Chapter 1
DANE
Happy squeals spill out of our home, unhindered by the double-pane windows we were assured would insulate against the elements as well as most sounds.
Clearly, they were not tested on excited Little girls.
Glancing up, I can’t help but grin as I watch my adorable nieces through one of those same windows as they immerse themselves in whatever new game of pretend Lanie has concocted for them.
They really are too fucking cute for their own good, though that cuteness doesn’t keep them out of trouble.
If anything, they’re too cute not to spank on a regular basis, which is at least part of why not a day passes without at least one of them going over someone’s knee.
The other part of the equation being that they seem incapable of going more than a few hours without breaking one rule or another.
Shaking my head at their antics, I lift the ax in my hand.
Out of all my brothers, I’m the only one who truly enjoys the actual “lumberjack” part of being a lumberjack.
The others endured chopping wood by hand for the sake of building our empire, but once it no longer became a necessity, they more or less left it up to me.
Every now and then, one of them will join me when they have some big emotional deal to work through, but other than that I’m mostly left to my own devices.
I prefer it that way.
Being smack dab in the middle of seven children is … interesting. I don’t have half of Axel’s responsibilities, even now, but at the same time I don’t endure nearly the same amount of teasing as Ford.
And then there’s Gray, our baby sister, though she’d flay any one of us alive for daring to call her that out loud. When our parents were alive, she was our princess, spoiled and pampered beyond imagination.
After their deaths, she somehow became our rock. She was the one who made the call to settle down here in Colorado, the one who reached out to people we knew we could trust to keep our secret and got us the financing necessary to start our logging company.
I owe my life to my little sister. And I am also very, very glad I don’t have to be her.
Instead, I get to just sort of… be. Everyone in the family has their roles, and mine is more or less to step in where I’m needed.
And to chop wood, of course.
Just as I’m lifting the ax again, movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. Dropping the ax to my side, I watch as someone—a woman, I think—creeps around the side of our house.
She isn’t one of ours. I can see all three of my nieces through the window, but even if I couldn't, her clothes would be a dead giveaway. None of the Little girls in our family would be allowed to wear the curve-hugging leggings and long-sleeved shirt this newcomer is sporting.
Curious now, I set the ax down as quietly as I can and slip into the woods behind her. This is another way I’m not like my siblings. If they never had to actually step foot in the forest that surrounds our home, they’d be perfectly happy.
Me, though? I love it here. The sounds, the smells, the animals.
I’ve spent hours upon hours exploring these woods, familiarizing myself with the landscape.
Which is why I was the one they sent searching for little Tabby when she disappeared on us a few days ago.
Luckily, she was just up on the roof, rather than lost in the woods.
Not that her choice of hiding place saved her from her Daddy’s wrath, of course. But still, it was actually the safer option.
All of that fades to the back of my mind as I watch our intruder pull a phone from her pocket and begin recording as my second eldest brother, Bram, flips his babygirl over his lap for a bare-bottomed spanking.
I have no idea what she did, but I don’t care.
My attention is riveted on the bold brat in front of me.
Hair the color of good mahogany falls in a straight waterfall from a high ponytail. Her clothes are solid black, which amuses me. My own adorable little cat burglar.
I’m tempted to sit back and watch what she does next, but I can’t risk her escaping. Not when she has video evidence of my brother disciplining his Little girl. The spanking itself is of less concern to me than the fact that Bram’s face is likely on that recording, clear as day.
If that video were to get out, revealing that we are not only alive and well but hiding out in the mountains of Colorado, it would be disastrous for our family.
So I sneak up behind her, further amused when she doesn’t even flinch at my approach. She’s clearly too invested in her evidence gathering, whatever the purpose, to pay attention to her surroundings.
Once I’m close enough, I reach forward, plucking the device from her fingers. My little intruder freezes in place as I lean down to speak low in her ear.
“Well, well, well. Looks like I’ve caught myself a naughty Little girl. It must be my lucky day.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, she scrambles up from her hiding place and bolts into the woods.
Oh, good.
I was so hoping she’d run.
Vanessa
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The sound of my footsteps crashing through the forest is only matched by my labored breathing and my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I want to check to see if he’s following me, to see if I’m safe, but I don’t dare look back.
Final girls never look back.
Drawing on years of horror movie knowledge, I push forward, keeping my eye out for raised limbs or holes in the ground just waiting to catch an unsuspecting girl unawares.
Luckily for me, I ran track in high school and I still run nearly every day.
Not through the woods, mind you, but it’s at least enough training for me to keep my pace up as I run like hell for safety.
Branches fly at my face, piercing my skin, but I don’t slow down. Don’t pause.
Scratches can be healed. A fatal knife wound to the heart cannot.
A glint of sunlight ahead catches my eye and I make a hard right toward it, praying for another house or a car. Something that might mean there are people around I can run to, good people who might be willing to help a random stranger.
Or people who will take one look at the man hunting me and hand me over.
Please god, let them be good people.
Disappointment bubbles in my chest when I realize the glint isn’t from any kind of window, but from a creek. But I don’t let that slow me down, I keep running, straight into the water.
Big mistake.
My foot catches on something I can’t see and I go flying forward, face first into the rushing water. And before I can haul myself up to continue my flight, I’m yanked upward.
Panicked, I fall back on pure instinct, kicking my legs and swinging my arms, desperate to catch some part of him, hopefully hard enough to break a rib or something so he’ll drop me.
“Let go of me, you bastard!”
Not the most original line, but it gets the point across.
“Little girls don’t use those grown-up words.”
That gives me pause, enough to have me going still so I can glare at my captor.
My really hot fucking captor.
Dark-brown eyes sparkle with amusement, and though his face is mostly obscured by a thick beard, he has a rugged mountain-man look about him that any author would be falling all over herself to put on a cover.
It takes a moment for my brain to catch back up with the fact that we’re supposed to be fighting this asshole, not fawning all over him like some schoolgirl with a crush.
“I am not a Little girl, you fucking pervert. Let me go, give me back my phone, and I’ll consider not pressing charges against you and your fucked-up family.”
“Such filthy language for such a pretty little thing,” he murmurs, and even beneath his bushy beard I can tell he’s smiling. Not a nice smile, though, the kind that makes me feel like prey that’s been cornered by a predator about to pounce.
Play dead. Isn’t that what they tell you to do when confronted by a bear or whatever? Obviously I can’t actually play dead, but maybe I can convince him I’m not a threat.
“Please, Mister,” I whisper, widening my eyes so the sting forces them to water. “I’m sorry I was trespassing. I–I got lost.”
One dark brow raises nearly to his hairline. “I might buy that if I hadn’t caught you taking that video of my brother.”
Fuck. “I’ll delete it. Or you can delete it. I wasn’t gonna do anything with it, I swear.”
Snorting out a laugh, he shakes his head. “Guess we get to add lying to your list of sins. Come on, little fox.”
Before I can assure him I wasn’t lying—even though I absolutely was—he tosses me over his shoulder as if I weigh nothing.
What the fuck do I do now? Running away didn’t work. Playing along and trying to convince him I wasn’t a threat didn’t work. I’m pretty much out of options and time is running out. Once he gets me up to that house of horrors, god only knows what they’ll do to me.
Marjorie. Get to Marjorie so you can both get the fuck out of here.
Right. Wasn’t that the whole point of me flying all the way out to Colorado in the first place?
My boss, author Marjorie Kincaid, went practically radio silent a few months back.
We went from talking every day to random, sporadic emails whenever she needs something from me.
I’d thought maybe I’d done something to piss her off until I was doing some research and stumbled across an ad about an upcoming book signing at some small independent bookstore in Forbidden Pines, Colorado.
When I’d seen Marjorie in the photo, looking like some porcelain doll someone had dressed up and put on display, I knew something was wrong. What I saw through the window a few minutes ago was just confirmation.
Okay. So that’s the new plan. Play along, let him drag me up to his family’s oversized glass prison, find my friend.
And then run for our fucking lives.