Page 1 of Dissension

Prologue

There’s no escape, not even in sleep. Her dreams are always filled with a haunted sort of torture, a twisted longing that coils in the center of her very being. An unwanted ache thatconsumes.

Kara dreams of him, even though she has every reason not to. It seems that dreams don’t care about broken hearts, let aloneanyform of propriety. Dreams don’t care if something is morally wrong or reprehensive. Dreams don’t care about repulsiveness and hatred. Not even betrayal, that thorny, terrible word.

In fact, dreams seem to take all these things and shove them in her face, warping them into what she wants. Twisting Kara against herself. Perhaps there is an even darker truth; perhaps her dreams are telling her who she is on the inside where no one else can see.

It’s absurd.Offensive. It’s a terrible shame that dreams can’t simply beturned off. Why can’t there be a drug for that? If there is one, maybe Kara could sleep without feeling disgusted with herself every time she wakes the next day.

So, dream she does. She dreams of the feel of his hands. Strong, possessive. Broad and firm across her flesh, pinning her down in a way that she doesn’t want to escape. The scent of him, hugging her in a lover’s embrace, sweet tobacco and mysterious rum. A scent of hunger and lust, images of red. She dreams of the sea-salt taste of his skin, her tongue pressed against him, running down his neck.

The way it feels when she tastes his cruel desire, between his thighs.

The sound of his voice.

The filthy way he speaks to her, a secret they share when he’s buried deep inside. His smile-not the fake one, because thereisa fake smile-and the way his tropical blue eyes light up when he’s thinking of something particularly vicious. Her belly flashes with heat, at the depravity of her desires. She finds all the wrong things attractive in him. Violence in passion is all she’s ever known and deep down, she fears it.

Fingers grasping, sweat rolling across flesh, low gasps.

Her nails, dug into his spine.

The dream is an endless scene of sensuality, though he always seems just out of reach. Distant. She can touch him, feel him, but he’s notreallythere. Nicholas Havenwood-Calais is thisintangible thingthat she’ll never own.

A sliver of reality coils around her, like barbed wire, painful and clear. It makes the dream lose its color, sucking the life from it. He’s always been distant. He’sneverbeen hers.

Notone single momentof all her time spent with him truly belonged to Kara. In the end, it was timewasted. Bitterness tastes like ash, dry and terrible.

Nausea rises, the dream turning a strange shade of midnight, black and white. Shifting, twisting, becoming sepia. There’s an odd jingle permeating through the haze. Odd…and then annoying as it incessantly continues.

Over and over it plays, ruining the sleepy fog that has been suffusing Kara, slashing through the angry heat inside of her.

It’s ruining her dreamland, though the fantasy is fast souring. Any dream she has of Nick always ends in frustrating disappointment.

The awful noise sounds like her phone. Why is her phone ringing when she’s dreaming of Nicholas? She wants to stay asleep, to pretend reality isn’t what it actuallyis. A larger part of her wants to wake up and never dream of him again.

Let me rest in peace, along with all the shattered slivers of my heart.

Her mouth is on his again, full of anger and passion, teeth clicking by accident. A bit of hatred coils inside of her, because shedoesn’twant to feel this way, she doesn’t want to dream about him. She has no control in this dream, it’s flowing without her input.

Like a nightmare, dressed up pleasantly.

Then, the horribly dramatic ringtone starts up again, yanking her right out of her sleep. She rolls over, mind still fuzzy, hand reaching for her phone. She feels sluggish, her fingers fumbling around to make the noise stop. When she finally grasps the intrusive device, she wonders if it’s her alarm, but it’s so dark still, it can’t possibly be her alarm…why would she get up this early on a Saturday?

Blinking sleep from her eyes, she sees a name. It’s a call. At this ungodly hour. Her jaw clenches, lips twisting.

When she answers, her voice sounds like something straight out of a swamp hag’s mouth. There’s a familiar voice replying on the other end.

“I need you.Now. Get over here.” Irritated, grouchy, and completely demanding. Not the voice she’s been dreaming of,oh no. Not in the least. These are words she would love to hear from another mouth entirely.

Kara groans in response, hanging up. She glances at the time.

Lord, she hates Dietrich Bittinger.

Chapter 1

No one told her what it would be like to have a client with more money than God Himself.

Oh, she knew that the dough would be better. Being retained comes with certain perks. But Old Money isn’t like the typical run-of-the-mill client that Kara has had in the past. Not even in the slightest…and that comes with a price. Her fuckingsanity.

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