross-legged. “I’m still rubbish, aren’t I?”
“It’s only been a week. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“How long did it take you to get this good?”
“Seven years.”
Her jaw popped, eyes peeling wide. “Seven years?”
“Yeah, and I was taught by the best. Like I said, don’t be so hard on yourself. You aren’t going to
become a Krav Maga expert overnight. All we’re really trying to do here is make you proficient in a
couple of moves in order to give you one or two seconds, long enough to run from an assailant. Not to
stay and fight.”
He had a point, but it still irked her that he’d subdued her so easily. Sure, there were about a
hundred pounds or more between them, but who was counting?
Loris held out his hand and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s shower, and then I have a surprise for
you.”
“A surprise?” She broke into a grin. “What?”
He rolled his eyes. “If I told you that, it wouldn’t be a surprise, now would it?”
Towing her into the house, they trekked upstairs to his suite of rooms that, she guessed, were now
also hers. Loris hadn’t made the slightest suggestion for her to move back to her room one floor
down, so she’d stayed put.
She entered the bedroom behind him. A beautiful black cocktail dress was laid neatly on top of
the covers.
“What’s this for?” She picked it up and held it against her.
“You.”
He grabbed his T-shirt by the neck and pulled it over his head, momentarily distracting her. She
put the dress down and made her way over to him. Flattening her palm against his chest, she tipped
back her head. He placed his hand over hers, bending to kiss her.
“What do I need a dress for?”
He raked her from head to toe with a gaze hot enough to set her alight. “As gorgeous as sweaty
athletic gear looks on you, I think dinner at Claridge’s requires a more formal dress code.”
She let out a gasp. “We’re going out to dinner? Outside of Montford?”
“Yes.” He chuckled. “You make it sound like a prison.”
She averted her eyes. “Over the last few months, on occasion, it’s felt like a prison.”
“Hey.” He angled her head to face him. “I’ve neglected taking you places only because I want to
keep you safe.”
“I know you do.” She rubbed her lips together. “And I know he’s still out there and a potential
danger to me and the other girls, but I need to live.”
“Which is why I’m taking you to dinner. And”—he waggled his eyebrows in a very un-Loris-like
fashion—“there’s another surprise afterward.” He flicked the end of her nose. “And that is one I’m
keeping to myself.”
She stuck out her tongue. “Spoilsport.”
He grinned. “Get in the shower. We have to leave in an hour.”
“That’s early for dinner.”
His eyes twinkled. “Yeah. It is.”

Loris held on to her hand as they walked through Claridge’s impressive foyer. She gnawed at her lips,
and her muscles felt twitchy and on edge, as if preparing her for flight. She might have complained to
Loris that she wanted more freedom from Montford, but now that she was out and there were crowds
of people all around, every single person felt like a threat to her safety.
And then she glanced up at the man beside her, oozing strength and power through every fiber of
his being. It was strange to see him in a suit, but damn, he wore it well. Had to be custom-made. Suits
that big didn’t come off the rack. His shoulders looked huge, his biceps tested the stitching, and the
material clung to his thighs with every step he took.
Nothing was going to happen to her, not with this man standing at her side.
He gave his name to the host with an authoritative tone that saw the man jump to attention and lead
them inside the restaurant. Destiny’s jaw dropped as she took in the opulent surroundings with its
arched windows and impressive columns. In the center was a sculpture hanging from the ceiling like a
chandelier, and the walls shimmered with beautiful mirrors. Music from a piano drifted over to her,
and she scanned the room, seeking out the familiar sound.
An ache bloomed in her chest. Almost two and a half months had passed since her rescue by the
man beside her, and she still hadn’t managed to play a single note. Last week she’d finally mentioned
it to her therapist, and she’d said pretty much the same as Loris: “Give it time.”
Except every day that passed without the feel of her fingers fluttering over the keys and the music
echoing inside her mind was another day where a little piece of her died.
Loris tracked her gaze. He kissed the top of her head. “It’ll happen.”
She loved that he knew where her thoughts had gone. It gave her a sense of intimacy that she’d
craved for so many years with him yet never truly believed would happen. Especially after Sophia—
She shook her head. Tonight was a night to celebrate, not to mourn the past or wish for things to
change when they couldn’t. What had Loris said to her? Today is all we have. Well, she was going to
make the most of every minute of tonight.
They weaved through the tables past diners enjoying sumptuous, beautifully presented food. As
they approached the middle of the restaurant, her eyes fell on three very familiar people. She stuffed
down a squeal that would probably get them kicked out of the fine-dining establishment and tore her
hand from Loris’s.
“Mum, Dad. I didn’t know you were coming.” She hugged them both, then turned to her cousin and
wagged her finger. “And you, you little sneak. You didn’t say a word when I spoke to you on the
phone this morning.”
“Hey.” Dutch’s hands came up on either side of his head. “Your folks get a hug, and I get
physically abused?” He leaned down to peck her cheek. “He wanted it to be a surprise,” he
whispered in her ear.
She glanced over her shoulder, love flooding her chest. Gesturing to him, she tugged him forward
and slipped her arm around his waist, then rested her head on his shoulder. He, in turn, kissed the top
of her head again. Words weren’t necessary. Her parents and Dutch got the message, although the lack
of surprise on Dutch’s face told her that he knew already.
“About goddamn time,” Dutch muttered while her mum hugged her again and Dad shook Loris’s
hand and welcomed him into the family.
“Let’s eat,” Dad said. “I’m starved.”
Dinner went far too quickly. She felt as if she’d only just sat down when Loris whispered to her
that they had to go. The next part of his “surprise” awaited, and while saying goodbye to her parents
and her cousin saddened her, the way Loris had rubbed the back of his neck at least five times in the
last few minutes intrigued her. The man didn’t get nervous, but whatever the next part of this surprise
entailed had him on edge.
The plot thickens.
With promises from Loris that they’d go out for dinner again soon ringing in her ears and the love
of her family wrapped around her like a heated blanket, she floated out of Claridge’s. Booth had the
car door open as they approached the entranceway, and Loris ushered her inside, his gaze firing
everywhere at once.
She waited for him to get in and close the door, then slid her hand over his stomach and nuzzled
his neck. “Thank you. That was just what I needed, and I know it wasn’t easy to take me somewhere
quite so public with him still out there.”
“He’s a long way from here. I’ll never let anything happen to you.”
“I know. It was a lovely gesture to invite my parents and Dutch. I felt almost normal.” She laughed
but he didn’t. With the old Loris, that wouldn’t have surprised her, but the new version of him wasn’t
so frugal with his smiles. He rubbed the back of his neck. Again.
“That’s the sixth time you’ve done that. What’s going on?”
He loosened his tie and unfastened the top button. “I’m having second thoughts about the next part
of the evening.”
“Why?”
His knee bounced. Loris’s knees never bounced. Her heart skipped a beat. “You’re making me
nervous now. Just tell me where we’re going.”
It seemed as if the back of Booth’s head was a lot more interesting than facing her. What the hell
had he done?
“Loris,” she said in her best stern voice.
Drumming his fingers on his knee, he finally looked at her. “We’re going to the Royal Festival
Hall.” He dragged his teeth over the corner of his mouth. “I thought it might help. You know. With
playing.”
The London Philharmonic Orchestra was resident at the Royal Festival Hall. Had been since
1992, although they’d played there as far back as 1951.
An orchestra. He was taking her to hear an orchestra play. Now she understood the reason for his
nerves. He was worried about triggering her in some way. She took a moment to examine her feelings
and found only joy and happiness and an excitement that started at the pit of her stomach and fanned
out in waves.
“Oh, Loris!” She flung her arms around him. “It’s a wonderful surprise.”
“Yeah?” He closed his eyes and expelled a slow breath. “Thank fuck.”
“And maybe it will help. Who knows?” A thought occurred to her, and she went cold. “What are
they playing?”
“Tchaikovsky.”
She dropped her head, her shoulders sagging in relief. It wasn’t Beethoven. Thank God it wasn’t
Beethoven. She was more than ready to hear music, but the thought of hearing Hammerklavier… no.
She never wanted to listen to that piece of music again as long as her heart beat.
“I’d never do that to you,” he murmured, trailing his pinky finger along the side of her hand,
which, only when he touched her did she realize, she’d balled into a fist.
A scratchy feeling lodged in her throat at his concern and forethought. She’d always loved
Beethoven, both listening to the genius musician and playing his wonderful creations. Would she ever
even be able to hear his music again without feeling sick?
“Thank you.”
He smiled softly. “Anytime.”
It only took fifteen minutes to drive to the hall. Booth pulled up in a no-parking zone, and Loris
swept her inside.
“Where are we sitting?” she asked as they bypassed the entrance for the stalls and the balcony.
 “A private box.”
He pressed his palm to the small of her back and guided her up a narrow stairwell and through a
thick brocade curtain that led into a small box directly overlooking the stage. She peered over the
side and into the orchestra pit. In the stalls below, music lovers shimmied their way between the
aisles, peering at their tickets and then the seat number before locating the right one and taking a seat.
The place was already about two-thirds full, with more people streaming inside.
“You okay?” Loris touched her elbow.
“More than okay.”
He gestured to a heavily brocaded chair in a plush plum velvet and took the identical one beside
her. An usher appeared with a chilled glass of champagne for her and a whiskey for him. He must
have preordered the drinks. Something gooey surfaced inside her. He’d thought of everything to make
this evening perfect, and she couldn’t love him more.
But as she opened her mouth to tell him that, she stopped herself. Uttering those three words and
not having him say them back was a special kind of pain she wasn’t prepared to endure. He didn’t
hate her any longer, she felt secure in that knowledge, and he’d admitted he’d been attracted to her for
a long time. Love, though, was a very different prospect, and if she spoiled this evening by
declarations Loris didn’t return, she’d never forgive herself. He’d gone to a lot of trouble to make her
feel special.
One day at a time.
“This is delicious.” She sipped the champagne, sloshing it over the sides as the conductor
appeared from the back of the stage. “Oh, they’re coming.”
“Lucky them,” Loris murmured.
She dug her elbow into his side, grinning at his faux groan, and set her glass on a small shelf in
front of her. Leaning forward, she rested her forearms on the polished wooden ledge, her eyes out on
stalks as the members of the orchestra took their seats.
From that moment, she lost track of time, lost in the beauty of the music. Each note filled a crack
in her soul that he’d caused. How had she gone this long without listening to the classics? She needed
music to breathe, and as she filled her lungs for the first time since that fateful night, hot tears trickled
down her cheeks, tears of joy, of fulfillment, of hope that one day, one day, it’d be her down there
once more, playing Tchaikovsky’s finest creations.
She had to believe it was possible. Without that belief, she had nothing.
No, that wasn’t true. She had Loris, and he fulfilled her in ways she hadn’t dreamed of. But
without her music, there’d always be a piece of her soul missing.
At the crescendo, the crowd in the stalls and up on the balcony rose to their feet, applauding hard
enough to rub the skin off their palms. She rose, too, swiping away tears and clapping until her hands
were raw. She caught sight of the lady in the box to her left. Her cheeks were tearstained, too, but,
Destiny hoped, not for the same reasons.
“Beautiful, wasn’t it,” the woman stated as the applause died and people gathered their
belongings and began to leave.
“It truly was.”
Loris slipped both arms around her waist, and she jumped. So captivated by the brilliance of the
orchestra, she’d almost forgotten she wasn’t alone. She turned in his arms, gazing up at him with more
gratitude than she knew how to emote. He ran his thumbs over her cheeks, wiping away the remnants
of her tears.
“How do you feel?”
 She dug deep, his question worthy of a considered answer. “Like there’s hope.”
His lips captured hers in an all-too-brief kiss. “I’m proud of you.”
Her chest swelled. Praise from Loris was like a rare diamond, a prized possession, something to
treasure but never take for granted.
“I’m pretty proud of myself, too.”
He canted his head. “Home?”
Warmth flooded her body. She nodded. “Yes. Home.”
 CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

MORNING DAWNED , THE SUN MAKING ITS PRESENCE FELT THROUGH A GAP IN THE CURTAINS . LIGHT
shined on Destiny’s face, her cheeks slightly flushed, her eyelids fluttering as she dreamed. She
looked at peace. Her momentary panic at Claridge’s last night hadn’t passed him by, but she’d
gathered herself in no time, another step forward on her journey to normalcy, whatever the fuck that
was.
Evans had disappeared into thin air—again. The bastard always seemed to be one step ahead, the
residences he chose kitted with the kind of surveillance equipment he himself would choose. Evans
had clearly anticipated the possibility of going on the run and had equipped himself accordingly.
Hawke and the others had been so close to catching him, yet he’d slipped through their fingers and
vanished.
Dutch had asked several times to join the search, but Loris refused to add him to the team on the
grounds that Destiny might need him close by. Last night, Dutch had pushed again, quietly, while
Destiny was deep in conversation with her parents, and given Destiny’s progress, he was inclined to
change his mind. Throwing more resources at problems wasn’t always the solution, but in this case,
putting an additional asset on the ground, especially one with personal skin in the game like Dutch,
might result in a breakthrough. Evans couldn’t run and hide forever.
The Greek police were going off the boil, their resources stretched and other more pressing—in
their opinion—crimes were calling on their attention. But Loris would never give up. Not until he
took his last breath.
He hadn’t told Destiny, but later today, he had a video call with Katerina Levchenko. So far, she’d
refused to speak to anyone, other than the brief statement she’d given to the police after he and his
men had rescued her and the other women, but she’d spent the most time with this psychopath. Maybe
she’d have some insight into where he might have gone. The smallest piece of information could hold
the key to cracking this entire case. And so he’d approached her—with care—once a week, and
finally, three days ago, she’d agreed to talk to him, on the proviso that he did not tell Destiny they
were in contact.
He’d asked her why she wanted to keep it a secret from a woman who was just as much a victim
as she was. She’d refused to say, and he hadn’t pressed, too thankful that she’d agreed to a meeting
when he’d begun to give up hope.
Destiny stirred beside him, raising her arms overhead to stretch. The sheets dropped, revealing
her nakedness underneath. His cock paid attention. All those years of denial had culminated in an
almost insatiable desire that no amount of sex curbed.
She keened as she stretched again, her eyes fluttering open. “Good morning, handsome.”
 He smiled against her lips as he kissed her. “Thought you were going to sleep all day.”
“You kept me up late.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“What time is it?”
He craned to look at the clock on the bedside table. “Nine thirty.”
“How come you’re still in bed? Don’t you military types get up at four in the morning or
something equally ridiculous?”
Morning Destiny was sassy. He rather liked it.
“I don’t have a CO yelling at me anymore. I can lie in whenever I choose.” He circled a delicious
erect nipple with the tip of his tongue. “And why would I get up when I have you beside me?”
“Good point.” She arched her back, gasping when he used his teeth on her. “Thank you again for
last night.”
“The concert or the sex?”
“Both.”
He grinned against her skin. “You’re welcome.” He moved lower, kissing her stomach, her hips,
her inner thighs, her calves. She growled in frustration when he doggedly refused to go anywhere near
her pussy. “So impatient.”
“You have a job to do.”
“Correct. And that job is you.” He kissed the back of her knee. “I don’t have anything that needs
my attention until this afternoon, which means I have four hours to torment you.”
She writhed beneath him. “Not even ‘Super Dick’ can keep going that long.”
He paused, lifted his head, and met her mischievous gaze. “Super Dick?”
“Yeah. I decided he was so magnificent that he needed a superhero name.”
“And you decided on Super Dick?”
She held out her arms à la Superman. “Super Dick to the rescue of all wet, horny females.”
He laughed, hard. How had he survived this long without her in his life? An unanswerable
question, but one he mused on at least five times a day. “Just one wet, horny female is enough for me.”
“Yeah, but is it enough for Super Dick?” She lifted the covers, taking a long look at his erection.
“What do you say, SD?”
“He says ‘brace’.”
He pushed inside her, a gasp and a hiss spilling from her lips. “Jesus. SD doesn’t get any
smaller.”
“Only when he’s satisfied.” Loris bent his head, kissing her neck, her shoulder, her lips,
worshipping her with everything he had until she clamped around him, a cry of pleasure replacing the
gasp of pain. Her back arched, exposing her throat. He moved in, burying his head until his own
climax surged. Lightheaded and boneless, he rested on top of her for a second, then moved to the side,
breathing heavily.
He raised his arms up and propped them behind his head. Destiny draped herself over his chest,
drawing circles around his pierced nipple.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Yes. And you never know—I might even answer it.” She twisted the bar, and his stomach
clenched. “Unless you’re ready for round two right this second, I suggest you stop that.”
The twisting stopped. She caressed it with her tongue instead. He groaned.
“Not sure that’s any better. Ask your question before it’s too late.”
She lifted herself up on her elbow and rested her head on her hand. “How come you never got
married and had kids?”

Loris’s light and flirty demeanor vanished in an instant. His lips flattened, and he shrugged and stared
at the ceiling.
What had she said? It was an innocent enough question, and one that she’d hoped would result in a
reply along the lines of “Because I was waiting for you.” Instead, she got the silent treatment, his face
pinched as if he’d swallowed a wasp.
She went for a lighthearted approach. “Don’t you want lots of little Lorises running around?” She
flashed a grin. “I bet there’s something in that trust of yours that means you have to produce an heir.
The future eighteenth Earl of Montford, a replica of you, all blue eyes and black hair and gruff, surly
personality.”
“No, there isn’t, and no, I don’t.” He flung back the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. The
muscles across his back flexed, his hands fisted by his sides.
“You don’t want kids?”
“No.”
“Never?” Her voice was small and wary.
“Never.”
She crawled across the bed, sitting beside him, shoulder to shoulder, the intimacy they’d just
shared fleeing in the face of a single innocent question. Sometimes, it was better not to ask just in case
the reply wasn’t what you were hoping for. Too late now.
“Why not?”
“The question isn’t ‘Why not?’ It is ‘Why?’ ” His nostrils flared. “Why anyone would want to
bring a child into a world where a beautiful woman with the voice of an angel and the heart of a lion
is brutally raped and strangled is beyond me.” He turned to her, his pupils dilated, eclipsing the blue
that always encapsulated her. “Or where an equally beautiful, equally talented pianist is snatched
from a place she should be able to consider safe and forced to witness barbarous acts, all the while
knowing there was nothing she could do to stop them.”
She caressed his arm. “Life is cruel, Loris, but not everyone’s story ends in tragedy.”
“Enough do.” He shook his head. “I’ve seen too much to believe in happy ever afters. There are
only snatched moments of joy while you await the next fucking disaster.”
He stood, wandering over to the window. Despite the seriousness of the conversation and the gut-
wrenching agony of his confession, her eyes drank in his beauty, his strength, his honed, perfectly
shaped body. He’d make the perfect father. Strict and disciplined when the situation called for it.
Warm and loving when his children needed comfort.
He turned to her, his eyes bleak. “I’ll never marry, and I’ll never have children. The decision you
have to make is whether what we have is enough for you, and from the look in your eyes, I think you
already know the answer.”
 CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

LORIS SAT BEHIND HIS DESK AND OPENED THE ZOOM CALL. WITHIN A MINUTE, KATERINA LEVCHENKO
appeared on the screen, her unquestionable beauty marred by the desolate look in her eyes.
“Thank you for agreeing to speak with me,” Loris began. “I know it must have taken a lot of
strength and courage.”
She wrung her hands and took a deep breath. “You were rather persistent, Mr. Winslow. And
polite. Which is more than I can say for most who think I owe them my story.” She managed a small
smile. “Amazing how the parasites descend when they smell blood or, in this case, money.”
“Loris, please. And whatever you tell me today stays between us. All I want is to catch the man
who did this to you.”
She angled her head, her lips pursed. “Yes, you said that in your emails and letters. But why,
Loris? What’s in it for you?”
He hadn’t shared his relationship with Destiny when he’d first reached out to Katerina a few
weeks ago, partly because of Destiny’s admission that the women hated her, and whether or not that
was true, he hadn’t wanted to give Katerina more reasons to decline to speak with him. And by telling
her now, he still ran a risk that she’d cut the call, but she deserved honesty.
“Destiny is a family friend, and my… partner.”
“I see. And you want to protect her.”
“I do. But I also want to protect you all, to give you closure by finding and bringing this man to
justice.” If Loris had his way, that justice would come in the form of a bullet to the brain.
“Forgive me for my candor, but you owe me and the others nothing. We’re nothing to you. If
Destiny hadn’t been taken, you wouldn’t have come looking for us, would you?”
Fair point. “No, but only because I wouldn’t have known about you. Now that I do, I want to catch
that man for all of you, not just Destiny. You deserve to feel safe in your beds.”
“I’ll never feel safe again.” She cast her eyes down. “Did you hear about Ursula?”
Loris had memorized the names of all twelve women. Ursula Schmidt was a retired clarinet
player from Munich.
“No.” His scalp prickled. “What about her?”
“She killed herself yesterday.”
He kept his expression stoic, but inside, his anger burned anew. It ebbed and flowed, like the
tides, but every now and then, he got hit by a tsunami. If that bastard had never walked the earth,
Ursula Schmidt would be at home with her family and these other women wouldn’t have
psychological damage that would take years of hard work to fix.
And you and Destiny would still be estranged.
 After his admission this morning, that could still be the eventual outcome.
“I’m so sorry. I hadn’t heard.” He’d been so focused on finding Evans that he’d neglected to
follow up on the other women, and the Greek police had stopped giving him updates weeks ago.
“She had such a sad life, you know.” Katerina lowered her eyes. “She married young, and her
husband was abusive. She finally escaped him, and the music industry her parents had forced her into,
and then he took her.” She jutted her chin. “He found out her husband used to lock her in a cupboard
under the stairs, so he went one further. When she displeased him, he’d put her in a coffin and nail it
shut and leave her there for a whole day and night.”
Jesus Christ. Destiny hadn’t mentioned that. Then again, she hadn’t been with Evans all that long.
Thank fuck.
“I guess freedom brought its own challenges, its own demons, and she just… checked out.” She
blew out a slow breath. “At least she’s at peace now.”
“But don’t you see, Katerina?” Loris pleaded. “This is why I need your help.”
“I’m not sure I can help.”
“You were with him for two years.”
Her face twisted, and she closed her eyes for a second. “Yes.”
“You must have heard something. Anything you can tell me might be the key to finding him.”
She scratched her wrist. “All I know is that he’s rich and smart and wily. He chose his victims
carefully to avoid appearing on anyone’s radar, and he got away with it for all that time. He won’t be
caught easily, if at all.”
“Everyone makes a mistake sooner or later.”
“Not him. If you want to bring him out into the open, then use Destiny as bait. He was obsessed
with her. You already have the key, Loris. Her.”
He shook his head. “Not a chance.”
“That’s all I can offer you.” She gazed off into the distance, perfect white teeth skimming her
bottom lip. “Once, when Destiny made an error, he dislocated two of my fingers, then forced me to
play. He beat and burned me, he submerged my hand in boiling water for thirty long, agonizing
seconds. I’ve lost all feeling in the fingertips of my left hand. That… man… broke me down, piece by
piece, and nothing will put me back the way I was.” She set her jaw. “But I won’t do what Ursula did.
I won’t let him win.”
Loris had seen, and inflicted, torture, but only in the course of war and intel gathering, and on men
who would have done the exact same to him. Hearing the sorrow in Katerina’s words, seeing the
desolation in her eyes, and witnessing her valiant fight for courage renewed his determination to catch
this fucker.
“Are you getting help?” He had no idea of the quality of therapists in Russia. “Talking to
someone?”
“My parents arranged someone, yes, but it isn’t going well. No one understands.”
A glimmer of an idea came to him. Destiny had told him that Katerina was her hero, and it hurt her
on a cellular level for Katerina to hate her. Perhaps he could help both women at the same time.
“Your fellow captives understand. Destiny understands.”
She sneered, her stare lacking warmth. “She can’t possibly understand. He hurt me because of her
failure.”
“So you’re saying the torture only began when she arrived? He kept you for almost two years and
didn’t harm you at all?”
Her lips pressed together in a slight grimace. “He hurt me. He hurt all of us.”
 “Then how can you blame Destiny?”
“Because she had the power to end it,” she cried. “If she’d played Hammerklavier, just once,
without error, he’d have let us go.”
“Is that what he told you?”
“No.”
“Then you can’t possibly know what his intentions were.” Loris scraped a hand over his beard.
“Katerina, I know evil. I’ve seen it. Men like him, they don’t reach an invisible marker and stop. They
raise the stakes. Even if Destiny had succeeded, he’d have forced her to master something else, or put
a different kind of challenge in front of her. He’d have found a reason to keep going. He never
intended to release any of you. Don’t you see? She’s one of you. And talking to her might help you
move forward.”
Her gaze ping-ponged between the screen and the source of light coming from her left-hand side.
A window, maybe. He remained quiet, allowing her the time and space to come to the right
conclusion, one that would benefit her and Destiny. Katerina might not have been able to help him
achieve his original objective for this call—and there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d ever put Destiny
up as bait—but maybe something equally good could come of their conversation.
She pinched her bottom lip, pulling in and slowly releasing a deep breath. “Is she there?”
“She’s in the house, yes.”
“Could I… do you think she’d want to speak to me?”
“I’m sure she’ll be happy to. Can you wait there while I get her?”
She nodded.
Loris pushed his chair back from his desk and went in search of Destiny. He found her sitting at
the wrought-iron bistro table outside the patio doors that led into the kitchen. She was stirring a cup
of coffee, over and over, her gaze on a line of trees a few hundred yards away. She hadn’t said much
since he’d dropped the “no kids, no marriage” bombshell. He could have, and should have, handled it
more delicately, but better she knew his position now rather than later.
He risked losing her, but he’d never hold on to her and deprive her of a chance to become a
mother if that was what she wanted. Nor would he set aside his own deep-rooted beliefs just to make
her happy and betray everything he believed in.
“Hi.”
Her hand stilled. She kept her eyes on the cup as she tapped the spoon on the edge, then set it in
the saucer.
“Hi.”
“I have someone on a video call that would like to speak with you.”
“Who?” She picked up the cup and sipped, still not looking at him.
“Katerina Levchenko.”
She set the cup down with a clatter, her head whipping toward him. “What?”
“I got in touch with her a few weeks ago, but she refused to take my calls or return my messages.
And then, out of the blue, she did.”
“Why did you contact her at all?” Instead of looking pleased with the news, she glowered, her
chin jutting forward, the skin tightening around her eyes.
“Because I thought she might have some information to help us track down Evans.”
“Oh.” She deflated, shoulders sagging. She turned away, her gaze on the line of trees on the far
side of the garden. “And did she?”
“No. Not really.” He kept to himself her idea to use Destiny as bait. What point was there in
revealing Katerina’s idea when there wasn’t a chance of it happening? “She’s waiting.”
“Well, she can wait,” she replied with a hint of petulance in her tone. “I tried to talk to those girls,
but they wouldn’t let me in. They hated me, Katerina most of all. I’m doing well. I don’t want to be
reminded of that.”
“Katerina isn’t doing well. In fact, she looks dreadful. I think talking to you might help her.” And
help Destiny, too, but considering her attitude, it was probably best not to say as much.
“She isn’t?”
“No. And…” He grimaced. “Ursula died yesterday.”
Destiny’s hand flew to her face. She covered her mouth, her eyes glistening as she absorbed the
news. “Oh God. She… did she…?”
“Yes.” There wasn’t a need to expand or go into details. They both knew that, sometimes, living
was harder than the alternative.
She stumbled to her feet. “I’ll talk to her.”
“In my study.” He motioned toward the house. “I’ll give you some privacy.”
Face stricken, she nodded. “Okay.”
He tracked her into the house, then picked up the cup and saucer and went inside, hoping he’d
done the right thing rather than make an already painful situation a whole lot worse.
 CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

DESTINY BROUGHT A SHAKY HAND TO HER FOREHEAD AND STARED AT THE BLANK SCREEN , PROCESSING
the brief but eye-opening conversation she’d just had with Katerina. During the five-minute chat,
they’d both slain some ghosts, even if that did leave a significant number still to defeat.
At least she now knew that the women were only terrified to speak to her because of the even
more dreadful punishments he’d promised if they engaged her in conversation. According to Katerina,
he’d told them before she’d arrived that she was the queen and they the worthless fodder who weren’t
even good enough to lick the dirt from her shoes.
Katerina did admit that there had been moments she’d despised Destiny and blamed her for the
unspeakable torture he’d meted out, but after speaking with Loris, he’d helped open her eyes to the
fact that they were all victims, and to turn on each other meant he’d won.
They’d promised to speak again soon, and maybe, one day, they’d feel healed enough to meet in
person. The door had been left open to the possibility at least.
Guilt tasted sour on her tongue. While Ursula had dealt with her pain in an irreversible, if
understandable, way, Destiny had taken the first tentative steps back into a world she adored. But
even if she hadn’t gone to the Philharmonic last night, she couldn’t have helped Ursula. She hadn’t
even seen or spoken to the woman since their release. The remorse lingered, though, like a heavy fog
no amount of sunlight would lift.
She rested her head against the back of Loris’s cushioned leather chair and closed her eyes. The
office smelled like him, masculine, musk, and sandalwood. She’d pushed his admission that morning
to the back of her mind, reluctant to face up to what it meant for her. For them. She’d dreamed of a life
with Loris long before Sophia’s murder had torn them apart, and every single one of those dreams had
included marriage and kids. Sure, she’d fantasized about the big white dress and hundreds of guests,
and a cake as tall as a skyscraper, but more than that, she’d dreamed of a life, a full and happy life,
that included the laughter of children.
Loris didn’t want to get married, and he didn’t want kids. Not ever. And if he felt like that at age
thirty-four, he was unlikely to change his mind.
Lots of modern couples didn’t have kids. Was it really such a big deal if it was just the two of
them? She thought about the question long and hard and couldn’t come up with an answer.
Easing herself from the chair, her legs stiff, she closed Loris’s office door behind her, but instead
of seeking him out, she ventured outside. It was another beautiful summer’s day, the sun bright
overhead, winds light, and temperature on the high side. She wandered aimlessly, no clue of her
intended destination. She found herself down by the lake without recollecting the journey, but as she
stared across to the island where Sophia was buried, she knew why she’d come here.
 A small rowing boat, clearly meant to travel back and forth, was tethered by a thick rope. She
unhooked it and climbed in. It wobbled from side to side until she got her balance. It’d be just her
luck to topple over and get a right dunking. Picking up the oars, she dipped them into the water and set
off for the island.
Rowing was harder than she’d expected, and she veered off course several times before she
finally reached the other side. Tugging the boat up onto the shore, she hooked the rope around an
identical post on the other side of the lake.
A short walk brought her to Sophia’s grave. Fresh flowers sprouted from a porcelain vase. Loris.
It had to be. He probably came here regularly. Why hadn’t he asked her to come with him? They’d
come so far in the past few months, surely mourning her loss together was the logical next step to
finally putting their troubles behind them.
A thought burrowed into her mind, one that must have lain dormant, waiting for the right time to
strike. Had they put their troubles behind them? Or did one unspoken, yet significant, issue remain?
In his heart, did Loris believe she wasn’t at fault for Sophia’s death, or was he still clinging to the
vestiges of hate he’d carried around inside him for more than five years? He hadn’t said as much, and
she hadn’t asked, too afraid of what the direct answer to a direct question might be.
And if he did still believe, even on an unconscious level, that if she’d stayed with Sophia that
night, his sister would be alive today, then what future did they have?
“Oh, Soph. I wish you were here. You’d know what to do.” She sank to the ground and rested her
back against the headstone.
“I bet if you were sitting here right now, you’d be beside yourself with excitement that your
brother and I finally pulled our heads out of our arses and got it on. Been a long five years, though,
Soph. And I have a horrible feeling I’ll have some tough decisions to make if I’m to find a happy ever
after.”
She traced her fingertip around the gold lettering. “I miss you so fucking much, Soph. I’m sorry I
wasn’t there for you. I should have been there. Loris is right that if I had, things could have been
different. The world is a poorer place without you in it. I’ll never have a friend like you. You were
the yin to my yang, Soph.” She rubbed at an ache in her chest. “Fuck, girl, you should be here.”
She lost track of time, and it was only when the sun dipped behind the trees that she pushed up
from the ground, shook out her aching legs, said a final goodbye to Sophia, and rowed back to shore.
The boat seemed a lot heavier this time around as she tugged it out of the water, probably because
her biceps were killing her from a physical activity she wasn’t used to. She slipped the rope around
the post, made sure it was on securely, and hauled herself up the bank.
As she reached the top, she stuttered to a halt. Loris was standing with his shoulder propped
against a tree, arms folded over his chest, an unreadable expression in his eyes. She approached him
cagily, much as one would a panther or cheetah, or some equally scary big-game animal.
“Hi.”
He jerked his chin. “You should have told me you wanted to visit her. I’d have rowed the boat.”
“Because I’m a weakling who isn’t capable?”
The snark was driven by this morning’s bombshell, yet what had he ever promised her? All he’d
been was honest, and didn’t every woman wish for honesty from the man she was sleeping with? It
wasn’t his fault that he didn’t want to get married or have kids. As he’d said to her, humans were
shaped by their experiences, and his were filled with pain and horror and suffering. Loris had
experienced far too much grief, from losing his mother just before his thirteenth birthday, to the wars
he’d fought, to Sophia, and then his father. No wonder he looked at the world through a different lens
from most people.
He sighed. “I didn’t say that.”
She stayed silent. Sometimes it was better to say nothing. She kicked at a stone, and it rolled
across the grass, where it hit a tree.
“How did it go with Katerina?”
“Okay. Tough. I hope we’ll talk again.”
“I can set it up if you like? Maybe even bring her here.” Hope lifted the tone of his voice, and she
didn’t have the heart to shoot him down. Katerina couldn’t bring herself to leave the home she shared
with her parents in St. Petersburg. Destiny thought it highly unlikely that she’d gather the courage to
get on a plane and fly to England.
“Maybe.” She jerked her chin. “I’m going to head back to the house.”
“I’ll walk with you.”
Shielding her eyes from the setting sun, she looked up at him. “Do you mind if I head back alone?
I’d like some ‘me’ time.”
He pressed his lips together, his chin dipping once. She walked away, then stopped and pivoted.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Do you forgive me?”
A frown brought his brows together. “Forgive you?”
She pointed to the island. “For Sophia. For that night.”
He hesitated, and it was all the confirmation she needed. “Thought so.”
Striding away, she broke into a sprint. He called out to her, but she ignored him and ran all the
way back to the house. Her lungs burned as she ducked through the kitchen, but not from the physical
effort. She couldn’t seem to take a full breath. They’d come a long way, but until he forgave her, how
could they ever move forward?
Maybe she should start by forgiving herself.
She wandered the hallways of Montford and found herself in the piano room. She doubted that
was what it was called, but it contained a grand piano along with furniture that was hundreds of years
old. This house must have seen so much over the years, the stories ingrained in the wood and
paintings and tapestries.
Running her hand over the piano, she sat on the bench and placed her fingers on the keys. Closing
her eyes, she thought back to last night, to the London Philharmonic, to the wonderful works of
Tchaikovsky the orchestra had played to an enraptured audience.
She played the first three notes of the opening composition before her hands froze. Instead of
music, she heard the screams of the women, the pleas for clemency that would never come. She saw
the curve of his lips as he meted out punishments in her name and the hate-filled looks of the other
women at her failure to prevent their torture.
Tears trailed down her cheeks, and before she knew it, she was sobbing, her shoulders shaking,
nothing beneath her other than an abyss, a black hole that pulled her under. She was coming apart,
splintering into thousands of pieces. She wrapped her arms around her middle and bent double. The
visions wouldn’t stop. Katerina shrieking as he snapped her fingers, Chin-Hua twitching on the floor
after an electrocution, Ursula—God, poor, poor Ursula—whimpering pitifully as she realized she
was next.
Someone called her name, but they were far, far away. Was she underwater? Was that why she
couldn’t breathe? Stop! No! Swim for the surface.
 I don’t want to die. Please, someone help me.
Moving. She was moving, and it made her feel sick. She smelled something familiar, something
male. Her heart stopped. He’d come for her. She knew he’d never let her go. His queen, his final
piece of the puzzle.
Loris. She should have known it wouldn’t last. A man like that couldn’t be owned, only
borrowed, and only for a short time. She had to give him back.
Sophia appeared before her, hair as black as night billowing in the wind, her white dress flapping
around her ankles. Destiny reached out, her arms straining to get to her friend, but the more she tried
to grab her, the farther away Sophia drifted.
“Soph! Don’t leave me. I need you. Help me, please.”
Sophia turned away, brilliant white angels’ wings fluttering.
“Sophia! Come back. Please. Forgive me. I’m sorry, Soph. I’m so goddamn sorry.”
Her beautiful friend turned, a smile worthy of an angel painted on her lips. She came to Destiny
and stroked her hair. “Oh, my sweet, darling Destiny. Of course I don’t forgive you.”
An arrow pierced her heart, and she was falling, falling, the abyss swallowing her whole,
crushing her bones, and sucking the remnants of oxygen from her lungs.
“Soph,” she groaned.
“I don’t forgive you, because there’s nothing to forgive.”
Wings enveloped her, and her soul found peace.

Her eyes fluttered, but when she opened them, she couldn’t see a thing. She pushed at heavy blankets
that felt like they were made of lead, but they didn’t budge. Was she dead? Was this hell, where the
sun never shone and gravity was ten times that on Earth, rendering her weak and helpless?
She groaned. Something cool touched her forehead, and it felt nice.
“Easy,” a deep, soothing voice murmured. “I’m here.”
Why was she so drowsy, her mind so fuzzy?
“Thirsty,” she rasped.
A lamp flicked on, casting the room in a buttery yellow glow. She recognized this place. The blue
walls and large antique bed. It was Loris’s room. She turned her head, groaning with the effort. The
man himself looked down at her, and she couldn’t remember a time when she’d seen him more
serious, and that was saying a lot. He brought a glass to her lips, holding her head to help her drink.
She flopped back against the soft pillows and sighed.
“What happened?”
“You had… an episode.”
“An episode?” She frowned. “You mean a panic attack?”
“No. More serious than that. I had to call the doctor, and he sedated you.”
“What do you mean, ‘more serious’?” She struggled to sit, but after a valiant effort that resulted in
failure, she gave up.
“You had a psychotic break, Destiny.” He raked a hand through his hair. “You scared the shit out
of me.”
“A… a psychotic break?” She touched her forehead. “So I’m… I’m crazy?”
 “No.” He picked up her hand, squeezing it. “Not at all. The doctor can explain it better than I can.
He’s due here in an hour. It’s when someone’s stress levels are so high that they briefly lose touch
with reality; their brain basically overloads. You were hallucinating.”
She blinked, a fragment of a memory taunting her. Wings, a white dress. Peace.
“I saw Sophia.”
Loris blanched, and his head snapped back as if yanked by an invisible cord.
“She was dressed all in white, and she had wings. She looked so beautiful.” Tears pricked her
eyes. She wished she could take a picture of her mind right at this moment and print it to keep forever.
“She told me she didn’t forgive me for that night, because there was nothing to forgive.” Another
memory came to her, this one stronger. “But you’re not there, are you?”
His nostrils flared, his chin jutting forward. “I hate myself.”
Somehow, those three words hurt her more than any of the dreadful things he’d said to her over
the years. “Why?”
“Because I do fucking forgive you. But when you asked me, I… I froze. I don’t know why. And
then this happened, and it’s my fault.” He leaned forward, resting his forehead on her stomach. “I
caused you so much stress that you… that your brain just shut down.” He made a strangled noise. “I
thought I’d lost you.”
She stroked his hair. “It wasn’t you, Loris. It was… everything. I might have been seeing a
therapist for weeks, but I realize now that I haven’t faced up to a single thing from my abduction. And
then talking to Katerina and finding out about Ursula, and I tried to play and I couldn’t… it all came
flooding back. The torture, their screams, the agony contorting their faces until they were
unrecognizable. I’ve suppressed it all. I realize that now.”
He sat up straight, grazing the back of his hand over her cheek. “You terrified me. I couldn’t get
through to you. You just blanked out but didn’t black out. You were awake but not lucid. And I felt
helpless. Truly helpless. I haven’t felt like that since Sophia, and all I could think was that I can’t lose
you, too.”
“You’re not going to lose me.” She caught his hand and brought his palm to her cheek. “Please
don’t tell my parents or Dutch.”
His face twisted. “Destiny—”
“No. Please, Loris. They will worry terribly, and like you said, it was stress overload.”
“But if it happens again…”
“It won’t. I’ll talk to my therapist. Properly this time.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. Pulling in a breath, then slowly releasing it, he nodded. “If you
promise to tell your therapist everything you’re thinking and feeling, then I’ll keep this between us.”
“Thank you.” She wrinkled her nose. “It took this scare to make me realize that if I don’t expel
this poison inside me, it’ll eat me up and I’ll never recover.” She flattened her lips, more determined
than ever to take back her life. She refused to end up like Katerina, like Ursula. The true victory lay in
regaining her life—starting with music.
She would not let that bastard win. She’d do it for her, for Loris, for Sophia, and for all the other
women whose lives Evans had ruined.
Time’s up, freak show. You lost.
 CHAPTER THIRTY

TODAY’ S THERAPY SESSION WAS NOTHING LIKE THE OTHERS .

Her brain felt as if it had been scooped out and examined with microscopic intensity. Everything
ached, not just her head, and her stomach rolled as if she’d ridden the Waltzer at the local fair after
eating a greasy burger and a bag full of sugared donuts.
But it’d been worth it.
Finally, after trying for weeks to spill every poisonous and self-harming thought to her therapist,
she’d poured it all out, and the weight that had sat across her shoulders since her rescue lifted,
leaving her with a sense of power and hope.
He didn’t own her.
He couldn’t hurt her.
She was in charge.
She saw her therapist out and strode with purpose to the piano room, renewed motivation and
optimism making it feel as if she’d floated there. She slid onto the bench and caressed the keys.
“Play something fun,” her therapist had suggested. “Nothing too heavy or difficult. Lose yourself
in the joy of music again.”
And that was how she came to play “Dancing Queen” by ABBA. Sophia had been the singer out
of the two of them, with a voice of an angel, but Destiny could hold a note, and she sang along as her
fingers flew over the keys.
I’m playing! Oh God, I’m playing.
The song ended, yet she carried on. She tore through “River Deep, Mountain High” by Tina
Turner, “Piano Man” by Billy Joel, and “Roxanne” by The Police.
An hour passed by and still she played, her energy and enthusiasm for these lighthearted pop
songs never-ending. Eventually, she ran out of steam, her fingers stilling on the keys, jubilation in her
heart.
“God, you’re beautiful.”
She whipped her head around. Loris was standing in the doorway, a look of awe on his face.
He moved into the room, coming to stand before her. He held out his hands, and she rose from the
bench and took them.
“How long have you been there?”
“A while.” He pulled her to him, bending to kiss her. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”
“I’m pretty darn proud of myself, too.”
She slipped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest, breathing to the beat of
his heart.
 “I talked, Loris, properly. I told her everything I was thinking and feeling. I kept nothing back, and
my honesty freed something inside of me. I don’t think I can play anything serious yet, but it’s a start.”
“It’s more than a start.”
She yawned. “I’m tired now, though. I think I’ll go for a lie-down.”
“Call me if you need anything. I’ll be in my study.”
She made her way up the first flight of stairs, but as she started up the second, she was hit by a
cold sweat followed by a rising feeling of nausea.
With one hand clutching her stomach, she bolted up the remaining stairs, the other hand clamped
over her mouth. She made it to the bathroom in the nick of time.
The entire contents of her stomach emptied into the toilet bowl, and still she retched. After what
seemed like a lifetime, her stomach settled, and she sank onto the cool tile.
What the hell was that?
Maybe she’d caught a bug. Her immune system was probably low, considering she didn’t go out
much.
Yeah, that had to be it.
Some water, a nap, and she’d feel better in no time.
She brushed her teeth and swilled her mouth with mouthwash, then drank a whole glass of water
and collapsed on top of the bed.
Three more trips to the bathroom ensued, but as the hours passed, so did the nausea. By three that
afternoon, she felt much better, even managing to eat a cheese and ham sandwich Booth had made her,
much to Loris’s relief.
The following morning, the nausea returned. Lucky for her, Loris had already risen and gone to
work, or he’d fuss around her for the rest of the day. But as she crawled back to bed, exhausted from
the effort, her stomach sore from all the retching, an unwelcome thought crept into her mind.
What if it isn’t a bug? What if…?
No, she couldn’t be.
She had a shot that lasted for months. She’d chosen to have it to stop painful periods rather than as
a form of birth control, but that was what the damn thing was designed for. The added benefit was that
it stopped her periods altogether.
The downside was that she couldn’t use the lack of a period as a sign that she might be pregnant.
She cast her mind back, trying to remember the last time she’d visited the doctor to have it done.
Had it been spring?
No, a bit before that. It’d been cold. She remembered wrapping up in a scarf and gloves and a hat
as she’d trudged down damp and slippery streets to the surgery a few minutes from her house.
God, please don’t let it be that. Please.
She grabbed her phone and logged on to the online patient portal where her medical records were
kept and clicked on the history tab.
Her skin turned cold, the hairs standing up on her forearms and along the back of her neck.
January 12.
That was the last time she’d visited the doctor. Which meant her shot had run out ages ago.
How could she have been so stupid?
Despite the stress of being taken and the trauma of her experience, as soon as Loris had told her
he didn’t have any protection the night they’d first slept together, that should have acted as a trigger to
check the validity of her shot.
But it hadn’t.
 And it was too damned late now. She still hadn’t fully addressed the “no kids” issue, with him or
herself, and Loris seemed content not to bring it up either, but if she was pregnant…
God, how would she tell him?
No point in worrying until she knew for sure. But how did she get her hands on a pregnancy test
kit without alerting him?
The answer came to her, but she couldn’t go yet. Not until she was sure today’s bout of nausea had
passed. By midday, she felt a lot better, and after dressing, she went downstairs and headed straight
for his study.
She tapped on the door and waited for him to invite her in. The smile he greeted her with was a
sight she’d never tire of, especially as he’d denied it to her for so long, but he wouldn’t smile if she’d
fucked up by getting pregnant.
“Still feeling okay?”
No.
“Yes, fully recovered.”
He frowned, canting his head. “Are you sure? You look a little peaky.”
That’s called blind terror.
“I’m fine, honestly. But I do need a favor.”
“Name it.”
“Can you take me into town?”
“Whatever you need, Booth can get it.”
She grimaced, screwing up her nose. “It’s kind of personal. I got my period, and I need to buy
tampons.”
She crossed her fingers behind her back.
Don’t ask me why I haven’t needed to go before. Assume Mum brought me supplies.
Loris cleared his throat. “Ah. Right. Yes, of course. I’ll take you.” He pushed back his chair and
got to his feet. “The bike or the Bentley?”
She suppressed a sigh of relief. Got away with it. “How about that little white sporty number?”
“You got it.”
It took a little persuasion for Loris to stay in the car while she darted into the pharmacy, but as it
was a small shop rather than a large chain, and the inside was visible from the street, he relented.
She dashed inside, grabbed three pregnancy test kits, and a box of tampons as a decoy just in case
—which raised the eyebrows of the girl serving behind the counter—and returned to the car in less
than sixty seconds.
“All okay? Do you need me to find a bathroom?”
“No. I’m good. Straight home if we could. My stomach is killing me.”
He gripped her hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss her fingertips. “Women truly are the stronger
sex.”
“Yeah, we know.”
He held on to her hand the entire way back, dropping her off at the front door while he went to
park the car. She raced into the house and straight up the stairs.
Locking the bathroom door, she opened the first packet and unfolded the instructions.
Why did they make the font so small?
Okay, seemed easy enough. Pee on the stick, wait, and hope like hell for the right result.
She did the necessary and set the stick on the counter beside the sink.
Don’t be positive.
 Don’t be positive.
God, please, don’t be positive.
A minute passed, then two. She couldn’t bring herself to look at it. Her palms slicked with sweat,
her heart racing at twice its normal speed.
Calm down.
Breathe.
She picked up the stick and forced herself to look at the little window where the result showed
up.
Pregnant.
Oh, fuck.
Wait.
False positives were a thing, right?
That was why she’d bought three tests. She’d take another one in the morning. No point in
panicking yet.
Except she was panicking. On an epic scale.
“Why anyone would want to bring a child into a world where a beautiful woman with the voice
of an angel and the heart of a lion is brutally raped and strangled is beyond me.”
Loris didn’t want kids.
He wouldn’t change his mind. A man like him didn’t vacillate. He decided and stuck to it. His
reasons were solid and deeply held.
Feigning period pains, she avoided dinner and stayed in bed. If she spent too much time with
Loris, she might blurt out the news, and it still might be nothing.
When Loris came to bed, she pretended to be asleep. The night dragged with her only getting
snatches of rest here and there. Lucky for her, Loris had mentioned an early meeting, and he rose
before dawn. She kept her eyes tightly closed while he used the shower and dressed. The mattress
depressed, and she felt his eyes on her. After a few seconds, he kissed her temple, smoothed her hair,
and left.
She counted thirty seconds, then leaped out of bed. Nausea caused by nerves rather than morning
sickness—it freaked her out just to think the words—swirled around her stomach.
Her fingers trembled as she opened the second packet, removed the stick, and peed on it. She
paced around the bathroom as she waited the allotted time.
This is it.
She took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her rib cage, prickles running along the back of her
neck.
She picked up the stick.
Pregnant.
Sinking onto the toilet seat, Destiny put her head in her hands.
This was her worst nightmare come true.
She’d fallen pregnant through her own stupidity to a man who had categorically stated he did not
plan to have children. Ever.
She couldn’t tell him.
No, she had to tell him.
But not yet.
Not until she’d worked out how she felt about it.
A child, though.
 With Loris.
The man she’d loved for as long as she could remember. Would it have his aristocratic features
and stunning blue eyes? Or her light brown hair and amber eyes?
She cradled her belly. “Don’t worry, little one. We’ll figure it out.”
And to do that, she needed time by herself, away from Loris’s overpowering presence and ability
to dig the truth from the most unwilling of participants.
But Loris wouldn’t let her leave, not without putting up a hell of a fight.
There was only one way Loris Winslow would allow her to leave Montford Hall.
She had to break up with him.
 CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

DESTINY BARELY CAME OUT OF THEIR BEDROOM FOR THE NEXT FEW DAYS . EVERY TIME LORIS ASKED
her if he could do anything, she’d snap at him and tell him that unless he managed to grow a uterus and
join her in period-pain agony, then no.
He chose not to respond to such goading. He valued his balls too much.
On Saturday, she came downstairs to eat breakfast rather than have Booth take her something, but
she looked exhausted with dark circles beneath her eyes and a pinch to the corners of her lips. She
also appeared to have lost a little weight.
Did this happen every month?
He hadn’t recalled her being in the same agony last month, although he had heard of women who
suffered every other month or less often than that.
He wasn’t exactly an expert in such things.
“How are you feeling?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “How do you think?”
He bit back a retort. Meeting her on that level would lead to a fight. Besides, she was entitled to
be a little snippy. Women truly were the stronger sex. If men had periods, or had to birth babies, or go
through myriad other things women handled with aplomb, the bitching and whining would be nonstop.
It amazed him how females coped knowing that every few weeks or couple of months, they were
going to spend days feeling like crap.
“Here, come and sit down. I’ll have Booth bring you something to eat. What would you like?”
“Nothing.” She pulled out a chair and sank wearily into it. “Just coffee.”
“You have to eat something.”
“For God’s sake, Loris, stop smothering me!”
He brought up his hands, attempting to placate her. “Okay, okay. Coffee it is.” He poured her a cup
and pushed it across the table.
“Thanks,” she muttered, lifting the cup to her lips.
“Maybe you should get out into the garden today. A little fresh air might add some color to your
cheeks.”
The glare she gave him was filled with venom, almost as if he’d suggested she grab a gun from the
armory and go out shooting rabbits rather than sit outside and smell the roses.
“I don’t want to go out into the garden. I want to go home.”
He jerked back his head, squaring his shoulders. Ice filled his veins.
“What?”
“I said I’m going home.”
 His hands curled into fists. “You can’t.”
“Can’t?” Her chin came up, defiant. “You can’t stop me.”
He flexed his jaw. “The hell I can’t.”
Her lips flattened, and he could have sworn she was grinding her teeth. Where had this come
from?
“Am I a prisoner here? Are you as bad as him?”
She couldn’t have hurt him more if she’d picked up one of the knives from the block in the kitchen
and shoved it right into his heart.
He physically recoiled and gave a slow, incredulous head shake. “No, you are not a prisoner.”
He spoke calmly, ignoring her second statement. Getting riled wouldn’t help either of them. Anger
increased the stakes, and things could get out of control in an instant.
“Good, I’m glad we agree on that because Dutch will be here shortly to take me back to my
house.”
He froze, the only part of him that moved was his eyelids as he blinked rapidly.
She’d called Dutch.
And Dutch hadn’t called him.
Not even a lousy text to warn him what she was planning.
Loris folded his napkin and laid it on the table. Pushing back his chair, he rose to his feet and
picked up his phone off the table.
“Would you excuse me?”
“Don’t blame him,” she called after him as he marched out of the dining room. “I forbade him
from calling you.”
He didn’t fucking care.
Dutch might be Destiny’s cousin, but he was Loris’s fucking employee.
He stormed into his study, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the sash windows in their
frames. His usual calm demeanor fled, the desire to punch walls—or rather, punch Dutch—chasing
away rational thought.
His watch buzzed before he could make the call, alerting him that someone was at the front gates.
He turned to the bank of cameras, tossing his phone onto his desk.
No need to call.
The fucker himself was here.
All Intrepid bodyguards had to go through a retinal scan and then enter a personal code, which
gave them access to Montford. Dutch used his to gain entry, driving through the gates and up the
winding driveway to the main house.
Loris watched the screens until the car disappeared from sight, then strode across his study and
wrenched open the door, marching outside to wait for Dutch to arrive.
Blood pounded in his ears, and he cracked his neck from side to side as Dutch’s vehicle came into
view. The engine rumbled then fell silent, and the man himself appeared from the driver’s side, took
one look at the rage that Loris didn’t bother to hide, and grimaced.
“She told you, then?”
“My study. Now.”
Loris spun on his heel and stomped inside, taking a seat behind his desk. Dutch would need the
barrier, and as furious as Loris was, punching Destiny’s cousin wouldn’t endear him to her,
But fuck, he’d give anything to release his anxiety in the form of a fist to Dutch’s jaw.
Dutch entered, his gaze watchful as he closed the door. Loris pointed to the chair opposite his
desk, and Dutch sat.
“Is your phone broken?”
Dutch gave a wry smile. “No.”
“Hmm.” Loris drummed his fingers on his desk. “So what you’re saying is that your loyalty is to
Destiny rather than to me, your employer, your friend?”
Dutch blanched. “Fuck, man. That’s harsh. And my loyalty is to both of you.”
“That’s a cop-out and you know it.”
“What would you have me do? She called in tears, asking—no, begging—me to come get her, and
she was very clear that I was not to call you. She said she’d handle it.”
Loris snorted. “Oh, she handled it all right.”
Dutch sighed. “She’s family. You’d do the same if you were in my shoes, and you know it.”
Rolling his head back on his neck, Loris stared at the ceiling. He hated to admit it, but Dutch was
right. If the roles were reversed, and Sophia was still alive and she called him for help, he’d move
mountains to give her what she needed.
“Why is she doing this?”
“I’m not privy to the inner workings of a woman’s mind.”
Dutch let out a snicker, which brought Loris’s attention back to him.
“Look, she’s clearly feeling a bit of cabin fever. I’m sure all she needs is a few days at home
surrounded by familiar things, and then she’ll come back.”
“He’s still out there, Dutch.” His voice sounded strangled, as if he had pressure on his windpipe.
The thought of Destiny living apart from him, unprotected, was more than he could bear. But she
was right about one thing: he couldn’t force her to stay here against her will.
“I know. And I promise I won’t leave her side. Not for a second.” His lips twisted in a smirk.
“Unless she’s using the bathroom or in bed.”
“You’d better not.”
“I know what she means to you, but I love her, too. She’s safe with me.”
Loris froze. “I love her, too.”
Neither of them had professed feelings of love, but Dutch’s innocent remark hit him like a freight
train. He stopped breathing, his head spinning with the realization.
He loved her.
He was in love with her.
And she was leaving him.
“Look after her for me. And tell her… tell her…” I love her. He shook his head. “Tell her I’ll be
in touch.”
Loris stood by the window of his study as Dutch put Destiny’s bag in the boot of his car. He
couldn’t believe how fast it’d all happened.
This morning, he’d risen from the bed he shared with her without a clue that his life was about to
unravel, and he still couldn’t work out where it had all gone wrong.
One minute they were happy, and the next… she’d walked away.
She hadn’t even come to say goodbye.
None of this made any sense. He was missing something, an important piece of the puzzle that, for
whatever reason, Destiny had chosen not to share with him.
And until she did, there was nothing he could do other than wait.
Work, his usual salvation, felt more like a noose around his neck. He couldn’t seem to concentrate on
anything. For years, Montford had been a cold, empty, practical space for him to run his business
from. And then Destiny had come and lit up the dark corners of both the house and his heart.
Forty-eight hours ago, she’d taken the light with her, casting him back into darkness again.
The worst part was that he hadn’t even realized how desperately lonely and unhappy he’d been
until she’d moved in. Intrepid, its team and its clients, had sustained him, masking how empty his life
truly was.
What was that saying? You can’t miss what you never had. Then what did one do when they’d had
it, and lost it?
He was about to get changed and go for a run to shake off his dour mood when his phone lit up,
Dutch’s name scrolling across the screen. He fell on it like a man deprived of oxygen.
“Destiny okay?”
“She’s fine, but… we have a problem.”
Loris went cold, the hairs on his arms standing on end. “Shoot.”
“She’s locked me out of the house.”
“She’s… what the fuck were you doing out of the house? You told me you wouldn’t let her out of
your sight.”
“And I haven’t. I only went into the garden to put the rubbish out, and she locked the door.”
“Then break the fucker down,” he barked.
“Loris.” Dutch’s defeated voice heightened his own anxiety. “She’s a grown woman who’s been
through a fucking trauma most of us can’t imagine. She said she needs some time alone. Don’t you
think we should respect that?”
“With the bastard who created the trauma out there somewhere? No, I fucking don’t. Once he’s
behind bars, or dead, then she can have all the time alone she wants. Until then, she’s going to have to
gut up and put up.”
Dutch snickered. “Do you know her at all?”
Loris rubbed his forehead. God, his head ached.
Was she having another psychotic break of some kind?
Was this the time to break the promise he’d made to her to not tell her parents or Dutch what had
happened that night?
“How did she sound when she refused to let you back in?”
“What do you mean?”
“Was she… lucid? Calm?”
“Yes and yes. What kind of question is that?”
“Nothing. It doesn’t matter. Right, stay there and don’t move. I’m sending in a team. If she won’t
let us in the house, then we’ll guard her from outside. I’ll have men stationed front and back in an
hour.”
“She isn’t going to like that.”
“I don’t fucking care.”
He hung up, the idea of a run scattering in the face of a much larger problem than his malaise.
Thirty minutes later, he’d formed an eight-man team—including Dutch—who’d watch over Destiny
night and day until she saw sense and came back to Montford.
If she ever does.
He ignored the unwelcome thought.
He’d honor her choice in wanting time alone, but he refused to play games with her safety. She
could like it—or lump it.
He didn’t give a flying fuck either way.
The only thing he gave a fuck about was her.
 THE COLLECTOR

MY QUEEN IS FREE .
Finally, she has broken out of the shackles that bound her and returned to a place of safety. A
place where we can finally reunite. She is strong, my queen, strong and beautiful and mine. Her
captor thought he could have her, but he was mistaken. She belongs to me, and soon… oh, soon, my
love, we shall come together in a blaze of glory. Once again, you will play only for me. We will
rebuild that which was ripped from us. Together we will re-create our orchestra. We will honor
Renata’s memory.
That man who took her from me thinks he is so clever, so resourceful, but he is no match for me.
The guards he’s placed around her aren’t a problem. Not to me. I have a plan, and it is already
underway.
Hold on, my love. I am coming for you.
Nothing, and no one, will keep us apart.
 CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

“REPORT .”
“She hasn’t left the house,” Dutch said. “This morning, she had a grocery delivery, which was left
on her doorstep. She took it inside, and we haven’t seen her since. Her neighbor had a visitor, but
other than that, it’s all quiet.”
“Although,” Crew chimed, “I feel it is my duty to mention that the woman at number thirty-four is
having an affair.”
He snickered. Loris growled. “Why exactly?”
Crew ignored his question. “She likes to take risks. She waits for her husband to leave for work,
and he’s barely turned the corner at the end of the street before her lover arrives. One day, hubs is
going to forget his sandwiches and return, and I, for one, can’t wait. I must bring popcorn with me on
my next shift so it’s ready for when the fireworks start.”
“Thanks for the information,” Loris said. “Although, what I’m meant to do with it, fuck knows.”
“Just making conversation. Oh, yeah, and the guy at forty-two is dealing drugs. City types, all
suited and booted, turning up at the door before work to buy their weekend supply of coke, no doubt.”
“Fascinating. And while you’re eyeballing the rest of the street, you’re not doing the fucking job
I’m paying you for.”
“Yes, I am.” Crew sounded affronted. “I am capable of doing several things at once.” He
snickered. “Just ask Silver.”
Silver Lawson, former pop star turned classical music writer, had somehow fallen in love with
his dick of a friend. She was beautiful and smart and talented, and too good for Crew, a fact he was
all too aware of.
“Remember you’re punching well above your weight.”
“Every day, my friend. Every freaking day.”
“Hawke called.” Loris grimaced. “Trail’s gone cold.”
He’d struck a wall at that news this morning. Not a good idea, given that Montford’s walls were
two feet thick. His hand was still killing him, even after wrapping it in ice for an hour.
“Have you considered the possibility that he’s just relieved he didn’t get caught? That he has no
intention of coming for Destiny again.”
“Of course. I’ve considered all angles. But this guy treated her differently from the other women.
He put her on a pedestal, and that smells of deep obsession to me. And an obsession isn’t something
that is easily cast aside, even when thwarted. I just feel it, in my gut, that this isn’t over.”
“Well, we’re here for as long as you need. Nothing’s going to get in the front or the back of that
house, or come down the fucking chimney like Santa Claus.”
 “Damn straight,” Dutch piped up. “Although, she doesn’t have a chimney.”
Crew groaned. “How long do I have to stay paired with you?”
“I’m going to swing by this morning,” Loris said, cutting off their banter. They could go all day if
he didn’t intervene. “See if I can get her to talk to me.”
He’d left her alone for two days after she’d thrown Dutch out, but he was running out of patience.
And he was worried that if he didn’t push her, she’d think he didn’t care, and what he hoped was a
temporary separation would turn into something far more permanent.
And that couldn’t happen.
He wouldn’t let it.
He loved her, and she loved him. He knew it. They might not have said as much to one another,
but theirs was the kind of relationship that didn’t need words.
“Copy that. Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
He finished up a couple of estate business issues and headed to the garage. Parking was always a
nightmare in London, so he chose the bike.
As he pulled out of Montford, an ache bloomed in his chest at the memory of Destiny riding
pillion, her arms holding his waist tightly, the feel of her body pressed along the length of his.
God, she was a stubborn woman.
He got it, the desire for space to sort through the mess and quiet the noise. He’d often take himself
off after returning from a tour, the echoes of war a constant reminder of the evil that existed in the
world. Destiny had fought a war of her own, and he shouldn’t be surprised by either the psychotic
episode or her craving for personal space.
It was the speed of it that had come as a shock.
One minute she was happy, and the next she… well, she wasn’t.
Something had occurred between those two points in time, something she wasn’t telling him. He’d
gone over it again and again, but he couldn’t find the moment where everything had changed.
The only way to uncover the truth was if Destiny told him, and they couldn’t talk if he stayed here,
with her holed up an hour away.
He was still worried for her safety, even with his team in place. Montford was an impenetrable
fortress. There he could breathe, could allow her to roam free.
But it hadn’t been enough, and now he was powerless to protect her to the level that would allow
him to sleep at night.
Somehow, he had to persuade her to come back with him, if only until they caught Evans and
handed him over to the authorities. If she wanted to move back to her house permanently at that point,
then he’d support her choice.
He wouldn’t like it, but he’d support it.
The motorbike allowed him to weave in and out of the traffic, and he pulled up outside Destiny’s
house fifty minutes after leaving Montford. The engine made a last-ditch growl as Loris turned off the
ignition.
He dismounted, removed the helmet, scuffed a hand over his hair, and knocked on the door.
The living room curtains moved, and seconds later, the sound of footsteps on the oak flooring in
her hallway came through the door.
“What do you want, Loris?”
“To talk.”
“I told you—I need space.”
 “And I’ve given it to you.”
She laughed. “You call surrounding my house with bodyguards giving me space?”
He pressed his forehead to the door as if that would somehow bring them closer. What a joke.
They were farther away than ever.
“Please open the door.”
“No.”
“Destiny—”
“For God’s sake, Loris, all I want is some time alone to process the last few months. Is that too
much to ask?”
“Of course it isn’t. Five minutes. That’s all I ask.”
“What will that achieve?” She sounded weary.
“I’ll get to see you.”
She fell silent. A lurch of hope rolled in his stomach.
“That’s not a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because.” He could have sworn he heard a sob. “I’ll crack.”
He closed his eyes and pressed his palm to the door.
“I’ll catch you. I’ll always catch you. And if you crack, I’ll put you back together again. I promise.
Please, Destiny, just let me in.”
“No. Go away, Loris. I don’t want you here.”
He almost slammed his hand against the door in frustration.
“For God’s sake. I miss you. I fucking miss you.”
She made a noise. Yeah, a definite sob this time.
“I miss you, too. Please. All I’m asking for is a few days.”
His shoulders curved, and he rubbed at the prickles along the back of his neck. He wasn’t used to
feeling powerless, and he didn’t fucking like it.
“I’ll come back in a couple of days. If you need me before that, all you have to do is call.”
“Okay.”
She walked away, her footsteps echoing around the gaping hole in his chest. Head bowed, he
made his way back to his bike.
His phone rang and he fished inside his jacket, plucking it out. Crew.
Wonderful.
Just what every alpha male wanted was for one of his closest friends to witness a spectacular
crash and burn.
“I’m not in the mood for your jokes, Crew, so if you ever intend to father children, just don’t.”
“All I wanted to say is that we’ve got your six. And Destiny’s.” He sounded wounded at Loris’s
preemptive strike.
Loris ran a hand over his face and mounted the bike. “Sorry. Bit on edge.”
“I’ve got broad shoulders. Rail on me anytime, bud. Fuck knows I’ve dumped my shit on you
countless times in the past.”
A jumble of emotions hit him simultaneously.
Gratitude, humility, hope.
Christ, he was lucky. For a man who’d suppressed his feelings for more than five years for fear
the pain would drag him into a pit of despair he’d never escape from, it was a lot to deal with. Like
opening a wound to the world and letting everyone poke at it.
 “Thanks.”
He cut the call before he did something stupid, like choke up. Crew was the kind of fucker who’d
store away a nugget of information like that and produce it at a time he’d least expect it just for shits
and giggles.
 CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

DESTINY PEERED THROUGH THE LIVING ROOM WINDOW, HER HEART SHRIVELING AT THE SIGHT OF LORIS
astride his bike, his broad shoulders almost busting the stitching of his soft leather jacket. He took a
phone call, probably from one of the men he had watching her.
She should have thanked him for that, for the security he’d provided for her, but she’d been so
stunned to see him, to hear his voice, that it had slipped her mind.
She ran a hand over her stomach.
She’d made her decision, although it had taken her a bit of time to solidify it a hundred percent.
There was so much to weigh up…
Loris didn’t want kids, he’d been very clear about that, and here she was, knocked up.
Financially, her child would want for nothing. Loris might not want to be emotionally involved, but he
would take care of them both, ensuring they had everything they needed.
Everything except him, the man she loved.
She laughed to herself, a better choice than crying.
She’d done enough of that these past couple of days. The need to melt down without an audience
was the reason she’d locked Dutch out of the house. He’d never have gone willingly.
She’d taken a risk.
Dutch was the kind of man to smash a window or bust through the door, but she’d banked on the
reverence he had for her. Dutch wouldn’t disrespect her in such a way, or overstep boundaries, just as
Loris wouldn’t.
Christ.
A single mother.
Never in her wildest dreams had she thought she’d end up here. A sliver of optimism that nestled
in a quiet corner of her mind still hoped that, once he knew, Loris would change his mind. She had
this dream of telling him, and after the shock passed, he’d realize that this was a tremendous gift, one
to cherish. He’d take her in his arms and kiss her and sweep her back to Montford, where they’d live
happily ever after.
She laughed again.
This wasn’t a make-believe world—more’s the pity. Real life was bloody and hard and filled
with stumbling blocks and pain and suffering.
But it was also a wonder, a joy.
She touched her belly again. Inside her, right this second, a new life was growing, and that baby
would grow up with hopes and dreams, too. Her job was to ensure that she fostered the good things
and did her best to protect her child from the horrors that lurked around every corner.
 Right.
That was it.
She’d made up her mind.
When Loris returned in two days’ time, she’d tell him.
The thought made her want to puke.
She meandered upstairs to the piano room, sliding along the bench. The day she’d returned home,
she’d left Dutch downstairs eating ice cream and watching some ridiculous reality program on TV,
and she’d come up here to play.
But instead of the fun tunes she’d played at Montford, the ones right after her psychotic break,
she’d forced herself to play the first bars of Hammerklavier.
And that was when she’d had an epiphany.
Ever since she’d escaped that madman, the thought of hearing, let alone playing, this particular
music had terrified her, triggering all kinds of horrific memories.
This music was his hold over her.
She feared it, and fear held a person captive.
The only way to truly put that awful time behind her was to conquer the fear, for fear alone wasn’t
a good enough reason to avoid doing something.
And to conquer the fear, she had to master Hammerklavier.
Since then, she’d played it over and over, her mistakes growing fewer with each pass, the noise in
her mind quieting as she mastered the musical piece and wrestled back the control he’d taken from
her.
This morning, after she’d put the food shopping away, she’d played it and made only one mistake.
One.
It was unheard of, but she had this drive within her, a determination to conquer the dark passenger
that had wrecked the illusion of safety.
She was about to play again when a knock sounded at the front door. Her heart skipped a beat.
She wasn’t expecting any further deliveries, and her parents weren’t coming by until tomorrow.
Maybe Loris had returned?
It was the kind of thing he’d do. Stubborn, tenacious, determined. A mirror image of herself. She
chuckled. They were the perfect match.
All she had to do was convince him that a child wouldn’t ruin his life.
Padding down two flights of stairs, she made her way along the hallway.
A hand slammed over her mouth, and something hard jabbed her ribs. The smell hit her. His smell.
She’d never forget it.
Oh God.
He’d come for her.
The knock hadn’t come from the outside. It’d come from the inside. She squeezed her eyes closed
as tremors racked her body and bile crawled up from her stomach.
“My queen,” he murmured. “Be a good girl. I don’t want to hurt you, or your lovely neighbor
Mary. But I will. And a gunshot wound creates such a lot of blood. Think of your beautiful oak
flooring.”
A gun. The hard thing in her ribs is a gun. And Mary? What does he mean? How is Mary
involved?
Her mind raced, the thoughts coming at her as fast as the wind that day she’d spent on the back of
Loris’s bike.
 Loris.
God, he wasn’t coming back for two days. Her abductor was going to take her again, and she was
powerless to stop him.
Breathe. It’s okay. Loris has men watching the house.
Any minute now, Dutch would break down the door and kill this bastard.
“Are you going to be good? No screaming.”
She nodded. You’re toast, freak show.
He released her. She whipped around to face him. Yep, he wasn’t bluffing. He was holding a
handgun and pointing it right at her stomach, at her baby.
But he looked different.
No mask.
Yet his face looked odd, his skin leathery. Prosthetics. He was wearing prosthetics, like he had
that night she’d met him at the Royal Albert Hall.
Where the hell is Dutch?
“Such a smart girl.” He smiled. “I can see your mind working. You’re wondering why your guards
aren’t breaking the door down when they have your house surrounded. Front, back, even the roof.”
His smile widened. “But they didn’t think of guarding the basement.”
Basement?
How had he broken into the basement? Unless…
God, Mary. He’d somehow found a way through from Mary’s house to hers.
“How did you get into Mary’s house? What have you done to her?”
“Calm down, my queen. Your friend Mary is fit and well and will remain that way as long as you
do exactly as you are told.”
Whatever happened, she could not let him take her. Not again.
Wait... Like he said, guards were watching the front and the back of the house. There was no way
he could smuggle her out of here without Dutch and the others seeing her.
Unless he planned to drug her and carry her out somehow. In a wheelie bin maybe? Take her out
through Mary’s house under the cover of darkness.
Her heart rate jacked up, her veins teeming with adrenaline, her thoughts chaotic.
Get it under control. Think. A distraction. That’s what is needed.
Somehow, she had to distract him enough to make a run for it, or break a window, something to
alert the men watching the house.
Hammerklavier!
He was obsessed with that piece.
If she played Hammerklavier to him, proved she’d mastered it, it might give her a window of
opportunity. Even if he closed his eyes for a second to savor the music, it could be enough for her to
act.
But she had to play it flawlessly. Anything less wouldn’t do.
“I promise I’ll be good.” Ugh. She felt sick just saying the words. “I’ll go anywhere you want as
long as you don’t hurt Mary.”
“Mary is fine, and she’ll remain that way. I made a promise, my queen, and I keep my promises.”
“I have something to show you.” She pointed upstairs. “A surprise.”
No, that sounds like an ambush of some kind. Reword.
“I mastered Hammerklavier. All because of you, of the motivation you gave me. I finally did it,
and I’m excited to show you.”
 The words tasted bitter, the haunting screams of the women he’d tortured, and all because of that
piece of music whizzing around her mind.
No. Don’t think like that.
If she allowed dark memories to take over, she’d make mistakes, and this had to be flawless.
“My piano room is upstairs on the second floor.”
“Yes,” he murmured. “I know.”
How long had he been here?
Had he spent days hiding in the basement, waiting for the right time to show himself? The idea of
sleeping upstairs with him inside the four walls made her sick to her stomach.
She should never have left Montford.
If she’d talked out the pregnancy with Loris rather than running away, she’d be safe. Even if he
didn’t want to raise the child with her, he’d have kept them both safe until Evans was in police
custody.
“Will you come with me?”
Her voice sounded steady, her hands still now, as they’d need to be if she had a chance of playing
Hammerklavier without making a single mistake.
He motioned with the gun. “Lead the way, my queen.”
With legs as heavy as steel, she trudged up the two flights of stairs to the room at the top of her
house. A room that had always brought her peace, even after her abduction, but one that would never
be the same again. If she survived this, she’d burn it down. She’d burn the entire house down.
She slid along the bench, and he sat beside her. His thigh pressed against hers, but she didn’t dare
shuffle to make room. Whatever she did, she had to keep him calm to stand a chance of escape.
“Where is your bracelet?” His green eyes showed displeasure, his mouth flattening.
“I… I lost it. When they took me from you, it must have fallen off.”
His lips formed a twisted smile. “Do not worry, my queen. I shall gift you another. I shall gift you
the world.”
Her stomach hollowed out, and she swallowed past a thick throat. “Thank you for your
generosity.”
“You are worth it, are you not?” He pointed the gun at the piano. “Now play. Show me your
worth. Play for me, for Renata.”
She touched the keys and began to play. Haunting notes filled the air, and as she continued through
the piece, he briefly closed his eyes once or twice. Not enough for her to act, but a good sign
nonetheless that he was losing himself in the music.
She arrived at the third out of four movements that made up Beethoven’s classic. The gun rested
on his lap, and his finger had relaxed on the trigger. Shooting glances his way, she continued through
the third movement, passing the part where she’d last made an error.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, and his eyes closed fully, his body swaying ever so slightly.
Now.
She brought her elbow up, jabbing him in the throat. He fell backward, toppling off the bench. She
scrambled to her feet, and as he did the same, she slammed the heel of her hand into his nose. He
cried out, dropping the gun. It clattered across the floor. Destiny threw herself after it. As her fingers
touched the cool steel, he grabbed her ankle, yanking her back.
Screaming, she kicked out with her other foot. She landed a blow somewhere on his body. Her
foot came loose. She launched again for the gun. Got it. Rolling onto her back, she pointed the
weapon at her battered and bloodied tormentor as he made a move to get to his feet.
“Don’t move a fucking muscle or you’re dead.”
 CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

LORIS REACHED THE ROUNDABOUT THAT LED TO THE M25 MOTORWAY, BUT INSTEAD OF DRIVING ONTO
the slip road and joining the southbound carriageway back to Montford Hall, he veered into the right-
hand lane, did a three-sixty, and headed back the way he’d come from.
He could be making a huge error, but the thought of another two days in purgatory while he waited
for Destiny to mull over whatever had forced her to leave Montford in such a hurry felt like a mistake.
She was using the “I need time alone” mantra as an excuse. He fucking knew it. Years of heavy
fighting had honed his instincts, and he was rarely, if ever, wrong.
She’d come so close to breaking and letting him in. He should have pressed his advantage rather
than backing off. One of the rules of war…when the enemy was on the ropes, you hit them with even
greater firepower. You didn’t retreat and give them time to regroup.
Okay, his relationship with Destiny wasn’t a warzone, although the way she’d left had sure felt
like one, but the analogy worked.
Twenty-five minutes later, he parked the bike outside Destiny’s house. Any minute, his phone
would ring with another piece of relationship advice from Crew. He preempted it by sending a one-
word text. No.
Crew replied with a “Who, me?” emoji and a thumbs-up.
As he approached the house, a noise came from the upper floor where her piano room was
located. He tipped back his head, looking up at the top floor of the house. A window was open a
crack, allowing sound to filter down to street level. Tingles lifted the hair on the back of his nape.
Another muffled thud reached him and then a scream.
“Destiny!” He pounded on the door. “Open the door.”
No answer.
“Destiny!”
Fuck this.
He delved into his pocket for his keys. He’d kept the key to Destiny’s house that her mother had
given him when she’d gone missing, meaning to give it back but never getting around to it. He stuffed
it into the lock and shouldered his way inside.
“Destiny!” Thundering up two flights of stairs, he burst into the piano room. He skidded to a halt
as he took in the sight before him. “Jesus.”
Destiny had a handgun trained on a man with a bloodied nose whose back was against the wall, a
weird smirk on his even weirder face. Her hand was steady, as if pointing guns at people was
something she did every day. He crouched to take it from her as more footsteps pounded up the stairs.
Seconds later, Crew and Dutch burst into the attic room.
 “Fuck.”
“I got you,” Loris murmured as he wrestled to take the gun from Destiny, handing it to Crew.
Dutch strode over to the perp, his expression murderous. He yanked him to his feet and drew back his
fist.
“Dutch, stop,” Loris barked. “Guard him. That’s it.” I’ve got other plans for that bastard, and a
bloody nose or broken jaw won’t help my cause.
“Mary,” Destiny whispered, clawing at his shirt. “He’s got Mary. My neighbor.”
Loris jerked his chin at Crew. “Call it in.” He helped Destiny to her feet. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” She flung her arms around his neck. “The lessons. Self-defense. I remembered what you
told me.”
Pride chased away the fear that’d choked him when he’d heard that scream. “Smart girl.”
He led her down to the living room, where he sat her on the couch. By this time, his two other
guys who’d been guarding the rear of the house had arrived. Crew or Dutch must have messaged them
when they’d seen Loris launch through the front door. He dropped to his haunches and placed his
hands on her knees. “Wait here. Rook and Kaz will stay with you.”
“Where are you going? Mary? What about Mary?”
“Don’t worry. We’re going to get to Mary. I promise.” He rose to his feet and locked eyes with
Rook. “Get her some water, and a brandy, maybe.”
He took the stairs three at a time up to the top floor. Dutch had Evans by the throat, his face inches
away. For his part, Evans merely smirked as though he couldn’t care less if Dutch ended his
miserable life right that second.
“Dutch!” Loris bellowed. “Let him go.”
Hatred burning in his eyes, Dutch dropped his hand. He’d followed orders his entire adult life. It
was ingrained, but even so, his fingers flexed, itching for a chance at Evans.
Too bad. This one is mine.
“Who’s with Destiny?” he snapped when he saw that Loris was alone.
“Rook and Kaz are with her.”
“Police are on their way,” Crew stated.
“Thanks. Dutch, go next door and check on the neighbor. Break in if you have to. Crew, go outside
and wait for the police.”
“What about him?” Dutch jerked his chin at Evans.
“I got him.”
Dutch’s jaw ticked. He loomed over Evans. “You’re one lucky motherfucker,” he snarled in his
face. “If I had my way, I’d make what your parents did to you look like child’s play.”
“Dutch. Mary. Now.” Loris’s tone brooked no argument. Crew handed Loris the gun and followed
Dutch downstairs.
Alone, Loris circled the man who’d kidnapped and tortured the woman he loved, who’d ruined
the lives of all those other women, who’d caused Ursula to take her own life because she couldn’t
bear to live the one he’d left her with.
Evans smirked. “She’ll never be free of me, you know.”
Loris said nothing. He circled him again. Evans’s discomfort grew. His cocky smirk dropped, and
he eyed Loris as one would a far more lethal predator.
“I can hear the sirens,” Evans said. “They’ll put me in Broadmoor. I won’t go to prison. I’m too
crazy to go to prison.”
Loris clenched his fists. The bastard wasn’t crazy. He was as sane as every occupant in this
house. He got off on the power and control he exerted over individuals. He got off on causing pain, on
torturing his victims. Problem was, he’d met his match. He just didn’t know it yet.
“Maybe I’ll write to Destiny. Maybe she’ll come to visit me. She won’t be able to help it. I own
her. I only have to click my fingers, and she plays to my tune. I told you—she’ll never be free.”
Oh, yes, she will.
Loris sprang forward. Grabbing Evans, he pulled the man’s back to Loris’s front and clamped a
hand around his throat. He stuffed the gun into Evans’s hand, pushed the butt against his temple, and
pulled the trigger.
 CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

A LOUD BANG SOUNDED FROM UPSTAIRS . DESTINY SHOT TO HER FEET .

“What was that?”
Rook sprang from the room, his boots striking each stair as he ran to the upper levels, while Kaz
stayed behind, barring her from following.
Gunfire. It sounded like gunfire. Oh God, Loris.
“Let me through.” She pushed at Kaz, but the man was a mountain, his frame almost filling the
doorway. The sound of sirens grew louder, and a police car stopped outside. Crew whizzed by,
sprinting up the stairs after Rook.
The only one missing was Dutch. He’d gone next door to check on Mary.
Destiny wavered, gripping Kaz’s arm for support. What’s happening?
Seconds later, two police officers, one man and one woman, appeared in her hallway. Kaz shut
the door to the living room, locking her inside. The rumble of his voice was followed by the sounds
of more people running upstairs. She pushed down on the door handle. It didn’t shift. Goddamn the
man. He must be holding it from the other side.
“Kaz!”
She rattled the door. Seconds later, it opened and he reentered, still preventing her from exiting
with his huge body.
“The police are here. They’ll take over now.”
“But Loris? What’s happened to Loris? What if he’s hurt?”
Kaz’s full lips lifted on one side. “Sweetcheeks, you’re worried about Loris?” He snickered.
“The man’s made of steel. Tougher than steel. He can look after himself.”
Two more police cars slewed to a stop, followed by an ambulance. The occupants of the first
police car entered her house. The occupants from the second one went next door with one of the
paramedics. God, Mary. Please let her be okay. If anything had happened to her because of that
bastard, she’d… she’d….
Her knees wobbled. She reached for the arm of a nearby chair and sank into it. Head in her hands,
she prayed. She wasn’t religious in the slightest, but she prayed anyway.
She lifted her head as Dutch crossed the front of her house and strode up the pathway. He tapped
Kaz on the shoulder, and the man stepped aside. Destiny launched to her feet.
“What’s happening? How’s Mary. Is she… is she…?”
Dutch put his arms around her, holding tight. “Mary’s fine. She’s a bit shook up. That’s all. A
paramedic is checking her over, and then they’re taking her to the hospital. Just routine,” he added
when her eyes flared.
 “How did he get into Mary’s house?”
“He said he was from the benefits office, flashed her an official-looking badge, and she let him
in.” He grimaced. “She’s an old lady who’s too trusting. He tied her up and gagged her, but he didn’t
hurt her.”
“But I still don’t understand how he got in here from Mary’s house?”
“Your house and Mary’s had a connecting door in the basement. He got in through that.”
“A connecting door?” She rubbed the space between her eyebrows. “I don’t use the basement, so
that’s probably why I’ve never noticed. A door? Wow.”
“Must be from the war or something. Or maybe this used to be one house and was split into two
over time. It’s an old property.”
“And he knew about the door?”
He shrugged. “I’m guessing so. There’s plenty of time to find all the answers. You’re shaking. Let
me get a paramedic to check you over.”
She shook her head. “I’m fine. It’s Loris I’m worried about… Dutch, I heard gunfire. I’m sure it
was gunfire. But he”—she jabbed a finger at Kaz, who smirked—“won’t let me pass.”
“Bit crowded up there, sweetcheeks.”
So close… she was so close to kicking that sanctimonious prick in the balls. Dutch must have
read the expression on her face and feared a bloodbath because he glanced at Kaz and said, “I got
her.”
Kaz shrugged, spun on his heel, and disappeared. She didn’t care where to.
“What about Loris?”
“Hang on.” Dutch slipped his phone from the back pocket of his jeans and held it to his ear.
“Crew. What gives?” He listened intently, the handset pressed hard to his ear to prevent voice bleed.
“Okay, gotcha. Yeah, she’s with me.” A pause. “Fine. Copy that.”
He led her to the couch, waiting until she sat down. He sat beside her. “Evans is dead.”
Her mouth fell open. “He… he’s… how?”
“Seems he got hold of the gun somehow and blew his brains out.”
“Oh, Jesus.” She clasped both hands over her nose and mouth. “Loris?”
“He’s fine. The police want him to make a statement at the station, but that’s normal. They’ll want
to speak to you, too. When you’re ready.”
“Can I see him?”
“Let the police and paramedics do their jobs first, yeah? Take it one minute at a time.”
She closed her eyes and curved both arms around her stomach, sucking down several breaths and
blowing each one out slowly. Her heart rate began to slow. Evans was dead. The nightmare was over.
She had her freedom back.
Except she didn’t want her freedom. She wanted Loris. She wanted their baby. She wanted him to
accept and love them both.
She lost track of how long she and Dutch sat in silence, but sometime later, footsteps sounded on
her stairs. She glanced out the window at two paramedics carrying a stretcher, the body covered with
a white sheet.
A man had killed himself in her house. She’d have to sell up. She couldn’t live here any longer.
Her stomach flipped, rolled, and then lurched. She slammed a hand over her mouth.
“I’m going to be sick.”
She only just made it to the sink in the kitchen. Her mouth was gritty, and a glass of water didn’t
help, so she stuffed a few squares of chocolate into her mouth to rid herself of the foul taste.
 “You okay?” Dutch hovered in the doorway. “It’s a lot. You’ll be fine.”
She nodded, dabbing at her clammy forehead with a sheet of paper towel. As she plodded back
into the living room, a female police officer entered. She gave Destiny a sympathetic smile and an
accompanying head tilt.
“Do you feel up to making a statement?”
No. But the sooner she did this, the sooner she’d be able to go to Loris.
“Sure.” She motioned to the couch and took the chair for herself. “What do you want to know?”

The policewoman left after thirty minutes. By this time, the rest of the guys had gone, and the police
had taken Loris to the station. She hadn’t even seen him leave. Nor had he come to see her, or maybe
they hadn’t allowed him to come and see her. She tried not to think what that could mean.
Dutch made her a cup of tea, which she left to go cold. She paced, sat, paced some more. A phone
rang, cut out, then rang again.
“Shit, that’s my phone.” The ringing tone cut off for a second time. “Bollocks. Where is it?” She
flipped cushions off the couch, eventually finding it buried down the side of the chair by the window.
It rang again. Caller ID withheld. She answered anyway.
“Hello.”
“Hey, it’s me.”
She gave a slight moan, tears welling up behind her eyes. “Loris.”
“Are you okay? Is Dutch with you?”
“Yes. He’s here. I’m fine, but what about you? Are you at the police station?”
“Yeah. Shouldn’t be too much longer. Stay put. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“What happened?”
“I’ll explain everything when I get there. Hold tight.”
The line went dead. The phone slipped from between her fingers, landing with a thud on the floor.
“Is he in some kind of trouble?” she whispered.
“Loris?” Dutch barked a laugh. “Not a chance.”
The next hour dragged, but finally, she caught sight of Loris getting out of the back of a cab. She
sprinted to the front door, wrenched it open, and flung herself at him, hooking her legs over his hips.
“Hey.” He soothed her, stroking her hair as he carried her into the house. “Thanks for staying,
man,” he said to Dutch. “I appreciate it.”
“You know where I am.” Dutch patted her shoulder. “Call me, cuz.”
She sniffed. “I will.”
The front door slammed shut. Loris sat on the couch and nestled her onto his lap. She curled into
him, like a child needing comfort after being woken by a nightmare. He rubbed her back and said
nothing. He always seemed to know the right thing to do at the right time, and feeling his strength and
warmth surrounding her was exactly what she needed.
“I’m sorry,” she finally said.
“What for?”
“For leaving Montford. For shutting you out. For not listening to you and being a stubborn, idiotic
bitch.” She tried for a smile, but it fell short.
 “You had your reasons.”
Yeah. She did. Not that she’d shown him enough respect to share those reasons with him. She
opened her mouth, ready to blurt out about the baby, then shut it. The words stuck in her throat.
“What happened to him?” Evans. Safer subject. Work up to the crisis. “Dutch said he shot
himself.”
“Yeah.” Loris looked down, capturing her hand and rubbing his thumb along the knuckles. “That’s
what’s in my statement to the police.”
Tingles shot up her spine and along the back of her neck. “What do you mean?”
He gave her his eyes, and in them she saw… apprehension.
“It means I know men like him. As long as he breathed, you’d never be a hundred percent safe,
and your safety and happiness are all I care about.”
“So you killed him?” she whispered.
“I helped him make the right decision.” His lips tipped up on one side. “He got off lightly
compared to what I’d have liked to put him through for what he did to you.”
“Wow.” She moved off his lap, processing his confession. Her emotions were not what she’d
expected. Instead of shock, she felt… pride. A man who’d kill for his woman was a hell of a turn-on.
Maybe not to everyone, but it was to her. She’d always known the kind of man Loris was, what he
was capable of.
“You did that for me?”
He slid a hand around the back of her neck and kissed her temple. “I’d do anything for you.”
She wrapped her arms around her middle. Anything… except get married and have children.
Willingly have children. Loris was going to be a father against his wishes. It didn’t seem at all fair to
drag a man into fatherhood. This was her mess, yet he’d get caught in the fallout.
“I could have told you the same as I told the police, but I don’t want secrets between us. It’s no
basis for a healthy relationship.” His lips twisted. “If we still have a relationship to save, that is.”
“I’m pregnant,” she blurted. “I’m sorry. It was a mistake. I missed my shot. The abduction and
after… I just forgot.” She caged her nose and her mouth with her hands. “I’m so sorry. I know you
don’t want kids, but I’m… I’m keeping it.”
Loris’s mouth parted, shock swimming in his blue irises. “Pregnant?” He licked his lips.
Swallowed. Shook his head. “But—”
A loud banging came at the door, startling them both. Loris rose to his feet and peered through the
window.
“It’s your parents. I called them on the way over here.”
He went to answer the door, leaving Destiny still without a clue how he felt about the baby. Shit.
She loved her mum and dad, but right now, she just wanted them not to be here. She and Loris had to
talk. They couldn’t leave things as they were without a proper conversation.
“Oh, Destiny.” Mum barreled into the living room, wrapping Destiny in a tight hug. “When Loris
called and told us what had happened, oh, my baby.” She cupped her cheeks, her eyes traveling over
Destiny as if she expected to see physical injuries. “You’re coming with us. You can’t stay here. Not
when…” She shuddered. “No.”
Dad placed his hand on her shoulder. “We’ve got you, love. Always.”
“But—” She sought out Loris, who remained in the doorway. “Mum, Loris and I need to talk.”
He bit his lip and averted his gaze. “Plenty of time for that. I think you should go home with your
parents for a few days.”
His casual dismissal walloped her right in the stomach. “If that’s what you want.” Her eyes
pleaded with him to say that no, it wasn’t what he wanted. At all.
“I think it’s for the best.”
Tears rushed to the surface of her eyes. She blinked to disperse them. “Fine.”
“I’ll call you.”
He half turned, thought better of it, strode over to her, and kissed the top of her head, then spun on
his heel. Seconds later, the front door clicked shut, his silent message far louder than if he’d have
screamed, “I fucking told you I don’t want kids!”
She heard it. Deafeningly so.
“Right, love.” Mum squeezed her hand. “Let’s pack a few things, and then we can go.”
Well, there wasn’t any point in staying, was there?
 CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

BEING BACK IN HER CHILDHOOD BEDROOM WAS WEIRD .

All her posters of her pop idols were long gone, and the dreadful fluorescent green she’d insisted
Dad paint her room when she’d turned fifteen had since been covered over with a soft cream, but the
memories of growing up here were embedded in the walls.
Happy memories of a charmed childhood surrounded by love and warmth.
Yet lying here on the soft quilt, staring at a faint crack in the ceiling, she’d never felt more
miserable in her entire life.
This should be a time for celebration.
Evans was dead.
Mary was unharmed and back at home where she belonged.
Destiny had survived a terrible trauma and come out the other side stronger than ever. And she
was having a baby.
Loris’s baby.
A child with a man she’d only ever dreamed would be hers.
With this news, she’d put the final nail in that coffin of hope. She kept seeing his face when she’d
blurted out the news. Horrified was too strong a word, but he hadn’t been pleased. That was for sure.
Stunned into silence, a growing sense of entrapment, maybe. If he’d wanted to talk, he’d have told her
parents to leave, but he hadn’t. He’d been the one to leave, to run almost.
I got the message.
Two days had passed, and his “I’ll call you” had been a lie because she hadn’t heard a peep out
of the man.
Did he expect her to call?
No, if he had, then that was what he would have said. Loris didn’t talk in riddles. He hit straight
and true.
No secrets.
Her cheeks puffed up as she blew out a long breath. She’d kept the greatest secret of all from him,
blurting it out without putting in the groundwork first.
What a mess.
She hadn’t told her parents she was pregnant. Until she spoke properly to Loris and figured out
where he stood, it was better to keep the news to herself.
Whatever he said wouldn’t change her decision; she was keeping the baby.
But as they’d hardly had time for a full and frank conversation before her parents had descended,
that had to happen first.
 While she was busy musing and berating herself, her phone rang. She snatched it off the bedside
table, heart rate soaring.
It wasn’t Loris.
An unknown number was FaceTiming her. She answered.
Katerina’s face swam into view, but unlike the last time they spoke, she had some color back in
her cheeks, her blonde hair had been styled in waves over her shoulder, and her eyes held a hint of
optimism that hadn’t been there before.
“Katerina?” Destiny scrambled to a seated position, resting her head against the headboard.
“What a surprise.”
“He’s dead.” She grinned, and it changed her entire face. “Loris called to tell me. I think he called
all of us to give us the news. And thank goodness he did because I doubt the police will get round to it
anytime soon if their performance to date is anything to go by. Oh, Destiny, I can’t tell you what this
means. For the first time since he drugged and abducted me, I feel… safe. Alive. Filled with hope for
the future.”
Every word that spilled from her mouth was delivered at a hundred miles an hour. As Destiny
unpicked each one, anger rose within her.
He’d called Katerina and the others, but he hadn’t called her to discuss their baby and what it
meant or didn’t mean for both of them.
She ground her molars, her jaw scissoring from side to side, and grabbed a handful of bedding.
She squeezed hard, wishing it was his balls.
“How lovely of him to call you.” She barely moved her lips, and Katerina, who was a smart
woman, picked up on the vibe. Her smile fell and she grimaced.
“I’m sorry. Loris said that he broke into your house. It must have been so scary for you, and here I
am rambling on without even asking how you are.”
“It’s not that.” She motioned with her hand. “I mean, it was scary, yes. And I’m glad he’s dead,
too. But…” She forced a smile. “It’s nothing. Ignore me. I’m glad you’re glad. You deserve to live in
peace. We all do.”
“And now we have a chance to do just that.” She canted her head. “Did he ever tell you why he
treated you differently?”
“Yeah.”
They’d spoken a couple of times after that first call Loris set up, and on each occasion, both of
them avoided talking in detail about that time.
“I reminded him of his sister. She was a talented pianist who died too young. Hammerklavier was
a piece she used to play for him, but never mastered.”
“So he made you play it.” Katerina nodded as if all the pieces of a puzzle had just fallen into
place. “What a monster.”
“That’s being kind.”
She plucked at the bedclothes, rolling a piece of cotton into a ball that she flicked across the
room.
“Destiny, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Would it be okay if, maybe, one day, we met in person? I think it would be good for both of us.”
Destiny gave her a close-lipped smile. “I’d really like that.”
“Me, too. Very much.”
The two women spoke for a few more minutes, then hung up, promising to keep in touch. The last
shadow cast by Evans lifted.
Out of all the women, Katerina was the one who had meant the most to Destiny.
They say a person should never meet their heroes, and for a time, that had proved true in the most
dreadful of ways. But now, they had a chance to make a fresh start, to truly put that time behind them
and live their best lives.
Except hers wouldn’t be complete.
Not without Loris.
But if that was the way it had to be, then there wasn’t much she could do other than pour all of her
love into this child.
Just you and me, little one. And what a team we’ll make.
“Destiny!” her mother called up the stairs. “You have a visitor.”
“Who is it?”
Her mother didn’t reply. Groaning, she rolled off the bed, smoothed her bird’s nest hair, and went
downstairs. It was probably Dutch.
Good.
Maybe he’d be up for grabbing a bite to eat or going for a walk. Anything was better than lounging
around in her old bedroom, bemoaning the state of her life.
She padded downstairs and into the living room. Loris was sitting on the couch next to her mother.
Destiny fisted her hips, incandescent rage rising up inside her like a geyser about to spew out a
stream of hot steam. Two days he’d left her to work herself into a lather, and now he turned up here
without so much as a phone call or a text.
Despite her anger, it took all her strength not to throw herself at him and have him tell her
everything would be all right.
Except it wouldn’t.
Wasn’t.
Whatever.
“What do you want?” She delivered each word crisply with a side of vinegar.
He rose from the couch, his broad, muscular frame and tree-trunk legs dwarfing her parents’ cozy
sitting room. “To talk.”
“Oh, so now you want to talk?”
Her mum’s head volleyed between them like she was sitting at Centre Court watching Wimbledon.
Dad, meanwhile, buried his head behind his paper, his years-long marriage to Mum making him well
equipped to figure out when a woman was about to blow her stack.
“Yes. But not here.”
Her lips stretched into a thin smile. “Why not here?”
“Destiny, please.” Loris sighed. “I’m sorry I haven’t called, but I have my reasons. And when you
come with me, you’ll see.”
“When?” Both eyebrows shot up her head. “That sounds an awful lot like an order I’m not in the
mood to obey.”
Her father lowered the newspaper, eyeing her in a way that made her feel twelve-years-old and
about to get a telling-off for being rude to a teacher.
Loris’s nostrils flared as he pushed out a huff of air. He fired a glance at her mother and then at
her father.
“Elizabeth, Charles, would you excuse us?” Gripping her upper arm, he propelled her toward the
door.
 “Get off me, Loris,” she hissed, wrenching her arm up. His hold didn’t loosen even by one
percent.
His jaw ticked as he marched her down the path to where Booth stood by the rear door of Loris’s
Maybach. He gave her no choice but to get in, so she did, shuffling to the far side and pressing herself
against the door.
What is wrong with you?
She’d wanted him to come for her, and he had.
So why was she behaving like a brat? She was twenty-six, not sixteen.
The door slammed. Loris clipped his seat belt into place, waiting until she’d done the same
before asking Booth to take them to Montford.
“Why Montford? We don’t need to drive all the way there to talk.”
“Because there’s something I want to show you.”
“What?”
The faintest of smiles tugged at his lips. “I said ‘show,’ not ‘tell.’ ”
Ugh.
“Are you even going to apologize for walking out after I told you I was pregnant? Or for taking the
time out of your busy schedule to impart the news of Evans’s death to his other victims when you
couldn’t bring yourself to send me a measly text?”
He prodded the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “I know you’re angry. I deserve it.”
“Angry? Oh, I’m way past angry.”
Her ire didn’t seem to bother him at all. If anything, he appeared amused, and that pissed her off
even more.
She balled her hands into fists and stared out the window. He might not think it was a big deal for
a woman to tell a man she was pregnant only to have him walk out on her without saying a word, but
she did.
Destiny had always thought the saying “You could cut the atmosphere with a knife” was silly. A
knife couldn’t cut through air. But by the time Booth nosed the car through Montford’s gates some fifty
minutes later, she’d become a believer.
Relief when she escaped the car washed over her like a cool shower on a hot day.
Loris joined her, but when he moved in to take her hand, she snatched it out of reach.
Dear God.
Was this a hormonal thing?
Yes, he’d pissed her off. Yes, he should have stayed and talked things out, parents or no parents,
but the man had killed for her.
He’d rescued her from that island even when he’d still hated her.
He’d taken care of her and nursed her back to health.
He’d sat beside her bed all night after that psychotic episode.
He’d set up the call with Katerina.
He’d done everything to make her feel safe and secure and loved.
And what had she done?
Fallen pregnant when she’d assured him that she had the whole contraception thing taken care of,
then expected him to put aside his entire belief system just because she’d fucked up. Oh, and do that
without taking a time-out, please and thank you.
She followed him up to the second floor, remaining a pace behind the entire way. He opened the
double doors that led to his suite of rooms and entered.
 Inside the space looked the same as always, but something felt… off. She couldn’t put her finger
on it.
And then it came to her.
There was a new wall on the far side, painted the same as the rest of the place, but cutting a
sizable chunk from the living room. Loris said nothing as he strode past the comfy couches and large
dining table, heading for his bedroom.
If he thinks we’re getting down to it without talking first, the man’s got rocks for brains.
“After you.”
He gestured for her to proceed first. His bedroom looked the same as it always had, but instead of
one door that led to the adjoining bathroom, another door had appeared.
“What’s in there?”
He jutted his chin forward. “Only one way to find out.”
Padding across the thick wall-to-wall carpeting, she pushed open the door and went inside.
She gasped, gazing around, unable to believe her eyes.
A nursery. He’d created a nursery.
She trailed her hand over the beautifully crafted crib complete with an enormous teddy bear
where the baby would go. Overhead hung a colorful mobile, and off to the side was a rocking chair.
There was also a wardrobe that had a hand-painted unicorn on the door, a changing table, and a pretty
little bookcase filled with children’s books.
“Oh, Loris.”
She spun around to find him on one knee, his arm outstretched, a beautiful diamond ring nestled in
a box in the palm of his hand.
“Marry me.”
Her hands trembled as she brought them to her face. “But… you don’t want to get married, or
have children. You told me that yourself.”
“Forget what I said. I’m an idiot. Sometimes, we don’t have a clue what we want until it’s put
right in front of us. I admit, you shocked the hell out of me when you told me you were pregnant, but
as soon as I left you with your parents, this great swell of joy burgeoned within me, and I knew
exactly what I needed to do. I had to show you what you meant to me. After that entire speech about
never bringing kids into a cruel world, I knew where your mind would go, and I didn’t want you to
think I was marrying you out of a sense of duty.”
He took the ring out of the box and reached for her left hand, and this time, she didn’t pull away.
“I love you, Destiny Rivers. I’ve loved you for so long that even when I thought I hated you, I
loved you. But sometimes, the male of the species isn’t all that quick at acknowledging his feelings.”
She flashed a smile. “You don’t say.”
“So.” He placed the ring on the tip of her finger. “Will you be mine, Destiny? For always.”
“Yes.” She couldn’t hold back the torrent of tears any longer. “I’m yours and you’re mine.”
He slipped the ring onto her finger, then rose to his feet. Taking her face in his hands, he pressed
his lips to hers, lazy sweeps of his tongue turning her into a wanton mess in five seconds flat.
“It’s not finished,” Loris murmured against her lips. “The nursery, I mean. I thought we could
finish it together.” He pressed the palm of his hand against her stomach. “A baby. I can’t believe it.”
His smile washed away the last shred of doubt that, despite what he’d said, he might have duty at the
forefront of his mind.
“I love you, Loris ‘Stubborn Arse’ Winslow.”
“And I love you, soon-to-be Countess Winslow.” Taking her hands, he backed out of the nursery
and into the bedroom. “Time to show you just how much.”
 CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

S O MUCH TO DO , AND SO LITTLE TIME TO GET IT ALL DONE. WHOSE STUPID IDEA HAD IT BEEN TO
arrange a wedding in four weeks, two of which she’d used up already?
Yours, a voice she’d rather ignore bellowed in her ear. Not whispered. Bellowed.
“Fine,” she grumbled under her breath. “I’m an idiot.”
She trudged upstairs, her to-do list rattling around in her brain. At least Dutch had agreed to the
job of galvanizing the male side of the wedding. Okay, “agreed” was a bit of a stretch, but sometimes
threats were necessary to get things done.
And if Loris told her one more time to calm down, this baby would be the last one he’d ever
father.
A smile stretched her lips wide, and she automatically rubbed her stomach. She wasn’t showing
yet, but it wouldn’t be too much longer before her belly popped. She couldn’t wait. But at the same
time, she’d dreamed about the dress she’d marry in since she was five, and she wasn’t ready to give
up on that dream. Hence the dash down the aisle.
They were having the wedding right here at Montford in the vast landscaped gardens. Loris, in his
inimitable style, had insisted on vetting every single person on the guest list, apart from her parents
and the members of Intrepid and their partners. He’d worked hard to make Montford a fortress, he’d
said, and wedding or no wedding, his procedures weren’t up for debate.
She let him have his way. Her protection and security, and that of their baby, wasn’t something
Loris would ever compromise on, and it gave her a warm, mushy feeling to know he’d do anything to
keep them both safe.
Hadn’t he proved that already?
She entered their bedroom, the nursery calling to her as it always did every time she found herself
alone in here. After the wedding, she’d make finishing this her first priority. She still couldn’t believe
Loris had achieved so much in two days. Then again, the man didn’t know the meaning of the word
can’t. Once he set his mind to something, that was it.
As she returned to the bedroom, a slip of paper nestled on her pillow caught her eye. She picked
it up, her belly fluttering as she read it.
My study. Now.
He’d remembered. The unrealized dream she’d often woken from wet and wanting and filled with
frustration was about to come true, except this time, she’d see it through to the end.
Deciding the plain white bra and knickers wouldn’t do, she quickly changed into a lingerie set in
a subtle yet sexy thistle purple, slipped on a white blouse and fitted black skirt, and slid her feet into
a pair of stilettos as close to the color of her underwear as she could find.
 With a final glance in the mirror, she made her way downstairs, clinging to the banister in case
she tripped. Her heels clacked on the wooden floor, echoing right up to the high ceiling. He couldn’t
fail to hear her coming. Her heart thrashed against her rib cage, and her lungs refused to obey the need
for oxygen, forcing her to take little sips of air to avoid passing out.
His office door was shut. She pressed her ear to the wood. She couldn’t hear him. No clacking of
keys as he typed on the keyboard, or sound of his deep voice rumbling as he spoke on the phone. Utter
silence.
She knocked twice on the door.
“Come in.”
Swallowing, she twisted the antique brass knob and pushed the door inward. Loris was facing the
window, dressed in a simple shirt and belted trousers. His hands were laced behind his back. He
didn’t turn as she entered.
“Shut the door.”
She did as he asked. The clicking sound caused flutters to rattle around inside her chest, and her
core throbbed. She pressed her thighs together, but that only increased the ache between her legs.
Slowly, he pivoted. Her breath caught in her throat. There wasn’t a hint of a smile, his features
harsh and fierce, his jaw set, but what gave him away was his eyes, all heavy with lust. She lowered
her gaze to the thick outline of his cock. Yeah, this was as much of a turn-on for him as for her, and
they hadn’t even begun to play out the fantasy yet.
“Take off your clothes.”
She licked her lips to dampen them, her mouth empty of saliva, which made swallowing tricky.
Somehow, she forced her throat to work. Fumbling with a few buttons, she managed to remove her
shirt. His eyes flared as she revealed herself to him. Next went the skirt, pooling around her feet. She
stepped to the side, then reached behind her back to unhook her bra.
“Leave it.”
His voice had lowered, if that were even possible. Her clit tingled in response. What would he
do if she slipped her hand inside the lace waistband and touched herself? Would he punish her? What
form would that punishment take?
A tremor sneaked up her spine, one vertebra at a time. Why was the idea of some form of
punishment an exciting one? Probably because she knew Loris wouldn’t ever harm a single hair on
her head.
He prowled toward her, holding a cushion that he must have picked up while she’d been all up in
her head relishing the idea of punishment. He dropped it on the floor.
“Kneel.”
The authority in his tone, coupled with a violent urge to please, lowered Destiny to her knees. She
averted her gaze and placed the flat of her palms on her thighs, recalling something she’d once read
about Dominants and submissives. Not that this was a scene in that sense of the word, but Loris was a
naturally dominant man, and while this was her fantasy, her dream, he was a key part of it, and she
wanted this to be as exciting for him as it was for her.
He ran the pad of his forefinger along her cheekbone, then cupped her chin, tipping her head back.
“Exquisite.”
She blossomed under his praise, glowing from the inside out. He released her. She returned to her
previous position, eyes on the floor. The sound of leather whipping through a belt buckle spoke
volumes. She sneaked a peek through her eyelashes. The two pieces of his belt hung to the side, his
button undone and the zipper down.
 “Take it out.”
Her hand was surprisingly steady as she gripped the hem of his boxers and tugged them down. She
wrapped her hand around the base of his cock. This was all new territory now, her dream having only
gone as far as the order to get on her knees.
“Suck it.”
Everything south of her belly button surged, waves of pleasure rolling through her. Not a single
part of her body escaped the tide of lust. The urge to grind against something—anything—was almost
painful.
She ran the tip of her tongue around the head, paying extra attention to his dydoe piercing. The
hiss of pleasure when she wrapped her lips over the crown made her clit tingle, and goose bumps
lifted the hair on the back of her neck. He pushed his fingers into her hair, angling her head.
“Put your hands behind your back,” he rasped.
She obeyed. If it weren’t for his hands in her hair, she’d have felt off-balance, but he held her
steady. He’d never let her fall. Never.
“If this gets to be too much, hold up your right hand.”
He thrust his hips. His piercing grazed the roof of her mouth. God, there was something so
damned hot about that. A fresh stream of lust dampened her pretty lace underwear. She peered up at
him. Cords of muscle protruded from his neck, and his jaw was locked up tight. He drew back, then
pushed in again, the angle different this time. He hit the back of her throat, and she almost gagged. He
pulled out just in time.
“Christ, you’re beautiful.”
This time when he hit the same spot, she swallowed, her reward the low groan that rumbled in his
chest and the way he shuddered. She repeated it, pride filling her chest at his face, awash with
ecstasy. She’d done that. She was giving him the kind of pleasure that made him gasp and his eyes roll
back in his head.
She hummed against his shaft, and a loud hiss whistled through his teeth.
“Fuck, do that again. Louder.”
She obeyed, and the vibration drove him crazy. He upped his pace and closed his eyes, his teeth
dragging over his bottom lip, his chest rising and falling at an increasing pace. Wow, the power she
had in this moment drove her insane. No wonder power corrupted. It was heady stuff to watch such a
masculine man come apart at the seams by using only her mouth.
He moaned, muttered, “Fuck,” and then pulled out and came all over her chest. The jets of cum
kept on going, his cock jerking with the effort of each spurt until he was finally spent.
Damn, that was hot.
Grabbing a box of tissues off the corner of his desk, he got on his knees and tugged out a bunch,
cleaning her up. He aimed the screwed-up bunch of tissues at the waste bin, and, of course, they went
in. He tucked himself away and pulled up his zipper, leaving his belt unfastened, then helped her to
her feet.
“Did it live up to your dream?”
She caressed his face, dragging her nails through his neat beard. “No. It far surpassed it.”
“Good.” Sliding his arms around her waist, he lowered his head and captured her lips. He kissed
her, his tongue making tender sweeps inside her mouth, tangling with her own. “Because, my sweet,
wonderful woman, I have a fantasy or two of my own to play out.”
“Is that so?” She palmed his semi-hard dick through his pants. “There’s no time like the present.”
 EPILOGUE

“I DON ’ T THINK I’ VE EVER SEEN SUCH A BEAUTIFUL BRIDE IN MY ENTIRE LIFE.”

Mum’s eyes filled with tears, her makeup standing as much chance of surviving until the vows as
Destiny pulling out of marrying the man she’d dreamed of for almost a decade.
“You’re a little biased, Mum.”
“Well. It’s allowed. I’m only ever going to see my daughter get married once.”
“Elizabeth, why don’t we give Destiny a few minutes to herself?” Her dad captured her mum by
the elbow, steering her toward the door. “I’ll wait outside for you, love. No rush. Whenever you’re
ready.”
Destiny turned to the mirror as the door clicked shut. The woman staring back was a stranger in
many ways. Her hairdresser had piled her caramel-streaked hair on top of her head, teasing a few
tendrils out here and there to soften the updo. Her makeup was flawless, which she definitely couldn’t
take credit for—thank goodness for makeup artists—and the diamond drop earrings and matching
necklace Loris had given her last night before he’d begrudgingly left her in their suite to sleep in one
of the myriad spare bedrooms finished off the outfit beautifully.
A Countess. Who would have thought it? Not that she could see herself ever using that title. Loris
didn’t use his unless there was a particular call for it, but he’d warned her that others in society
would. The first time it happened, she hoped she didn’t giggle. The entire proposition was somewhat
ludicrous.
She dabbed perfume behind her ears and at the top of her cleavage. Setting the bottle on the
dressing table, she drew in a deep breath.
“This is it.”
The door to the bedroom she shared with Loris opened. “I thought you were waiting outside,
Dad.” She turned, and her mouth parted. “Katerina?”
Her fellow former captive and new friend smiled broadly. The two had spoken on the phone
weekly, their demons slowly ebbing away as they shared their hopes and dreams for the future.
“What are you doing here?” She tottered across the room—couldn’t do much more in these heels
—and drew Katerina into her arms. “You said you couldn’t make it when I asked you to come.”
“I know.” She smiled shyly. “It was Loris’s idea. A surprise. He thought you might need someone
to hold the train on your dress.”
“A maid of honor?”
Katerina canted her head. “If you like.”
“I do like. Very much.”
Katerina held her at arm’s length, scanning her from head to toe. “You’re a picture.”
 “You look pretty fantastic yourself.” And she did, too, the turquoise dress a perfect foil for her
blonde hair and pale, flawless skin. “Did I ever tell you that you were my hero?”
Katerina shook her head, a flush stealing over her cheeks.
“After you disappeared and the media reported that you were probably incarcerated for speaking
out against the government, I cried at the idea of someone so talented having her life curtailed, just
like that. Then, when I was taken and I saw you there… I couldn’t believe it. It was a strange feeling
to experience joy and blind terror simultaneously.”
“And we survived.” She smiled.
“Not just survived. Thrived.”
“Yes.” Katerina motioned to the door. “Are you ready, beautiful bride? Your groom awaits.”
Destiny took a deep breath, blowing it out between pursed lips. “I’m ready.”

The ceremony passed by in a blur. She stuttered her way through her vows, whereas Loris spoke his
with clear enunciation and pride in his eyes. And then he was kissing her and their guests were
applauding, and that was it. No longer Miss Rivers, but the Countess of Montford. She preferred plain
old “Mrs. Winslow,” and she told Loris as much as he walked her back down the aisle.
“Nothing plain about you,” he murmured, his lips touching her ear and sending a shiver of
anticipation shooting up her spine.
They performed the obligatory first dance on the makeshift dance floor set up underneath a huge
marquee. After all, it was late September in England and showers were to be, if not expected, then
prepared for. But the sun had shone all day, the sky carrying a few wisps of white cloud on a
moderate breeze, the perfect complement to an idyllic day.
They’d planned to make their escape while the party was in full swing, but when Katerina pulled
her to one side with an idea to entertain the guests, Destiny couldn’t resist. She roped in Dutch and
Crew and Zander to help, and the three of them carried the piano onto the back patio. Katerina had
brought her violin with her, almost as if she’d planned this. When Destiny asked her if she had,
Katerina merely tapped the side of her nose and smiled.
The crowd fell silent as Destiny slipped onto the bench and began to play Concerto by Beethoven,
a haunting and beautiful melody that suited the accompaniment of a violin to perfection. She caught
Loris standing beside her father, his expression one of admiration and awe. As the piece drew to a
close, he blew her a kiss, the intimate moment missed as all eyes were on her and Katerina.
Except for Dutch’s. His were locked solely on Katerina. He didn’t blink, or move other than to
part his lips, his stare unabashed in euphoric-like wonder.
Well, I never.
Destiny glanced sideways at Katerina to see if she’d noticed, but her eyes were closed, lost to the
beauty of the piece as she drew her bow over the strings, her talent awe-inspiring, a look of pure
exaltation on her face.
As they played the final note, the guests exploded into spontaneous applause. Destiny stood and
walked over to Katerina. The two women held hands and bowed.
“What a talent you are.” Loris slipped his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck. “But as
beautiful as that was, I’d rather like to steal you away and make some music of our own.”
 She twisted in his arms, snaking her hands around his nape. “Is that your way of saying you’d like
to take me to bed, Mr. Winslow?”
“Am I so obvious?”
“Yes.”
He moved closer until their lips were less than an inch apart. “I’m not even sorry.”
She shifted, fusing their mouths together, the moment all too brief. “Neither am I.”
“I love you.” He cupped her face, his eyes shining and that smile he still used sparingly warming
her from the inside out. “And if I’m not inside you soon, I may lose my mind.”
“Well now.” She palmed his erection through his dress trousers. “We can’t have that.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Shall we make a run for it while no one is looking?”
“That’s the best idea you’ve had since you asked me to marry you.”

Six Months Later…

“Okay, Destiny, when the next contraction comes, I want you to push as hard as you can. You’re
almost there.”
Loris mopped her brow and wondered, not for the first time, how the hell she was doing this. Men
who thought they were the stronger sex had clearly never seen a woman give birth. She’d been
pushing for almost two hours, and that was off the back of an eighteen-hour labor during which she’d
managed less than an hour’s rest.
“I can’t,” she sobbed. “No more.”
Sweat dripped down her temples, tremendous heat pouring from her body. God only knew what
her inner core temperature had to be.
She gripped the lapels of his jacket. “You do it for me.”
“Baby, if I could, I would.” He kissed her sopping-wet hair and lifted her shoulders. “One more.
That’s it. And then we can finally meet our daughter. You want to meet her, don’t you?”
She clenched her teeth. “I’m not so sure anymore.”
He’d have laughed, but her left hand was perilously close to his balls, and he rather hoped she
still wanted the four kids she’d told him about. Although, that was before. After this, he wouldn’t be
surprised if she announced they were having just the one.
“Argh.” She fumbled for his hand, gripping him tight enough to crush his bones to dust. “God, this
hurts.”
Her face turned the color of cranberries as she bore down, screaming at the top of her lungs, loud
enough to shatter glass. And then another cry sounded, more of a wail.
“She’s here.” He kissed his wife’s mouth, her sweaty forehead, and her hair as the doctor held
their daughter up for them to see. She had a mop of dark hair, and her face was scrunched up as if she
was outraged at being forced to leave the warm cocoon where she’d spent the last nine months.
“Is she okay?” Destiny reached out her arms, and the doctor laid her on her naked chest. They’d
read that skin-to-skin contact was crucial to bonding, and Destiny had insisted that she wanted to do
it. “Oh, Loris, she’s perfect.” She caressed her head, staring at her daughter with wonder and awe.
“We made her. Can you believe we made her?”
He couldn’t speak, and his vision blurred. He stared down at the two most precious women in his
life, and something in his chest shifted. Leaning down, he kissed his daughter and then his wife, and
when he held out a finger, and this tiny, perfect human being grabbed on, he changed. Forever. Nothing
mattered other than these two people. For as long as he lived, they would always come first.
“Want to cut the cord, Dad?”
Dad.
Wow. He hadn’t been prepared to hear that. His face felt damp, and as he reached up to wipe it,
he realized they were tears. He hadn’t cried in years, not even when his sister had died, followed by
his father. Anger and bitterness had stemmed the tide of tears, but they fell now, a river of them.
His finger trembled as he took the scissors from the doctor, cutting exactly where she indicated.
“Do we have a name yet?”
Loris met Destiny’s eyes above their daughter’s head. She nodded.
“Yes, we do.” He stroked his daughter’s silky hair. “Meet Sophia Katerina Winslow.”

THE END - FOR NOW

Thank you so very much for reading Guard of Destiny. As I said in the reader note, this book really
took it out of me, but I am immensely proud of the final story. I hope you loved reading it.

The Intrepid Bodyguards will return, but for now, I have a brand new series to introduce you to.

The Kingcaid Billionaires centers around the uber-rich, uber-successful Kingcaid family. If you loved
the ROGUES billionaire series, then you are sure to love the Kingcaids. There may even be a cameo
or two of your favorite ROGUES members to watch out for.

CLICK HERE TO LEARN MORE

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 Coming soon from Tracie Delaney.
A brand new billionaire series focused on the Kingcaid family

CAPTIVATED BY YOU

Girl walks into a bar, hooks up with the gorgeous guy in the designer suit, and has the hottest
sex of her life.

Sounds like a wet dream, right?

Wrong

When I wake up the next morning in a stunning penthouse overlooking the Seattle waterfront to a note
saying “have a safe flight back to Chicago,” his message is loud and clear: One and done.

Famous last words.

Guess who’s waiting to greet me on the first day at my new job? Turns out the mega-rich Asher
Kingcaid is far from one and done. But surrendering to his charms is a bad idea. When you’ve been
burned once, it makes sense to stay away from the fire.

Except Asher is determined to drag me into the flames.

Available on Amazon
 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Wow… where do I even begin… I have so many people to thank. This book really tested my ability
as an author and a storyteller, and at times my self-belief was at a pretty low ebb. And then one or
more of these amazing people would give me a shoulder to lean on (or sometimes put a foot up my
backside) and propel me forward. If I didn’t have my tribe to prop me up when I wavered, I’d
probably never have published Loris and Destiny’s story.

To my ass-crack of dawn sprint partners, Lasairiona McMaster and Clare Sager - thank you for your
endless encouragement, your gentle cajoling or, on occasion, your “FFS Delaney, get on with it”
motivational speeches. Also thank you for the laughs, of which there are plenty, even at six o’clock in
the goddamn morning!

To my wonderful PA, Loulou - Thank you for everything. Love you to the moon and back. I’m so
proud of you and so glad to call you my friend. The message that you sent when you finished reading
this book will stay with me for a lifetime. And yes, most of us would give our right tit for a man like
Loris Winslow!

To my critique partner, Incy - When I sent this to you, I panicked. Seriously. And then a few days later,
you sent me your verdict and I could breathe again. Your directness and blunt honesty spurs me on
(you always know exactly what I need), and, as I’ve said many times before, your insightful critique
takes my stories to a new level. I’ll never be able to truly show my gratitude, but that won’t stop me
trying.

To Kay for your amazing piercing knowledge (!), the fun two hours we spent at Costa Coffee where I
think we scared off half the customers, and for reading an early copy of this book. From the very first
time Loris Winslow appeared on the page toward the end of Enticed, Sebastian’s book, you reached
out and grabbed him and never let go. I hope you think I did justice to your man. Love you lots.

To Bethany - When I received your email with “YOU DID IT! IT. IS. EPIC”, followed by “Readers
are going to devour this”, I think I smiled for an hour straight. You know how super nervous I was
about this story, and when you told me how much you loved it, you really put my worries at ease.
Thank you so much for your brilliant editing, as always.

To Jacqueline - The continuity queen - except this time there were none! I was feeling a little smug—
until we had the Ten-four conversation LOL. Thank you so much for everything. The ginormous
cinnamon buns and lattes as big as a bathtub are on me!
To my ARC readers. You guys are amazing! You’re my final eyes and ears before my baby is released
into the world and I appreciate each and every one of you for giving up your time to read—and point
out the odd errors that slip through the net!

And last but most certainly not least, to you, the readers. Thank you for being on this journey with me.
It still humbles me to think that my words are being read all over the world.

If you have any time to spare, I’d be ever so grateful if you’d leave a short review on Amazon or
Bookbub. Reviews not only help readers discover new books, but they also help authors reach new
readers. You’d be doing a massive favor for this wonderful bookish community we’re all a part of.
 BOOKS BY TRACIE DELANEY

BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE
The ROGUES Series
The Irresistibly Mine Series
The Kingcaid Billionaires

PROTECTOR/MILITARY ROMANCE
The Intrepid Bodyguard Series

SPORTS ROMANCE
The Winning Ace Series
The Full Velocity Series

CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE
The Brook Brothers Series

BOXSETS
Winning Ace
Brook Brothers
Full Velocity
ROGUES Books 1-3

SPINOFFS/STANDALONES
Mismatch (A Winning Ace Spin Off Novel)
Break Point (A Winning Ace Novella)
Control (A Driven World/Full Velocity Novel)
My Gift To You
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 ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Tracie Delaney is a Kindle Unlimited All Star author of more than twenty-five contemporary romance novels which she writes from her
office in the freezing cold North West of England. The office used to be a garage, but she needed somewhere quiet to write and so she
stole it from her poor, long-suffering husband who is still in mourning that he’s been driven out to the shed!

An avid reader for as long as she can remember, Tracie was also a bit of a tomboy back in the day and used to climb trees with her
trusty Enid Blyton’s and read for hours, returning home when it was almost dark with a numb bottom and more than a few splinters!

Tracie’s books have a common theme of women who show that true strength comes in all forms, and alpha males who put up a great
fight (which they ultimately lose!)

At night she likes to curl up on the sofa with her two Westies, Murphy & Cooper, and binge-watch shows on Netflix. There may be wine
involved.

Visit her website for contact information and more www.authortraciedelaney.com