Page 51 of Never Broken

“Shit.” He broke away, hand in his hair, his eyes shooting toward the door. “Someone could be down here soon. You have to go.”

“But you said?—”

“I lied.”

Could I blame him, really?

“Relax,” he assured me, turning toward me again. “It’s okay. Nobody saw anything.”

“What if someone sees me on the stairs?”

“Make up a story. You just learned from the best,” he said, nodding toward the intercom.

I paused to brainstorm. “I’ll tell them I came down looking for the maid.”

He shook his head. “Slow learner. No. Tell them you came down to find me.”

“What? Why?”

“Because they’ll figure if you really came down to find me, you’d say you were looking for the maid. Come.” He kissed me sweetly, casually, but—just for a second—hesitant to let me go. “You have a lot to learn about lying, young lady.”

“Know where I can find a good tutor?” I whispered slyly in his ear before sprinting up the narrow staircase in a daze. The cinderblock, the stark yellow bulbs, and the creaky wood no longer seemed quite as menacing. In fact, they were almost laughable, a weak attempt at muting the wonder I’d found.

I knew that wonder wouldn’t last. I knew I had to get upstairs and out of that basement fast. I knew we were in danger, and when we came together again at the party, we’d be in evenmoredanger. I knew what we’d just done wasn’t going to lead to snuggling in front of the TV, elegant dinner dates, or autumn strolls in the park hand in hand. The exact opposite, in fact. For a second, though, I’d forgotten.

I shouldn’t have.

Before I could dart outside and dive behind a barrel cactus for cover, the door flung open with a thwack against the wall, and I was enveloped in the hulking shadow of the gardener, looming over me like a poison gas cloud.

“Hey there, princess,” he sneered, eyes gleaming with a rheumy film that made my stomach turn. “Lovely afternoon for a trip to the … basement.”

My entire body turned ice-cold. He leaned against the doorframe, grinning like a demented clown, revealing rows of empty tooth sockets as I felt myself almost literally shrink under his stare. Then I saw what was in his grubby hands: instead of a spade or shovel, it was a battered old tablet held together with masking tape, the screen glowing with that sickly light I’d only seen in one type of video—not that I made a habit of watchingthose. As he watched it silently, his lips curled up again, but it was nothing resembling a smile.

It couldn’t be. The slave boy—myboy, as maybe I could call him now, for lack of anything better—haddisabledthe camera.

Well, the one he knew about. And the one my father knew about, evidently.

“Ya know, I was real pissed off when the girls boarded up the basement window,” the gardener remarked. “Ruined the only real fun I ever had. And every time I tried to get into someplace better ...” He cackled before trailing off disturbingly. “Anywho, one of the old garden slaves used to take a peek with me. He was a real clever guy. Knew how to read, too. Before your daddy sold him, he set me up with this thing real good.” He waved the tablet. “Now I get to watch movies every night, just for me. Don’t even gotta do nothing but keep it charged. This time, though”—he paused to let loose a wheezy laugh—“it was a blockbuster.”

I could have vomited right there on the steps. “G-give me that.” I tried to grab it, but he snatched it away like a schoolyard bully. “Or I’ll tell Daddy.” I tried to force some authority into my voice, even though this sick fuck found me about as intimidating as a piece of construction paper covered in glitter and glue.

Batting me away handily, he tapped the screen with a dirty finger. His contorted lips twisted further, and bile rose in mythick throat, heart hammering so loud I was sure he could hear it. I watched his jaundiced eyes flit across the screen as if he were enjoying every second of what he was watching. Enjoying it as much asIhad enjoyed it. “Let it go,” I hissed, desperate not to cry or scream for the boy I’d just left in the basement, like having him here would do anything but fuck us further. “Or, I told you, I’ll tell?—”

“Sorry, Miss Loulou.” He caught my wrist, and I barely stifled a shriek as he pulled me closer, like we were about to snuggle and watch a rom-com. In all the years he’d terrorized me, he’d never actually touched me—after all, he valued his life. And that he suddenly no longer seemed to care aboutthatwas the most terrifying thing of all.

He tapped the tablet again, then flipped it around. There was the basement, and there was me, caught in a moment I wished I’d never been stupid enough, even for a second, to believe wouldn’t be my downfall.

“Safe to say the only one telling Daddy anything from now on,” he said, “is gonna be me. Unless,” he continued as I choked on his toxic breath, “you tell your boy he’s gotta keep his word and share.”

10

HIM

I’d waited two years and traveled 5,000 miles for the night I’d finally encounter Max Langer face-to-face, and now that it had arrived, all I could think about was what dress a girl would be wearing when she appeared at the top of the stairs.

Yeah, there might be a problem.

I hadnotplanned this. Really. Sure, I’d gutted the downstairs security camera, but I’d done that weeks ago simply as a best-practices thing, long before I ever imagined I’d be fingering my master’s daughter to orgasm in a stark, fluorescent-lit hallway with an old woman’s voice screeching at us over an intercom. Nor had I had any idea that Louisa—through no fault of her own—would leave me unable to go upstairs until I’d finished myself off, back against the wall, stroking my dick to the memory of the way her lips had formed that perfect shape when I found the spot I’d been searching for, and every singleothershape I imagined them making, every other shape I imagined between them. Yeah, I’d told her I was fine, and I was. Now.

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