42. Claire
42
CLAIRE
I ’m still fiddling with the Belleflower Queen invitation when, suddenly, Everett is behind me. I don’t have to look up to know it’s him. I can just feel him . That tall, shadowy presence at my back.
He dips to reach my ear. “What’s that?”
I should tell him. I should tell him about the invite, and about Arris, and the way everything feels all twisted up inside my body.
Instead, I tuck the card back into the envelope and slip it into my pocket.
“Nothing. I saw you two had an eventful game.”
“Sure was eventful, alright,” Ransom says, slipping into the seat across from me. They’re out of the borrowed uniforms and back in their regular clothes, but Ransom’s hair is askew, and just from looking at him, I can tell he smells like earth and sweat.
I want to inhale him.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say.
Those brown eyes meet mine. “Where?”
“Anywhere but here. ”
We make our rounds. I say my goodbyes to the girls, and we leave the Equestrian Club. The three of us get into Ransom’s truck, and he takes me to what is quickly becoming my favorite spot.
“Look what the cat dragged in.” Maeby greets us with one of her legendary, crooked smiles and hooks her arm around Ransom.
“Nothing but three blind mice,” Ransom retorts.
“Twice in one week. I must be goddamn blessed.”
“ Goddamn blessed ,” Everett muses. “That’s an oxymoron.”
“We’re starving to death, Miss Maeby,” I say, changing the topic. “Please tell me the kitchen’s open?”
“Sure, sugar. I’ll bring out some menus.”
“And a pitcher of your finest, please.” Ransom gives her a wolf’s smile, and she cackles out a laugh.
Maeby’s has a small crowd, even at 3:00 p.m. The three of us hunker down in a booth with ripped seats. Maeby brings out a pitcher and three glasses. The beer is cheap, but it’s crisp, and there’s something about an easy-drinking beer in the middle of the day that settles me.
We order lunch.
I don’t realize how hungry I am until I’m gifted a plastic basket with a burger dripping with American cheese.
Ransom—normally the one at the table to eat his weight and then some—seems distracted when the food shows up.
Everett stands. “I have to make a call. You two stay here.”
With that, he slips out of the booth, passing me. The bells above the door chime as he exits.
Ransom rubs his hand up his arm. His flannel bunches up, and he grips his bicep. Everett might be able to keep secrets from me, but Ransom can’t.
I nibble a fry. “Want to tell me what’ s on your mind?”
He folds his arms over his chest. He looks out the window, and he’s got this faraway look. “You ever get this feeling…like maybe you’re about to make a bad decision, but you know you’re gonna do it anyway?”
The invitation burns like hot coal in my pocket.
Tell him. It’s Ransom. He’ll understand .
But my throat closes around my good intentions. Instead, I say, “What bad decision are you brewing up this time?”
He sets his hat down on the seat beside him and rakes his fingers through his hair. I can tell he’s been sweating under his hat.
I like Ransom in all of his versions—dressed-up Ransom. Dressed-down Ransom. Working Ransom.
But dirty Ransom makes me feral.
“It’s more like a feeling,” he explains. “Like the way everything gets muggy and hot right before a big storm. This whole town feels upside down.”
I have to remember: I escaped Belleflower.
Ransom didn’t.
This place is as much a part of him as his beating heart. He devoted his entire life to this town and the people in it.
It has to be strange to look at the people you once trusted and know that, somewhere, there’s a killer lurking in the midst.
His eyes connect with mine again. “How’d the conversation with Arris go?”
My stomach goes tight. This is it. My in. My opportunity to tell him about the invite.
But I can’t stop the lies coming from my lips. “Fine.”
He squints at me. You idiot, Claire .
I can lie to anyone, but I can’t lie to Ransom.
He knows something is wrong .
Before he can ask, however, Everett returns to the table. He slides his trim body into my side of the booth. He leans over the table, picks up a knife, and cuts Ransom’s untouched burger in half. His shirt rides up, just enough to give me a glimpse of the bare skin at his waist.
Eyes to yourself, hungry girl.
He takes half of Ransom’s burger and takes a bite. Ransom, as if by some monkey-see, monkey-do instinct, starts eating his half.
They’re in sync. In a way they weren’t before today.
How bizarrely delightful.
“I put in a call to my team,” Everett says between bites.
“Wolfpack?” Ransom asks.
Everett frowns at him. “Say it louder, please.”
“Secret agent!” Ransom hollers. He waves dramatically toward Everett. “Hey! We got a bona fide double-oh-seven over here!” Not a single person looks up from their conversation. He settles back into his seat. “See? You may as well say you’re a purple people eater from planet Zoron. No one cares.”
Everett glares. I get us back on track. “What did they say?”
“I sent them images of the crowd from the Equestrian Club. They did facial scans and ran them through the database.” He pulls his satchel into his lap, unlatches it, and takes out his iPad. His fingers fly over the screen. “They sent me back this.”
On the iPad is a picture of Arris. Young. He could be in his twenties. His hair is jet-black, his jaw squared and strong. Those same, deep-set eyes, though.
“What is this?” I ask.
“ Who is this, you mean?” Everett says. “Sergey Guskov. Born in Russian. Lost his parents at a young age. Was inducted to the criminal organization, Oculus, where he quickly learned how to buy and sell women. By twenty, he had a lucrative trafficking operation. He was shut down by Wolfpack Operatives, his organization dismantled. However, when they were transporting him to the United States, he managed to escape. No one has been able to locate him ever since.”
“Until now,” Ransom says.
My heart is pounding in my chest. I stare at the image of the hard, calculating man on the screen.
“He gave me my first horse,” I hear myself say. “He treated my father like a brother. I just…I know it’s silly, but I can’t imagine him going into my father’s room and pulling the trigger.”
“It’s because he didn’t,” Ransom says. “It was his son. Loren.”
We both stare at him. “What?”
Ransom rubs his thumb up the side of his water glass. He stares at the condensation. “The night Mr. Preacher died…I heard someone run through the house. Couldn’t catch them. But they got whacked in the back of the head with one of Mr. Preacher’s traps.” His eyes lift, meeting mine. “I saw a mark on the back of his head today.”
“Then that proves it,” Everett says. “Arris. Loren. The Benefactors’ Society. They’re all involved. Whatever they have planned, I believe they’ll execute it during the festival tomorrow.”
“So we should be there,” I say. “So we can stop it.”
“No. Not we. You should be nowhere near the festival,” Everett counters. “You’re the one they want, remember?”
“Right.”
No Belleflower Festival. No Belleflower Queen.
I take a lengthy swallow from my beer .
The boys mirror me.
“So what happens now?” I ask.
“I’ve informed my team,” Everett says. “They’re going to come in and infiltrate the festival. They’ll break it up. Arrest Arris and anyone involved. He’ll be in jail. Where he belongs.”
“Where he belongs is six feet under. He killed my father.”
“A man you hated,” Everett reminds me.
“It’s complicated.”
Those blue eyes hang on mine. No judgment in this. Just open acceptance. “What would you have me do? Tell me, and it’s done.”
My heart pinches. I think?—
The invitation. Loren. Daddy. Arris—no. Sergey .
“Nothing,” I say. “You’re right. It’s out of our hands now.”
We don’t talk much after that. We finish our lunches. Everett makes me recount the conversation with Arris, and I give him snippets of details, without revealing the invitation. He tilts his head now and then as though processing each new piece of information. Everett’s tall body is splayed out, his arm resting across the table. His hand bumps Ransom’s occasionally as they share fries. There’s a small, subtle shift between the two men. I can’t put my finger on it.
I finish my meal, swallow back the rest of my beer, and stand. The pool table is empty, so I start racking the balls.
I need to shake this terrible, dark feeling rolling around in my chest.
Time to get your mojo back, Claire.
“You two! Get over here. Grab your sticks.”
Everett and Ransom join me. Everett chalks his cue. “You’re not playing?”
“Oh, I am.” I lift a cue from the bunch. “I’m playing against both of you. Two against one. Should even the playing field.”
Before today, I didn’t want them in the same room together, let alone on the same team.
They were oil and water. More likely to kill each other than look each other in the eye.
Now…
They’re practically breathing in sync.
They both light up at my challenge. It’s that look. The competitive glint in their eyes that makes my heart flutter and my blood race.
I’ve locked horns with a double-headed bull, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Ransom snorts out a laugh. “Your funeral, princess.”
Pointedly, I ask Everett, “You’re not going to let me win again, are you?”
He rolls up his sleeves, revealing the ropey veins up his forearms. He’s getting serious now. He instructs, “Break, Claire.”
The front of my body kisses the felt green as I line up my shot and hit the mark.
It’s only a little after nine when we get home, but it feels well past midnight.
I should be exhausted, but I’m not.
My blood is buzzing. We feel close—really close—to something big.
How did Ransom describe it?
The heat before a storm.
The three of us get ready for bed. This is a new routine that feels, somehow, familiar. As though we’ve been doing this the whole time. Dressing down. Taking turns in the shower. Brushing our teeth side by side in the sink. There’s a strange, natural cadence to having both of these men in my home, in my bed, and in my life.
Now that I have it, I don’t know how I ever existed without it.
I’m the longest in the shower, so I’m the last. I exit, feeling clean and steamed-fresh.
When I come out, Everett is sitting in his robe on the edge of the bed. Ransom is splayed in the tall chair in the corner, wearing nothing but gray cotton pajama pants and his Stetson tilted over his face. He has Everett’s AirPods in his ears, which Everett is manipulating with his phone.
“This is white noise,” Everett says. He presses a button. I watch him watch Ransom’s expression. “This one is green noise. And brown noise. My personal favorite, but everyone has their own preference.”
Ransom tilts his head. “Do it again?”
“White noise. Green noise. Brown noise.”
I sit on my side of the bed. I pull out my tub of moisturizer and slide it over my legs. “Aw. Are you two swapping ear wax now?”
“There’s a rigorous cleaning process.” Ransom tries (and fails) to keep a straight face.
Everett, not comprehending, adds, “Clorox bleach wipes disinfect the ear pods without damaging the material.”
“White noise,” Ransom says, plucking them out. “Final answer.”
As I rub moisturize up my calf, suddenly, Everett’s hand launches out and catches my wrist, halting me. I blink at him.
“Don’t do that.” His eyes are dark. “Let me.”
He shifts his long limbs to reach over and snatch the tub of moisturizer from the bedside table. He sets it down beside him instead. He grips the backs of my legs and pulls me across the bed effortlessly, guiding my legs into his lap.
He doesn’t give me a choice, not really. He’s going to take care of me, whether I want him to or not.
And this is Everett in his element.
Making sure everyone gets enough to eat.
Making sure everyone gets a good night’s sleep.
Making sure everyone is cared for.
His dominant, disciplined affection is what drew me to him in the first place. I’ve been too angry to see straight these past few days. But I remember it now—why I fell in love with him in the first place, no, why I love him now —and my heart goes warm and soft in my chest.
Everett scoops two fingers in the moisturizer. He rubs it over his palms and slides the creamy lotion over my legs. The sensation of his strong, smooth hands gliding up and down my legs makes me shiver. As if by their own accord, I feel my legs parting. Inviting.
Everett gets close, but he doesn’t take the invitation. Not yet. His hands map my inner thighs. When I look at Ransom, his gaze is lidded. He’s watching us from underneath the heavy brim of his hat with a dark look that makes my core tight with want.
I’m not the only one that notices. Everett says, “Do you like watching me take care of our girl?”
“Huh?” Ransom says, blinking as though pulling himself out of a stupor.
Everett repeats himself slowly. “Do you…” His hand moves all the way up my thigh. “…like…” His fingers press underneath the brim of my panties. “…watching me…” He finds my core and pushes my wetness around. “…take care of…” My breath catches in a moan . “…our girl? ”
My heart is racing.
My cheeks feel hot, and my throat is tight. Everett is touching me. Brazenly. Right in front of Ransom.
And I’m getting off on it.
“Do you want me to stop?” Everett asks, his eyes still on the other man. Watching for his reaction. His fingers curl, nuzzling and petting me idly.
Ransom shakes his head. The way he’s looking at me…my nipples go hard and tight. “No. I want you to make her come.”
Oh fuck .
Those thick fingers push inside my tight core. A whimper escapes me before I can stop it.
“With my fingers?”
Everett is letting Ransom lead.
Key word: letting .
Both of these men are so incredibly dominant, the power play between all three of us makes me dizzy with want.
Ransom leans forward, getting a better view. His elbows rest on his knees.
I want to rake my fingers through the curly hair that races like wildfire across his broad chest. I want to lick his throat.
Instead, I twist my wanting fingers into the comforter underneath, forcing myself to stay still.
Ransom answers, “With your tongue.”
Everett’s bright eyes light up. Then they meet mine.
He pulls his hand away. I ache, missing the touch, but…I want what’s coming next even more.
“You heard him,” Everett says to me. “Take it off, darling.”
I pull the knot free from my robe. My hands are trembling. From want—or the nerves of being the center of attention—I’m not sure. I let my robe fall off my shoulders and puddle onto the bed behind me. I take my time rolling my underwear down my hips. Off my thighs.
They wait. Eyes trained on my every move. Looking like they might devour me.
And I so badly want them, too.
I hold up my panties and drop them off the side of the bed.
There .
I’m all theirs now.
Everett’s head dips toward my thighs, but Ransom interrupts.
“Wait,” he says suddenly. “Suck her tits first. Look at them. They need it.”
Ransom is on the edge of his seat as he watches us. He’s antsy now as he rubs a palm over his knee to distract himself. His pants do very little to hide the shadow of arousal thickening in his lap.
“As you wish,” Everett says. He cups my small breast, which fits perfectly in the shell of his palm. His thumb glides over the hardened nipple, making me shiver. He kisses the tender skin softly and then pinches it between his teeth. I whine when he tugs, gently, just enough to send a lick of pain through me, one that translates to pleasure as it pools low between my thighs. Finally, he pulls my tit into his mouth, sucks, swirling his tongue in ways that make my legs clench together. I squeeze, desperate for some pressure. But his hands drop to my thighs, and he forces them apart, pinning them there. No , his grip says. I won’t feel good until he wants me to feel good. Until then…
I ache as he moves on to the next breast with painful, slow, deliberate licks and sucks. I’m panting, and when I allow myself to sneak a look at Ransom…
I see my own desperate, aching need reflected in his gaze.
He’s watching me. Wanting me. With our eyes locked, he moves a hand into his lap. He palms his erection, and my throat goes tight for it.
With one final, teasing nibble, Everett detracts himself from my nipples, now glistening and swollen pink. He uses his grip on my thighs to spread my legs wider, and then he gives a small, satisfied hum.
“You were right,” he says. “She did need that. She’s wet the bed like an untrained puppy.”
If anyone else called me a dog, I’d break their nose.
When Everett does it? My insides clench.
Everett’s hand clamps around the base of my throat suddenly. I gasp with surprise as my head is forced back, and my chin juts up with the strength of his grip.
This is all Everett .
My Everett, who demands affection. Who clings to the things he loves so tightly he can’t help but leave marks.
His breath beats hotly on my ear. “Do you like being on display for us?”
“Yes,” I admit. My voice is hoarse. I can feel it vibrating in his palm.
“Do you want me to lick your cunt while Ransom watches you come apart?”
God, I’m going to hell for this. “Yes.”
He kisses the skin under my ear. “Good girl.” I shiver. His lips meet my shoulder. Between my breasts. My belly. Every small kiss plants another seed of ache inside of me. My fingers find his hair, gripping the neat, dark strands. I want to push him lower, but he’s taking his time with me. Making me wait.
Making Ransom wait, too.
Everett adjusts. He’s too tall, and he moves off of the bed, kneeling as though in prayer on the floor. He pulls me forward, throwing my legs over his shoulders, and only then does he dive between them.
I let out a moan of relief.
Everett knows me too well. He knows just how I like to be licked. He slides his tongue along my slit, lapping at me, and then swirls it around that bud of pleasure. He gives small, little sucks that make me rock forward against his mouth.
His hand joins in. A finger fills me, and then a second.
My toes curl, and I know I’m done for.
“Oh God,” I whisper. “Oh, fuck .”
Nothing can stop the wave of pleasure that crashes over me. My legs lock around Everett’s head. My entire body trembles, going stiff and tense. He curls his finger inside of me, coaxing me closer and closer until I’m right there .
I cry out. I come so hard it’s almost painful. My body throbs and pulses, pulling at his fingers, dancing on his tongue.
As the waves ebb, Everett steals his tongue back. “She’s flooding my face,” Everett narrates for Ransom. His breath is hot on my dripping sex. “I believe our girl enjoyed that.”
Our girl . I like the sound of that. So does my cunt. It throbs tightly around Everett’s fingers, and I whimper, helpless with pleasure.
But then Everett’s gaze shifts to Ransom.
“Come here, dragonfly.”
Ransom blinks. “Me?”
“Yes. You.”
But my breath catches in my throat because…
Dragonfly .
I remember the story Everett told me. How at the orphanage, the dragonfly was his only friend. His companion. His brother.
That’s it, isn’t it? The shift in the energy between them.
I’m his good girl, and Ransom…
Ransom is Everett’s dragonfly.
Ransom gets up. He comes over to us. Everett untangles me from his shoulders, settling my legs down. He rises to his feet.
“Have a taste of her,” Everett says.
When Ransom starts to lower himself to a kneel, however, Everett catches his bandana, the way someone might grab a kitten by the scruff of its neck. He pulls the other man close.
“Not there,” he corrects. His tone is dark. Pointed.
Everett’s face is glistening with me.
I watch as understanding blooms over Ransom’s expression. His eyebrows scrunch together in brief concentration as he studies the other man. Then his hand slips over the side of Everett’s neck. Ransom fits his thumb underneath Everett’s chin, tilting his head up. There’s a hesitation, but then—he goes in. He slides his tongue over the sharp line of Everett’s jaw. Over his cheek. At the edge of his mouth. Cleaning him. Carefully licking every taste of me.
Oh, fuck. Why is this turning me on?
Meanwhile, Everett’s sharp blue eyes catch mine.
My heart tightens. I can’t read the darkness in his gaze. What is it?
Possessiveness? Adoration? Absolution?
No, it’s more like… winning .
It’s more like…
Your cowboy is now my cowboy, too.
“How does she taste?” Everett asks.
“Sweet as honey,” Ransom mumbles. The stretch in his denim is working double time.
“Feel her,” Everett instructs. “Feel how wet she is.”
Ransom pivots. His brown eyes meet my own. He climbs onto the bed and cups my cheek. His breath tickles my face. He catches my lips in his and I can taste it. I can taste me in his kiss. I relish in his familiarity. The way he claims me is rough and urgent. I push my mouth against his, their eager plaything.
Ransom’s hand slips between my legs. I gasp as he fondles my sex and, boldly, slips a finger inside of me. “He was right,” Ransom says. “You’re soaking, princess.”
I whimper. My thighs close around Ransom’s arm.
He tilts his gaze upward. “Y’like watching me finger her, you filthy bastard?”
Oh shit .
I’ve never heard anyone talk to Everett like that and get away with it.
But Everett grins. He slips his hand over my hair. He grabs a handful of it and grips. It tugs tightly at my scalp and pulls a gasp from me. “Not as much as I’m going to enjoy watching you fuck her.”
His voice is a dark, syrupy thing, and it goes right between my legs.
“I need something first.” Ransom removes his hand from my cunt. He points to the closet. “Toss me my jacket.”
Everett does. Ransom nods to me. “Flip, princess,” he says.
I twist over onto my belly. His knee wedges between my thigh. I gasp at the pressure. I find myself grinding against it.
The low, throaty chuckle from Ransom makes me ache. He smacks my ass—a quick, chastising swat. “Settle down now.”
Like I’m some animal to be tamed. I bite the mattress to keep myself from growling.
These men have made me feral.
Ransom’s jacket hits the bed. I hear him riffle through the pockets, and then I feel his fingers in my hair. They pull back my hair from my scalp. They make quick work, crisscrossing the strands into a neat braid.
Licking my pussy. Using me. The way they look at me, talk about me, and touch me makes me burn and writhe.
But this …
When Ransom gets his fingers in my hair and braids it back, it puts me into a trance.
When he finishes, it’s as though I’ve been wrapped up in a blanket of peace. Normally, my body is buzzing, primed to fight. When Ransom cinches off the braid with a band, something in me releases. My body relaxes. I want to be touched. I want to be used. I want them to mold me like clay with their strong, capable hands. I’m ready for anything.
Anything .
“Up,” Ransom says, so I sit up.
He’s holding a yard of rope looped in his hands.
“Show me how good girls pray,” he tells me.
I can’t help the smile that crosses my lips. We’re anything but good right now . I fold my hands in prayer position at my chest. He gets to work, looping the rope around my wrists, locking me into place. My blood goes hot at the wonderfully familiar sensation of itchy rope around my bare skin.
He finishes the knot and uses the rope to tug me forward. I love being led by him. His forehead touches mine, and I close my eyes. His breath is soft on my lips.
“Tell me what you want, princess.” His voice is a low, dusty murmur. “I need to hear it.”
“You,” I reply. Everett’s finger drags up my spine. My skin prickles, and I shiver. “ Both of you.”
Ransom captures my mouth in a kiss. I open to him, sliding my tongue along his. His breath shudders against my cheek as he shifts in place, pulling out of his clothes until he’s as naked as I am. He winds his arms around me and tugs me into his lap.
I’m off-balance without my arms, but his grip holds me upright. I lock my knees around his hips, settling into the crook of his body. His skin burns like a furnace, his heat pressed against mine. He’s stiff and swollen, and I wiggle in his lap, desperately wanting it inside of me. The friction draws a rough grunt from him. He reaches between us, guiding himself into me.
He’s thick and strong and fills me so sweetly. I gasp, tossing my head back. I fall against Everett, who presses himself up behind me, catching me with his form.
His mouth claims the side of my throat. “Arms up, Claire.”
I lift my arms above my head, my wrists still linked together. Everett guides my arms back, bending them, and loops my arms around his neck.
I’m stretched out now, my arms trapped behind me, my legs hooked around Ransom. Everett tickles his fingers down the front of my body. He draws a torturously slow line down my chest, grazing my nipple, and down my stomach. Ransom’s hands grip my hips roughly, moving me so I’m riding his cock. The dual sensations of both their hands make my head spin.
I’m not used to being helpless. But here, with both of them…
I trust them. And that trust makes me loopy with desire.
“Oh, God,” I hear myself say—or someone who sounds a lot like me, except her voice is more desperate and thick than I’ve ever heard it. “That feels…that feels so good …”
I’m grinding myself closer to the edge. Everett’s hand slides over my rear. His touch vanishes, and this time, when it returns, it feels wet. He presses his fingers between my cheeks, nudging against my tight hole, and I shiver.
“You’re doing so well, Claire,” Everett murmurs, his voice lighting up every nerve in my brain in the most delicious way. “Now, open for us. Both of us.”
His finger slides inside of me, and I gasp. He invades me, reaching places that haven’t been touched. I choke at the newness of it.
“Oh, fuck .”
“Good?” Everett asks.
He crooks his finger, stroking me from the inside out, and my toes curl. Between the two of them, I’m riding a seesaw of unrelenting pleasure, and it’s all I can do to gasp out, “ More .”
He gives me what I want. Another finger. Stretching me. Manipulating me. And then, finally, I feel him . Everett has worked me so well that when he presses his lubed cock into my tight hole, my body accepts him. Wants him. Needs him.
I’m stuffed full with both men now. I whimper, unable to control myself anymore. My eyes close, and I lose myself. I feel full— so full. Worshipped. Their hands are all over me. Their lips. Their love. I’m smothered in it, drowning, and when I finally open my mouth again?—
I shout. My body clenches, pulling around Ransom’s cock. I fall back against Everett’s form, whimpering. His hand reaches around, teasing between my legs, drawing out the waves of my orgasm.
Through my blinding pleasure, I see Ransom’s eyebrows tighten together. The muscle in his jaw flexes. He lets out a small, frustrated growl and then finally says, “Grab my throat.”
In my ear, Everett asks, “What?”
“ Just do it. ”
Everett’s hand snakes out. He wraps his hand around Ransom’s throat. I hear Ransom let out a small, surprised sound as his breath catches, and then his eyes roll back. He groans, and I feel him swell and spill over inside of me.
Everett exhales a quiet, shuddering sigh in my ear.
The energy between all three of us is intense. The connection. The heat.
Our bodies grind together, utterly entwined. One panting, sweating, heart-pounding being.
It’s only once we’ve quieted that Everett asks, “Are you ready for me to let you down?”
I nod. He unhooks my arms from around him, letting them fall back to my chest.
Ransom makes quick work of untying the rope. My wrists tingle delightfully.
With my hands free now, I slide them over Ransom’s strong chest. Then I reach back and slip my fingers up Everett’s neck and dive them into his hair.
“I love you,” I tell them. I don’t mean to say it. It just falls out.
I’ve been broken open, and things I’ve kept stuffed inside are spilling freely out of me now.
Ransom’s eyes go soft and wide. He cups the side of my face and murmurs, “I love the hell out of you.”
He kisses me, and I melt into it. Everett’s hand slides up the front of my body. His hand encircles my throat softly, holding me in place.
I break my kiss and twist. Our lips brush. “I love you, too,” Everett says.
My heart flutters. For the first time in—maybe—forever, I’m at peace.
We unwind from each other. They wrap their arms around me, and I nestle into the warmth of their naked bodies. I’m crashing down from the intense high, and my eyelids can barely stay open. I feel their lips on my skin. I hear their lips on each other. I’m lulled by the soft touches and the beat of breath on bare skin.
The devil himself couldn’t wake me from this deep blanket of sleep.
But he tries.
I jerk awake in the middle of the night. Sweat clings to my body. It’s dampened my hair, and it collects underneath my breasts.
I’m short of breath, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Claire …”
That voice. My father’s voice.
It’s coming from the other room.
It’s dark outside. The moon is just a sliver in the sky. Ransom and Everett are side by side with me. Ransom has Everett’s headphones in, the white noise helping him sleep. Everett is fast asleep and, for once, not grinding his teeth. The moonlight kisses their skin, casts dark blue shadows on their bodies.
Claire …
I want to shake them awake. I want them to tell me that the voice in my head is just that—a phantom voice. I want them to tell me there’s nothing to be afraid of.
But I don’t.
I have to face this monster alone.
Quietly, I move from the blankets and climb down to the end of the bed. I slip out gently so as not to disturb them.
I open the bedroom door and glance down the hall. It looks incredibly long at night, a throat of deep shadow.
Claire .
It’s coming from his study. I cross the hall and twist the crystal doorknob.
It’s silent in here, now that I’ve busted the clock. His books are still scattered around the floor. It’s dark, and it takes my eyes a minute to adjust. I fumble, hunting for the lamp on his desk, and when I find it, I flip it on.
I jump when I see a woman in the room with me.
No—not a woman. My reflection.
Afraid of ghosts, are we?
I can see my naked body reflected in the glass of the old Belleflower Queen poster. My form lines up almost perfectly with hers. In the reflection, I can almost see myself wearing the Belleflower Queen crown, and my heart gets tight.
Who are you, Claire?
The daughter of a criminal?
The fiancée of an assassin?
Or are you something else?
The most vicious monster of them all, perhaps.
In that moment, I make a decision. I spent the past five years running from Belleflower, but now …
I have to get to the bottom of this. Once and for all.
This ends with me.
I sit in the big leather chair and stare at my own image. I stay there until dawn creeps up, her golden fingers touching the bookshelves. I go back to the bedroom and quietly get dressed. Everett’s watch sits on the bedside table. I wrap it around my wrist. I write a note on the Belleflower Queen invitation and leave it folded on the bedside table. With Ransom and Everett asleep in bed, I slip out of the house and taste the cool, early morning frosted air.