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 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
Newsletter Sign Up
About the Author

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 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.

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 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.

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 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

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 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?

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 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.
OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER ONE

L oris W inslow , owner and CEO of I ntrepid S ecurity

Services, 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.”

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 CHAPTER TWO

D espairing , D estiny dipped her shoulders as L oris 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.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER THREE

“W here 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.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER FOUR

E xchanging 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.
OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER FIVE

S weat slicked L oris ’ 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.

OceanofPDF.com
 THE COLLECTOR

F inally , 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.”

OceanofPDF.com
 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.”

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER SEVEN

L oris ’ s watch buzzed . H e 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.”
OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER EIGHT

D estiny 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.”

OceanofPDF.com
 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.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TEN

A fter failing to successfully play H ammerklavier — 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.”

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER ELEVEN

D estiny 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.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWELVE

L oris ’ 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.”

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER THIRTEEN

H er captor kept D estiny 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.

OceanofPDF.com
 THE COLLECTOR

P ride 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.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER FOURTEEN

L oris admitted D utch 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.”

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER FIFTEEN

T he screams were getting louder , buzzing inside D estiny ’ 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.”

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“F- father ?” D estiny ’ 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.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Fifty-Two Hours Earlier…

T he sound of D utch ’ 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.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

D estiny sprang to her feet as the sound of a door coming

off its hinges reached her. She 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.”

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER NINETEEN

T he ceiling of the tunnel lowered as L oris 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.

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 THE COLLECTOR

R age 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.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY

D estiny stared , open - mouthed , as L oris 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.

OceanofPDF.com
 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.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

C urled up on the soft leather sofa in the library , D estiny

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.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

T he days didn ’ t whiz by like that time she and S ophia had
gone to St. 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.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

K issing D estiny was nothing like he ’ d imagined . A nd 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.”

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

T wo 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.”

OceanofPDF.com
 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.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“O of .” D estiny 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.”

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

M orning 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.”

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

L oris sat behind his desk and opened the Z oom 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.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

D estiny 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.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER THIRTY

T oday ’ 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.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

D estiny 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.

OceanofPDF.com
 THE COLLECTOR

M y 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.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

“R eport .”
“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.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

D estiny 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.”

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

L oris 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.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

A loud bang sounded from upstairs . D estiny 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?

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

B eing 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.”
OceanofPDF.com
 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.”

OceanofPDF.com
 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

Have you joined my newsletter yet? I’d love it if you did. I
promise never to spam and only share things that I think
you’ll be interested in. And you can unsubscribe at any
time, although I really hope you don’t!

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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

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 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.

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 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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 To be the first to hear about upcoming releases why not
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And as a bonus, when you sign up, you will receive a FREE
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I know email doesn’t work for everyone. That’s why I

created the Racy Aces Facebook group where I regularly
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generally have lots of fun.

I’d love to have you join me and the rest of the Racy Aces
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Or if the link doesn’t work, search Tracie’s Racy Aces in

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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

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