Mastered By Love (The Auction #3)

Chapter 1

Dmitri

The living room lights are on at the front of my parents’ house. I pull into the driveway behind Danica’s car.

Giant raindrops fall with fat splats against my windshield, matching my dark mood. I give myself a pep talk. It will be fine. Our parents will understand, and they’ll take our side.

Fat fucking chance. Mom always sides with Granddad. Dad always sides with Mom.

Danica and I are screwed.

Mom and Dad texted the family chat this morning, sometime after Leah, Gage, and Danica left my house. They want to have a “conversation” about last night.

I spent all day at the Rossi Nature Preserve, walking, thinking.

Patrick is dead to me. Leah knows how I feel now, but she still left with Gage.

I didn’t expect anything different. Sucks to be apart, though, when I know she must be hurting after what Patrick did.

I can’t imagine being drugged and touched without my consent—and Leah lived it.

And Danica’s pissed at me. Maybe she has good reason, after I lied to her. But if she’s mad that I want to be with Leah? She has to get over that. It isn’t changing. Ever.

My windshield is blurry with rain. I’ve been sitting here long enough.

I get out of my car. As I start toward the front door, Danica’s car door opens right next to me. I jump in surprise.

She snickers. “Scared you, ha.”

“Yeah, ha.” I’m glad she’s kept her mean sense of humor. “So you were waiting for me. Scared to go in?”

“Eh.”

We walk slowly to the porch even though it’s pouring. Two prisoners heading to the hangman’s noose.

“Are you ready for this?” I gesture at the front door. An Easter wreath hangs there, cheerful with its bright greenery and miniature pastel eggs.

Danica scowls at the wreath. “Nope.”

“Look.” I keep my voice low so the porch camera can’t pick it up. I doubt our parents will review any footage, but better safe than sorry. “Just take it. Whatever they say. Whatever apology they ask for. Just do it. It’ll be easier.”

“The fuck I will.” She puts her hands on her hips. “You see this make-up?”

She used a lot of liner and shadowy shit to emphasize her eyes.

“Uh…yeah? Are those fake eyelashes?”

“You bet your ass they are. You see this dress?”

“Yeah…” It’s an odd choice for a conversation with our parents. Black, sleek, and low-cut, it looks like something she might wear to a club.

She gestures at herself. “This is my warrior costume. I am going in there and they can try to read me the riot act. I will not fucking back down. Patrick is disgusting. He deserves worse than an arrest and the slap on the wrist they’ll give him.”

“You’re right, but you’re only making it harder on us.”

“Leah deserves someone in her corner. I thought at the very least it would be you, since you’re fucking her.”

“Danica—fuck, Jesus. Don’t say that.”

She gives me a level stare.

Goddamn. The warrior costume works. I give up and look away. She wins.

As for what Danica thinks Leah deserves, well, yeah. Leah deserves the world. She deserves to have Danica, me, and my parents in her corner.

I just thought I would be the one fighting for Leah. Danica could apologize while I would yell. And Danica could get out of this shit unscathed. But it looks like Danica plans to fight, too.

“Is she doing okay?” Danica asks.

“Leah? I don’t know. This was a lot.”

“More than a lot. One thing after another for her.”

That’s the truth. First Mick, then his murder, then Patrick. Sighing, I open the door and we step inside.

Mom and Dad are sitting at the dining room table.

Dad’s wearing his usual plaid button-down shirt and jeans.

Mom is in slacks and a dark-pink silk shirt—I think Aunt Milana gave her that shirt for Christmas.

She’s wearing a shit-ton of eye make-up, too.

I wonder if she, like Danica, has prepared for battle.

A plate of honey spice cookies rests at the center of the table, next to Mom’s antique Russian tea set. Interesting choice of weapons.

“Does anyone want tea?” There’s a familiar tightness in Mom’s voice. I heard this voice when I didn’t include Danica in video games with my friends. I heard it when I wrecked Mom’s car. I heard it when I thought I’d gotten my high school girlfriend pregnant—false alarm, thank fuck.

Lots of great memories associated with this tight, angry voice.

This is going to be a fucking fantastic evening.

Danica and I both decline tea. We don’t even take a cookie. Best to get this talk over with.

Dad accepts tea, traitor that he is. He’ll sit back and let Mom do most of the scolding. I catch his eye and he looks away. Coward.

Mom pours tea for him and for herself.

“Cookie?” Mom asks as she plates a couple of cookies for Dad.

“No, thanks,” I say. Please just start talking.

Dad takes a sip of tea. “So, last night. A lot happened. A lot of feelings came up, and we should discuss them calmly. Because in the end, we all love each other.”

Danica clears her throat. I know what she’s thinking. We don’t love Patrick.

That’s not entirely true, though. Our love for him didn’t just poof away like car exhaust. It lingers in memories and shit like that. But the things he did to Leah are unforgivable. There’s no coming back.

“What it comes down to…” Mom taps her manicured nails on the table, looking thoughtful.

It’s a ploy. She’s pretending that she’s thinking out what she’ll say, but I know she probably rehearsed it in her head for hours today.

“What it comes down to is, your behavior in Salding shamed our family. Patrick made a mistake?—”

Danica opens her mouth to say something, but Mom cuts her off by holding up a hand.

“It was a devastating mistake.” Mom takes a deep breath. “I feel for Leah, I truly do. I look at her as another daughter. Which makes this even more of a family matter. The police should not have been called.”

I understand why she’s saying this—she knows about Granddad’s true operations. When Danica called the police, it endangered the family.

But she isn’t telling Danica the whole truth.

“Granddad is very disappointed,” Mom says. “I know you were just trying to do the right thing.”

Dad nods in a way that tells me this was his line that he wanted Mom to say.

Mom goes on. “Aunt Milana is also extremely upset. This could have been resolved in the family, and now Patrick has that arrest on his record.”

“As he should ,” Danica says. “He’s a fucking predator .”

“He made a terrible mistake, and he was punished.” Mom’s voice is louder, her gray eyes flashing in warning. “In the meantime, an apology to your aunt and granddad wouldn’t go amiss.”

“An apology ? For doing the right thing?”

Mom looks from Danica to me. “An apology from both of you.”

I picture the scene Patrick made last night, with his ugly face at Leah’s neck, his hand beneath her skirt.

“I love you, Mom. And I love our whole family.” My throat tightens on the words.

Our family was never perfect, but nobody doubted the love between us all.

“What Patrick did, though? No way. You didn’t see how he behaved, in front of everyone.

I won’t apologize for what happened after. Danica’s right. He deserves worse.”

The scolding conversation devolves into an argument. Danica shouts. Dad shouts. Mom slams her hands on the table. The tea set clinks and rattles.

The “conversation” is going nowhere.

I grab Danica’s arm and drag her out of the house.

She’s too upset to drive, so I hustle her into my car and pull out of the driveway.

“Where are we going?” She looks like she’s ready to fight me on any fucking thing I say.

“Wherever you want.”

She glowers at our parents’ house, which is rapidly disappearing. “Drinks. Nothing noisy. Maybe Blackberry. As long as we don’t talk about Leah. Not one fucking word.”

“Got it.”

I’ll make sure she doesn’t get hammered. It’s not a big risk, but when she’s upset, she’s unpredictable.

Blackberry Bar is located across from the park, but nobody is outside right now—it’s too dark and wet. The rain is still coming down, faster and harder than before. I stop at the front of the bar so Danica can get out. This rain was unexpected and neither of us is wearing a coat.

Once I park and get inside, I sit at the bar next to Danica. I order a beer and Danica asks for two tequila shots. When our drinks arrive, she throws back one of her shots and picks up the second.

“So you’re really going for it, huh?” I ask.

“The goal is to get drunk enough that I’m not tempted to go back home and fight with Mom.” She bumps her shoulder against mine. “Thanks for getting me out of there.”

“You’re welcome.”

“This doesn’t mean I forgive you for lying about Leah.”

“Understood.” I sip my beer. “But you said we can’t talk about her.”

“Shut up.”

I nurse my single beer while Danica gets a pint of her own. After a couple of hours of drinking and talking about everything that isn’t Leah, I hit the bathroom. When I come out, I text Leah.

Thinking of you.

I don’t know what else to tell her. I want to see her, but I don’t know if she wants that.

Fuck it.

I want to see you. Soon. Let me know when you’re ready .

There.

I get back to the bar, and Danica hastily puts her phone away.

“That was sus.” I point to her bag where she tucked her phone. “Who were you texting?”

“A ride. It’s time to go home.”

I narrow my eyes. I think she’s lying to me.

But because I spent the past month and a half lying to her about Leah, I don’t have any grounds to demand the truth.

I hug her, even though she says ew and gross and you stink . “Be careful.”

“Be careful at home?” She blinks innocently at me.

Lord help whatever man she’s stringing along right now. My sister is a full-fledged brat.

I see her safely into her paid ride. The rain is really coming down now. My wipers are on the highest setting as I drive home.

Visibility is still shit. Everyone is driving below the limit, me included. I make a mental note to text Danica in a half-hour, to make sure she got to…wherever…okay.

I pull up to my driveway. Someone’s sitting on the cement stoop of my porch, huddling as much as they can out of the rain. Someone with wet hair plastered to their face. It’s too dark to make out the details.

The person looks up and my headlights illuminate their features.

Leah.