Their Sinful Kisses (Kissing Them #3)

Chapter 1

MADISON

I drive myself home. It’s probably best I stay out of the way, so the guys can rally their Nove troops and rescue Seth’s parents.

Nick and Sonia Colton. I haven’t talked to them, or really even thought about them, in a long time. After Kyle’s funeral, they didn’t check in with me at all. They fought with me over his meager life insurance benefits before suddenly dropping the issue out of nowhere.

On the anniversary of Kyle’s death, I reached out to see if they wanted to visit his grave with me. They told me they already had plans to, but “you’re welcome to come along, if you want.” Super awkward.

I ended up waiting until late in the afternoon, when I was sure they wouldn’t be there, to visit Kyle’s grave on my own.

During my short time with Kyle, I always had the sense that Nick and Sonia merely tolerated me, and never liked me. Still, nobody should be tied up and blindfolded like they are. The worst I might have wished on them was perpetually tepid coffee, or randomly laggy wifi.

I punch in the gate code and pull into my driveway. I’ll make a smoothie for breakfast. Last I checked, the orange tree was still full of ripe fruit.

As I get out of my car, I catch a glimpse of my face reflected in the window.

Despite my worry for Seth’s parents, I look content.

Happy, actually. Damiano, Seth, and I are together.

The three of us. Maybe our dynamic is nontraditional, but if we can make it work, that’s more love to be given and shared.

And last night...the very thought of it has my panties getting damp. Damiano fucking me, while Seth licked and sucked my clit? That’s the stuff of impossible fantasies, but it actually happened to me.

Feeling like the luckiest girl in the world, I walk around the side of the house, toward the orange tree near the kitchen.

A man is standing in the shadows of the tree.

I scream and drop my purse. A half-second later, I realize the man isn’t a stranger—it’s my cousin Ford. I should’ve known him by his plaid, flannel shirt.

“Sorry, sorry!” Ford hurries toward me. “It’s just me, Madison.”

Bending down, I grab my bag. “Shit, Ford, what the hell are you doing here?”

His brown eyes squint in apology. “I know you said you don’t want help with the yard, but the trees need fertilizer and they’re a little temperamental, you know?”

I don’t know. At this point, I don’t care. Looking around, I say, “Where’s the fertilizer, then?”

“Oh, it’s in my truck.”

“Which is...?” Because his truck isn’t in the driveway—I would’ve seen it when I drove in. And then I wouldn’t have had the piss scared out of me.

“I parked down the street a ways.” He sighs and rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “I shouldn’t be sneaky, but I just really care about these trees.”

I take a deep breath, seeking patience. My heart is still pounding in my chest from the fear and surprise of finding someone unexpected in my yard. “Ford, this has to stop. I know you took care of this house for a long time, but I live here now. You have to let me figure it out, and do it my way.”

“Of course.” He nods. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

It’s hard to forgive someone when you suspect they’re just going to turn around and do the thing again. “Do you want me to give you a ride to your truck?” Hint: time to leave, cousin.

“No, I’ll walk. It’s not far. Sorry, again.” He offers me a sheepish smile, which I don’t return.

Frowning, I watch him amble down the drive until he disappears at the gate.

I pluck a few oranges from the tree’s branches. As I do, I make a mental note to call Ironwood. It’s time to get some extra cameras installed.

SETH

Does it make me a complete asshole if I’m partly angry at my parents right now?

Probably.

But I finally had Madison in my arms. No more hang-ups, no more reservations. No holding back.

And now I have to figure out what the fuck happened to my parents, who I guarantee haven’t given a single shit about me in the past five years.

Damiano stares at his phone, probably at the picture I forwarded to him, the one the kidnappers sent to me. He says, “Who are our enemies?”

“Point Ops.” I don’t even have to think about it.

“Right, but they’re a company. They aren’t going to go to such an extreme measure as kidnapping their competitor’s parents.” Damiano shakes his head in disbelief.

“Maybe,” I say. “But don’t forget, someone tried to kill you like ten days ago. That car accident wasn’t really an accident.”

“And we found the guy who tried to kill me. Francesco. Now he is dead.”

“I don’t think it was him,” I say.

Damiano looks up sharply, understanding dawning on his face. “Because of the truck driver. Baldwin said he’s missing.”

“Exactly. How could Francesco make the truck driver disappear? He’d have to kill him, and he doesn’t have the resources to hide that sort of thing. A body or some other evidence would’ve shown up long before now. But Point Ops…”

“Point Ops could make anyone disappear,” Damiano finishes. “Fuck me.”

“They’re trying to get rid of us, of Nove. And now they’re using my parents as leverage.” What Erich Pointer, owner of Point Ops, doesn’t know, is that my relationship with my parents is strained at best.

Damiano sets down his phone. “We still don’t know for sure that Point Ops is behind this.”

“There’s no sender information.” I jab at my screen again. “At least not that I can find. I’ll take my phone down to tech, see if Fozz can make anything of it.”

Thirty minutes later, Fozz looks ready to tear out his giant, gray beard.

“They ran this through a thousand different programs before sending it to you. It came from a burner phone, no doubt, and the origin is impossible to pin down. Sure, it says it came from San Antonio, but I guaran-fucking-tee that was only the last point before it reached you.”

I take back my phone. “There’s not much else to do, is there?”

Damiano nods as I open my phone and send a single text.

You have my attention.

We wait.

MADISON

No word from Seth or Damiano. I’ve sent each of them a text to check in, and while I don’t expect paragraphs in return, a hey things are okay, we’re just busy would be nice.

Maybe I’m being too needy. They’re busy, obviously.

I spend the next hour straightening up my pantry. The cans on the shelf tipped over at one point, so I right them, making sure nothing is dented or damaged. I even alphabetize them, because I’m bored.

It’s late afternoon, too early for dinner, but I won’t let social norms be the boss of me. I grab some snacks and a bottle of wine from the kitchen, then park myself in front of my laptop for an epic zombie-watching party. I have three episodes of Night Walkers to catch up on.

The next few hours find me on the edge of my seat.

A new band of marauders has broken into the compound forged by our original group of heroes.

It’s chaotic and messy, and if I’m reading the signals right, we might soon have a Romeo and Juliet-type situation between one of the original heroes’ daughters and a marauder’s son.

As the two star-crossed lovers are about to kiss, my phone buzzes. It’s Damiano.

I rush to pause my show and answer. “Hey.”

“Bella.” He sounds exhausted. “It is good to hear your voice. I’m sorry Seth and I have been out of contact today.”

“No, I get it.” I’m understanding. I’m not needy. “There’s an emergency. Have you found Nick and Sonia yet?”

“No. No contact from their kidnappers, either, although Seth and I have some suspicions, of course.”

He doesn’t share. I don’t ask. I’m not needy.

“What are you up to?” he asks.

“I’m watching Night Walkers. I’m just about finished.” Ask me over. I’ll come. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.

“Okay, bella.” He sighs. “Your house alarm is set, yes?”

“Yep.” I frown to myself. He isn’t inviting me over. It’s fine. It’s not like the three of us would be down for freaky sex while we’re worried about Seth’s parents. But being together without the sex wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Maybe that’s not what Damiano and Seth are interested in, though.

“I apologize,” he says. “It was a patronizing question. It is only that…I worry for you. Especially after all you’ve been through the past two months. While many things have been more than wonderful, some have been truly dangerous.”

I stare at the laptop screen, at the parted lips of the actors, their closed eyes…and then I notice the zombie lurking at the very edge of the frame. “It’s okay to remind me to be safe. Do you…do you know when I might see you again? Or Seth?”

“I wish I could tell you, because I already miss you fiercely. But I’m needed here at Nove. We have regular operations to run, and tomorrow Seth has to go to his parents’ house to investigate.”

“I understand.” I feel like a clingy girlfriend for even asking the question to begin with, but surely asking when we might see each other isn’t out of order, after the conversation we had last night, and after the night we spent together.

“Tomorrow,” he says, “I’ll call you again, and we can talk some more. Does that sound good?”

“It sounds great.”

We say our goodbyes. Halfheartedly, I turn Night Walkers back on. The lovers’ lips barely touch before that waiting zombie bursts into the scene. I knew it would happen—I was expecting it.

What I wasn’t expecting was for the zombie to go after the woman first, and the man to jump in the way, sacrificing himself to save her.

The woman kills the zombie and turns to her lover, only to find him already in the throes of the zombie change. She has to kill him, too. As she raises her knife, the end credits roll.

“Damn, that got dark.” I turn off my laptop. Now the only light comes from the moon shining through my back window.

It’s early for bedtime, but after everything that happened yesterday, I’m exhausted. I wish the episode ended on a higher note. Now I’m just bummed. Bummed about Damiano, bummed about Seth and whatever his parents are going through.

Bummed for myself—for my loneliness.

As I head upstairs to the bedroom, the house creaks beneath me. Tiny hairs raise on the back of my neck. When I said I was “lonely,” that didn’t mean I wanted creepy ghost company. Or zombies.

Calm down, Madison. You set the alarm, remember?

The house creaks again. It isn’t constant or rhythmic, but awkwardly repetitive. Almost as if someone is walking around on the first floor.

In my zombie shows, it’s always the person who goes to investigate that gets chomped first.

But I just need to make sure. I know everything is fine. You have an alarm, dummy. There is nothing to fear.

Spinning around on the stairs, I tiptoe back down, as quietly as I can.

The creaking stops for a moment, before resuming. Mustering up all of my courage, I shout, “Hey!”

The creaking stops.

Fuck.

It isn’t supposed to stop, because my shouting shouldn’t have any impact on random noises from an old house settling at night. My lungs freeze as ice-cold fear holds me in its grip.

I don’t know what the hell to do. If someone is here, hiding in my house, the alarm is useless. All I’ve done is lock them inside with me.

Just as I’m about to grab my phone and dial 911, the creaking resumes.

“Hey!” I shout again.

This time it continues, unaffected.

Coincidence. The noises and creaking, and when it stops? It’s a stupid coincidence.

“Fucking hell.” I press my hand against my heart, trying to slow it down. Is it possible to die from fear? Because I nearly perished just now.

Still, to be sure, I bang on the wall at the base of the stairs, where the noise seems to be coming from.

Nothing changes. Until eventually, it stops.

I wait for a long moment to see if it starts up again, but it doesn’t. Blissful silence, other than a small creak from somewhere else in the house, far away.

“Okay, I’m freaking done with this.” I take a deep breath and make my way back upstairs, where I get ready for bed and crawl under the covers.

After a long moment staring at my bedroom ceiling, I jump out of bed, hurry to my door, and lock it.