Page 23 of Mine

Finally, the trees open up to a large circular driveway.

A sign reads: STONE MANOR.

I gape at the log cabin beyond the driveway, nestled between towering pines. It’s not large but is stunning, nonetheless.

The entry is an A-frame walkway that leads to a pair of massive wooden doors with brass handles. The home is made of both log and multi-colored stone, blending seamlessly with the nature around it. Sweeping windows are everywhere.

The home is fully lit, which surprises me, considering how late it is.

Standing next to the front door like a sentinel is a tall, muscular man wearing a fitted black T-shirt and khaki tactical pants. His hands are clasped at his waist, next to a gun on his belt. He doesn’t move as we approach, but I have no doubt he knows we’re here.

Security, I guess.

Astor’s car skids to a stop in front of us. He exits it, and strides inside without so much as a look over his shoulder, leaving the front door standing wide open. The guard closes it.

A rush of cool air scented with pine sap and lakeshore sweeps inside the cab as Cillian opens my door.

Goose bumps prickle my skin and, instinctively, I take a deep inhale, my body unable to resist the fresh, earthy scent of real nature. I can’t remember the last time I breathed real air that didn’t smell of motor oil or pot.

The scent of water is strong, and I realize that this is not just a regular cabin in the woods. It’s a lake house.

Cillian helps me out of the SUV while I wrestle with the hem of my teeny-tiny dress. Note to self: Never get kidnapped in a miniskirt.

“Welcome to Lake Tahoe,” Cillian mutters, his first words to me.

Tahoe. I’ve always wanted to visit—but not like this.

Barefoot, I tiptoe across the cold stone walkway, still secure in Cillian’s grip.

The guard eyes me coolly. There’s something inherently lethal about the man, something that tells me he’d shoot first and ask questions later.

Cillian greets him as “Leo.” I make a mental note of the name.

The interior of the lake house is as stunning as the outside.

Unlike its cold, callous owner, Stone Manor is warm and inviting. The aesthetic reflects Nordic architecture with long redwood beams against bright white paint, and splashes of indigo and cobalt to tie it all together. Plush brown leather couches, a massive stone fireplace, and all the upscale amenities. The focal point, however, is the view, illuminated by soft outdoor lighting.

I’m awestruck.

Floor-to-ceiling windows frame sloping pine-covered mountains that disappear into an endless lake. A full moon hangs low in the sky, its glow dancing on the black water below it. I imagine the view is stunning in daylight.

I am guided through the great room and down a hallway to a pair of wooden double doors. Cillian swings them open and clicks on the light.

The bedroom is larger than my entire Vegas apartment. Decorated in the same color palette as the living room, it boasts a four-poster bed and a generous sitting area in front of (yet another) fireplace. A copper soaking tub peeks from behind the cracked bathroom door.

“Make yourself at home.”

The door slams shut behind him and locks from the outside.

I whirl around, my gag still secure, hands still restrained.

What? He’s just going to leave me like this?

Panic jolts me into action. I lunge across the room and kick the door repeatedly, screaming until my throat burns.

It’s no use.

Chest heaving, I turn around and stare at the room.

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