Duplicitous (Deceit #1)

1. Karolina

KAROLINA

Ashadowy form stalks me through the moonlit woods.

I hold my head high, treading carefully so that I won’t trip over fallen branches in the darkness.

He likes scaring me, and I won’t give him the satisfaction of showing fear.

Not yet.

By the time the trees thin and I near the clearing, my pulse is thrumming through my veins. My feet itch with the urge to run from the perceived threat, but I’m not ready to surrender to our twisted game.

I know this is wrong. Perverse.

But I’ve never felt more alive than I do when Brandon chases me. I’ve never felt freer than I do when he captures me in his arms and tackles me to the damp earth.

At the house, our lives are strictly controlled, our emotions cruelly suppressed.

But out here in the woods, we can let the wildest parts of ourselves overtake reason and decorum.

In our stolen moments when Brandon claims a savage kiss, I don’t care that he’s my foster brother.

I step into the clearing, and my eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the wash of moonlight. Animal instincts start to take hold, and the intrinsic sense that I’m prey makes my heart flutter.

I clench my fists to hide the way my hands are shaking and turn to face him.

My stomach drops when Carter, my worst bully, emerges from the trees.

“What are you doing here?” I try to issue a demand, but my voice is too high and thin.

A sick smirk twists his blandly handsome features. “I knew I’d find you out here. You’re breaking curfew. I should tell Shirley.”

I take a step back, physically recoiling at the prospect that our cruel foster mother will punish me for my infraction.

“No, you won’t,” I hiss with more bravado than I feel. “You’re out after curfew too.”

His smirk tilts into a sadistic smile. “Maybe she’ll drown you for real this time.”

My throat constricts, and for a moment, my head is submerged in icy water, my foster mom’s fingernails digging into the back of my skull.

I narrow my eyes. “And what do you think Charlie will do to you if he finds out?”

Our foster dad is as quick and vicious with his fists as Shirley is with her cane.

Carter’s sick smile doesn’t waver. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

He closes in, and I back away, edging towards the woods.

“Where’s Brandon?” I demand, my eyes searching the shadows frantically for salvation.

Carter’s low laugh coats my pebbled skin like toxic sludge. “Who do you think told me I would find you here? You love being chased down and fucked, don’t you? I thought you were a stuck-up prude.” His grin widens. “But you’re just a filthy little slut.”

“He wouldn’t.” I barely force the words out in an agonized wheeze.

My heart twists, threatening to tear asunder.

Carter spreads his arms, gesturing at the empty clearing—where I’m utterly alone with him.

“Brandon isn’t coming tonight,” he taunts. “You get to suck my cock instead.”

Nausea surges. “I won’t. Stay away from me.”

Even though I’ve engaged in Brandon’s deviant games, we’ve never been together like that. He kisses me with harsh passion and touches me with possessive hands, but he looks at me with reverence, like I’m his own personal miracle.

The quiet, brooding boy who used to glower at me has become my closest confidante, my safe haven in the hell that is our home.

“It’s my turn,” Carter says, moonlight flashing on his dark brown eyes in a mocking glimmer. “Do you think he cares about you? As though Brandon Harcourt has ever given a fuck about anyone.” He barks a laugh. “You really did think you were special, didn’t you?”

“Don’t come any closer,” I warn, my hands curling to fists.

But despite my show of aggression, my heart cracks open in a painful rift.

I’ve been such an idiot. Brandon barely looks at me when we’re at home. And what have we really shared out here in the woods other than stolen kisses and harsh caresses?

I thought he cared.

But I was just deluding myself because I couldn’t bear for my love to be unrequited.

I’ve been alone since my parents died, and I’ve been acting like a foolish girl clinging to scraps of affection.

“This will be our little secret,” Carter drawls. “Well, ours and Brandon’s. Maybe next time, I’ll let him watch. He seems happy to share you.”

Carter takes a single, prowling step toward me. I unstick my feet from the grass, spin on my heel, and sprint into the woods.

His delighted laugh follows me, weaving through the trees to clutch at me—icy claws raking down the back of my neck.

My breath saws in and out of my throat, lungs burning. Fallen leaves and twigs crunch beneath Carter’s shoes behind me, far too close.

A scream tears from me.

“Karolina!” Brandon’s distant bellow draws a sob from my chest.

They’re both hunting me. The boy I love betrayed me.

A shadowy branch scores my cheek, and briars rip at my ankles.

I stumble at the stinging pain but quickly right myself.

Hide.

The woods are dark, but I recognize the narrow path I’ve raced down many times while I engaged in Brandon’s sick games.

My sneakers pound the earth, and I increase my speed in a burst of adrenaline.

The silhouette of the dilapidated stables looms before me.

They haven’t kept horses for years, but I know there’s a shotgun that our foster dad stores here for hunting.

I’m not a violent person, but I’ll defend myself.

I swallow and harden my resolve.

They will not violate me.

I no longer hear Carter’s footfalls behind me. I’ve managed to outrun him, but I’m not safe. He’ll find me eventually. He can probably guess which worn path I took through the woods.

I dart into the stables and make my way towards the old tack room where Charlie keeps his hunting gear. I have to get to the gun before the boys reach me.

Once I’m armed, Carter and Brandon will back off.

I know the layout of the stables because Brandon and I have shared a few illicit encounters here. The last time he chased me, he pinned me to the hardpacked dirt floor and kissed me like he needed me more than his next breath.

I grit my teeth against the fresh agony of the memory.

My heart is in my throat as I run frantic hands over the aged wooden wall, trying to find the latch for the tack room door. Splinters prick my fingers, insistent sparks of pain that sharpen my fear.

The rusty metal latch is cool beneath my palm, and I fumble in the dark until I manage to wrench it open.

The gun is in a locked trunk that used to hold grooming gear for the horses that are long gone. There’s no way I can break into it in the darkness.

I lurch toward the far side of the tack room, where I know there’s a kerosene lamp on the old desk that hasn’t been used for admin in years. I pray that there are still matches in one of the drawers.

I grab a handle and wrench the top drawer open, cringing at the grating squeak of protest. Silence isn’t an option. All that matters is getting to the gun.

I claw at the bottom of the drawer until my fingers find the matchbox. I grab it and reach more carefully for the kerosene lamp—I don’t dare break my only source of light.

My hands shake. It takes me three tries to strike the match, and I release a soft sob of relief when it ignites. I touch it to the wick and quickly replace the glass covering.

If the boys arrive at the stables, they’ll likely see the glow and know I’m here. I have to move faster.

I dart to the trunk and set the lamp down on the ground. The padlock comes into sharp relief. It’s looped through a thick metal latch that’s firmly screwed into the wood.

I have no idea how to pick a lock. I’ll have to break it.

There’s an old, heavy horseshoe mounted on the wall, hanging upside down for good luck.

I’ve never needed luck more in my life.

My fingers close around the cool steel, and I smash it against the latch. The loud clanging sound reverberates in my ears.

I swallow down the surge of panic and strike again, single-minded in my determination to get to a real weapon.

My knuckles cut against the latch, and my skin tears.

Wood crunches and snaps around the screws that secure the lock in place. More splinters pierce my hand as I continue to pummel it. With each blow, the latch separates from the trunk a little more.

“Karolina…” Carter calls out my name in a singsong tone.

The door to the tack room bursts open, and I scramble back. Before I can get to my feet, he’s on me.

Years of ballet have made me strong, but Carter is so much bigger than I am. His body weight smashes into me, driving the air from my lungs. My hand shoots out, fingers curved like claws. My nails rake across his cheek, scoring crimson lines from his temple to his jaw.

He curses and reels back, giving me precious inches of space.

I wriggle away and press my palms to the cool earth.

Before I get upright, Carter’s hand fists in my hair.

I shriek as he drags me back beneath him.

He flips my body over with rough hands, and pain explodes through my skull when he backhands me.

The world flickers from warm yellow to black and back again. My ears ring, and I’m stunned into stillness for precious seconds.

Carter grabs my wrists and pins them above me. It’s so similar to how Brandon has trapped me in the past, but the little thrill of consensual fear I experienced with him is a burst of debilitating terror now.

I was so stupid to love him. To let him chase me and ravage me in the woods.

My heart tears open on a scream, and I thrash in Carter’s cruel hold. His fingers tighten to a vise around my wrists, hard enough to make my delicate bones ache.

Brandon calls my name again, closer this time.

He’s coming for me.

In mere minutes, I’ll be at their mercy.

I kick out uselessly, unable to get the leverage I need to shove Carter off me.

My heel connects with the kerosene lamp, and glass shatters. I barely register the sound—it’s overpowered by my enraged shriek.

The yellow glow from the lamp flickers, casting eerie shadows around Carter. His leering face sharpens to something demonic. I jerk against his restraining hands, oblivious to the ache of his ruthless grip on my wrists.

He holds me down with horrific ease, leaving one groping hand free to paw at my chest.

I snap my head forward, cracking my skull against his.

“Fuck!” He snarls a curse, but he doesn’t let me go.

He slaps me again, and the firelit world swirls around me. Something warm and wet drips onto my face: his blood. It streams from his broken nose. The injury only seems to make him stronger, fueling him with maddened fury.

The gun. I have to get to the gun.

The horseshoe lies discarded on the ground, inches from my face. If I manage to reach it, I could finish smashing the lock on the trunk.

But Carter’s brutal grip traps me. His blood sears my cheeks, mingling with my hot tears.

I scream in defiance, but that doesn’t stop him from touching me, from taking what he wants from me…

My scream wakes me up. I’m tangled in my sheets, sweat dampening my brow.

I shudder and curl into a protective ball, forcing deep breaths through my constricted throat.

Memories of that awful night haven’t haunted my dreams for a long time.

I haven’t allowed a man to touch me in the five years that’ve passed since then.

There’s only Bones, and he’s just a mask on my screen.

Safe. Constant. Comforting.

Desperate for a distraction from my nightmare, I pull out my phone and send him a text:

Karolina

Are you awake? I need you.