Page 136 of Vicious Hearts

Intense.

Primal. Vicious and exhilarating. Brutal and all-consuming.

Literally on a nightly basis, the man I’m married to unlocks every single hidden dark desire I have. Every fantasy. Every buried secret.

Or, almost.

There’s one line he hasn’t crossed yet. Because the truth is, I haven’t told him about it yet.

Not in words, at least. Because I’m too terrified to say it out loud. Because even with Cillian, prince of darkness he may be, there’s still so much shame and “wrong” wrapped up in this particularly dark part of myself that I can’t figure out how to voice it out loud and open that door.

Or find out if I evenwantto open that door.

It’s the idea of him taking what he wants, and doing what he will…

…Even if I say no.

Even if I scream at him to stop.

I know consensual non-consent isn’t thewildestfringe kink out there. But for a whole host of reasons, in my head, it still feels beyond shameful. Probably a little because of society, and more than a little because of what happened to Finn and I at that foster house, withhim.

Where no wasn’t a recognized word. Where “stop” meant “I’ll keep going until I’m done.”

I shiver, shoving those thoughts back into their dark hole somewhere in the back of my mind.

Elsa clears her throat, glancing at a gorgeous watch on her wrist. “I hate to rush any of you, but we do have the licensing inspector coming in half an hour, and we’re still in Brooklyn.”

Eilish arches her brows at me. “Well? Wanna come with and see what being insane and buying an Irish pub looks like?”

I grin. “Definitely.”

* * *

It’slate by the time I get home, and after dark. But I’m grinning from ear to ear, and maybe slightly buzzed, too.

I’ve just spent the last four hours touring The Banshee, the soon-to-be-re-opened Irish pub that Neve, Eilish, and Callie bought a few months ago. Currently, they’re in the process of renovating the seating areas upstairs, moving the bar to the other side of the space, and expanding into what was just an unused storage room out back to create more seating. They’re also excavating the basement to make it deeper, turning what was formerly something out of a horror movie into what’s going to be a really cool lounge area, complete with a small stage for bands.

After that, they insisted we do a “tasting” of all the new whiskies and craft beers some of the liquor distributor reps dropped off.

Yeah, okay, I might be slightly more than “buzzed.”

Grinning, feeling flushed, I fumble at the keypad to Cillian’s—or I guess I should start calling itour—penthouse. But then something catches my eye. I frown as I pluck the little white card from where it’s been stuck in the doorjamb.

There’s just one word written on it in Cillian’s distinctly precise and masculine handwriting.

Blue

I frown.Okayyy?

Inside, I flip on the lights, kick off my shoes, and drop my bag by the door. In the kitchen, I drink a full glass of water to try to balance out the drinks I had at the Banshee. I whip out my phone and send Cillian a message that I’m home, since he texted me earlier that he would be at a work thing late. I walk over to the couch to finish the book I was reading earlier.

I’m halfway there when the lights go out.

Cold, naked fear rips through me. A tightness in my chest has me gasping for air as I whirl, trying to peer through the darkness. Except it’s pitch black. Even the blackout shades over the huge clock-face window are closed.

I’m completely lost in the darkness.

And the fear isreal.

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