Page 46 of Felonies are Forever

“You do realizeI am acquiescing under duress.” Seleme eyes me with contempt from the passenger seat of the Bentley. What she doesn’t know is, showing me her defiant, bratty side only makes her sexier to me.

“And you realize, although I care and would hope you would feel otherwise, it is not going to stop me from protecting you. In any and every way possible.” My voice is harder than I’d like, but my instinct tells me it’s what she needs right now. There’s no wiggle room allowed at the moment because I firmly believe if I give her an inch, she will take a hundred miles. “I would be protecting you right now even if your father hadn’t said anything.”

“Sure, you would,” she huffs, and I glance to see the rise and fall of her chest. Her tits rise with each breath, bulging from the corset of her dress as her blonde hair hangs over one shoulder.

This close, I can indulge in her scent. It’s unlike anything I’ve experienced before. I can’t identify the sweet flower, maybesomething like oleander, but there’s this exotic twist underlying it, and I’d swear it’s dark chocolate and cherries.

Whatever it is, it’s driving me crazy along with the rush of adrenaline still pumping through my veins. The thought that I could have lost her weighs heavy on my shoulders, and if I ever find out for sure that what happened was intentional, I will use my last breath to find who put her in danger and show them a taste of what hell has in store for them.

Seleme clears her throat as her hands run down the billowy red satin skirt of her dress, and my cock is thick and full imagining the treasure that lies beneath. As if she senses my lust, she flips her head and glares at me, and I do my best to keep my attention on the dark road that leads down our street.

“You’re not my kind,” she blurts out, and I frown and cock my eyebrows at her. “Type. Not my type. Just for the record if you have some idea otherwise.”

I shrug. “Good to know.” It doesn’t matter. She could be telling the truth or lying through her perfect white teeth, but in time she will realize I am her type, and she will be mine, one way or the other. I stop the car at the end of her driveway. “What’s the security code?”

Seleme shakes her head. “I’ll enter it. My father might trust you with my life, but I’m not sure I do.” She pulls the handle on her door, but I grab her arm.

“I’ll come around and open it for you. You’re not leaving my sight.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’ll be right there outside the car. What could possibly happen to me?”

“Not going to happen.”

“Fine. Just be quick, I want to get inside.”

I put the car in park, come to her side, and let her out. She whisks past me on a huff, punches some numbers intothe keypad, then takes her seat back in the car with forced indifference as I close the door again and get behind the wheel.

Once inside the gate, I ease the car down the drive and park in front of the massive oak front door that looks like it belongs on a fifth-century Austrian castle. Then I get out, open her door and lead her inside.

“Make yourself comfortable, Mr. Forsythe, but not too comfortable. I’m going to my room to shower and change, then I’m going to sleep. You can wait in the kitchen for my father to get home. It’s through there.” She points to a door, beside which hangs what I could swear is an original Picasso, then turns toward the massive curved stairway and stalks away from me. My mouth goes dry as I watch her ass move under the satin dress as she lifts the front, looking every bit like Cinderella as she takes each step in her delicate crystal-looking shoes.

It’s cold inside the house, almost colder than outside, but the thought of her naked in the shower sends hot blood surging down into my already hard cock. I’m sure she’s deliberately trying to be distant with me, and I have no idea why, but it’s not having the effect she’s going for. If anything, it’s only making me more intrigued. I watch her from behind until she disappears through a doorway at the top of the stairs, then I draw in a deep breath and wander into the kitchen.

Her family may not like to spend money on heating, but it’s not because they’re lean in the wallet. I know from the size of this place, the decadence of the party, and the Picasso hanging in the hall—and the rest of the house from what I can see is just as opulent. You could park twenty Bentleys in the kitchen and dining space. Its cabinets match the carving on the front door, and the surfaces are all white marble. The dining table glitters with crystal and porcelain, as if Gatsby himself, along with a party of fifty, is expected any moment.

My footfalls are nearly silent on the stone floor as I walk to the refrigerator and pull the door open, curious about anything and everything that touches her lips.

Inside, the appliance is nearly empty.

No ketchup and mustard. No bottles of soy sauce or balsamic vinegar. No milk or eggs. None of the staples most people keep on hand.

What I do see only adds to the low hum of confusion that’s building inside my head. In neat Cryopaks are pounds of fresh beef. The clear plastic sleeves filled with blood and red flesh line the entire bottom shelf in neat rows.

The remainder of the refrigerator is sparkling clean, looking like it’s never been used, and when I reach down and pull out the bottom drawer where most of us store our lettuce and tomatoes, the chill I felt entering the house is nothing compared to the shiver that runs down my back now. My muscles twitch and tighten as I extend my hand and trace a finger along one of the small bags labeled beef heart stored in blood, with yesterday's date.

I swallow and close the refrigerator, stepping back and looking over my shoulder, then make my way to the door at the side of the room. I close my hand around the cool brass handle and pull it open to find a walk-in pantry as large as most bedrooms.

Empty.

Except along one shelf at the back, there are boxes and boxes of Cheez-Its. Fifty at least.

I shake my head, trying to process the odd clues about Seleme and her family from my kitchen snooping. I work my way through the dining room. Over the set table hangs a chandelier nearly as large as the one that fell at the party, only it is filled with candles instead of electric bulbs, and I wonder how the hell someone can get up there to light them all.

As I exit the dining room and enter the grand hallway under the curved stairs, I take in a wall of photographs of Seleme and her parents.

I step closer, inspecting them, and a thrill courses through me to see Seleme as a child. As stunning a child as she is an adult. Almost otherworldly in a way, but that’s not what makes me rub my jaw and squint closer at each photo.

Each photo is of one or a combination of the three but no one else outside of Seleme and her parents which seems a bit odd but that seems to be becoming a theme around here.

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