Page 14 of Wilt

Sweeping my eyes over the lavish room again, I shuffle my bare feet to one of the doors. Opening it, I find a walk-in closet big enough to be a two-car garage but completely bare.

Holy shit. I’m not in Kansas anymore, that’s for sure.

I fling open another one that’s already slightly ajar and stumble into a massive bathroom decked out in white and gray marble, a jacuzzi tub and doorless shower dominating the space. My mouth hangs open in shock; it’s like I’ve fallen into a celebrity’s mansion, or maybe a prince’s abandoned castle. I never knew a single bedroom could have so many amenities.

I explore few more doors, which end up being evenmoreclosets, save for the last one. A bright light shines from underneath it—a way out—but as I reach for the handle, a shadow appears at the bottom. A key scrapes and a lock clicks.

I jump back just as the door swings open, and my breath tangles in my lungs.

The person standing in the doorway is tall and imposing, a black shape among the hallway’s harsh lights. The scent of something, delicious, salty, meaty, greasy, wafts in at the same time and my stomach turns, the nausea returning.

Suddenly, the room flares into illumination as he reaches out and flips a switch. All the blood rushes to my toes, and I fear I may faint at his feet.

He’s dangerously good looking, but I don’t know him. He’s familiar though, and my mouth burns with a memory I can’t quite place. He’s dressed in a pin-striped suit, tight enough to show off his well-defined torso underneath while accentuating his wide shoulders in the best kind of way. He has the kind of physique women drool over, and boy, am I drooling.

His dark amber gaze meets mine. “Sit.” The command covers me in goosebumps, and I stumble backwards, my knees hitting the bed and causing me to half-fall, half-sit.

Suddenly, everything my mind has been suppressing floods back.

His mouth on mine. The feel of his tongue.

The power. The possessiveness.

Every memory from the vacuum in my head, all those nightmares, rush in and fill the vacant holes, drowning me.

Allof them.

He killed…

Not wanting to believe it, I shake my head. I pinch my eyes shut, but I see the standoff again behind my eyelids. I see Uncle Max staring at us, gun pointed, then the explosion of blood and flesh behind him. I see him drop, lifeless, gone in a second. The last piece of family I had…

“You killed him,” I whisper, my words trembling as much as I do. “My Uncle Max. You shot him.”

I don’t know what I feel as I stare at him. Fury. Terror. Confusion. Absolute dread. Maybe it’s a combination of everything. All I know for sure is that Uncle Max is dead, my mom is gone, and I’m alone in this world because of this psychopath.

“He wasn’t your fucking uncle, Rose. He was just someone assigned to you by the law, an undercover cop meant to keep an eye on you and your mother. Now she’s gone and I have you, so he was obviously shit at his job.”

I blink. An undercover cop? Uncle Max? Mom always said he was a best friend she grew up with, one she considered family.

“You’re lying.”

Shaking his head, he reaches into his pocket, pulling something out and flinging it at me.

A badge.

I pick it up with shaking hands, turning it, reading all the information inscribed. Marcus Lyonne. US Marshall.

I can’t believe it. All these years… Why would Mom lie to me? Why did we need protecting?

“You were a job, little Rose.”

My head tilts in his direction, all this information struggling to sink in. I can’t trust this man—this murderer, but his blood splattered badge in my hands says there’s so much I don’t know about my life, and he may be able to offer me answers.

While I sputter in my head, he joins me on the bed. His large, warm hand covers mine and slides the badge away, only to replace it with a paper sack that smells so good and makes my stomach clench with hunger.

It’s a fleeting, careless touch, but I feel it. Everywhere.

His closeness sends heat skittering across my skin. “I…”

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