Page 49 of Into the Woods

Eric shook his head, a slow grin creeping across his lips that made his eyes sparkle. “Bex, you never cease to surprise me. Just when I already think you’re incredible, you reveal a whole new layer of utter perfection.” He reached out and grasped the back of my neck. “You’re everything I’ve been looking for and never thought I’d find.”

My breath caught in my lungs as he leaned in and I realized, in horror, that he was about to kiss me. The very thing I’d gone into this date wanting was now a revolting idea.

His eyes darkened as his tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip, and I knew I’d have to make a choice—let him kiss me, or fake a heart attack.

And I really sucked at acting sick.

The one time I’d tried to fake the flu to avoid going to school—courtesy of Madelaine making middle school a living hell—I’d blasted my forehead with a hair dryer for a few minutes before going to find my mother. My mom, with all her medical powers of deduction, called me out for faking when she put her hand against my head and almost got second-degree burns.

Not my finest moment.

But when I’d broken down—literally—and told her why I couldn’t go to school, she’d let me stay home, and we’d spent the day together, shopping and bonding. It was one of my favorite memories.

The sharp honk of a car horn behind us had Eric jerking back with a scowl. He glared in the rearview mirror at the car flashing its lights, waiting for us to move from where he’d double-parked.

“Keep your knickers on,” he groused, waving a hand to acknowledge the other driver as he pulled back into traffic. He shot me an apologetic smile. “Sorry, love. What can I say? You’ve utterly bewitched me.”

Three hours ago, I would’ve loved to hear him say those words. But now, knowing what I did, the heart sank like a lump of charcoal in my gut. My skin crawled where he’d touched me, and I forced down the urge to shiver.

He kept talking as he drove, mostly mundane topics, but every time he shared something about himself, I wondered when he’d gone from poor little rich boy to monster. What did it take for a person to make the decision to become evil? Or maybe he’d been born that way, and if so, what effed-up genetics were part of his cocktail?

I responded with as many answers as possible, but it was like a switch had been flipped. Like my acknowledging his dark, depraved secret meant the veil of formality had been ripped away.

He wasn’t some guy who’d been cast out by his father and brother. He was a shark, silently moving through turbulent waters and using the chaos to disguise his moves. The look of disdain in his eyes when he talked about his father and the cutting way he referred to Alex as inferior made one thing painfully obvious: Eric Lambert-Durand was a stone-cold sociopath.

The more he relaxed, the more I started to wonder what I’d ever seen in him.

Well, mostly I’d seen that he wasn’t someone else. That was the only prerequisite I seemed to require nowadays.

I did know that, by the time he pulled the car into the circular drive of my grandparents’ house, I was ready to lose my shit. My nerves were shot, and I was over the small talk. I needed space to think through my options.

Putting the car in park, Eric turned and grabbed my hand. “Bex, I’d love to see you again.”

I forced a smile onto my lips, wondering if he felt the tremble in my fingers. “Me, too.” I could keep up the lie for a few more minutes. I lived with my mom and grandparents; it wasn’t like I could invite him in to spend the night.

Oh, God.

A fresh wave of nausea welled up in my stomach. Had he been with any of the women he’d trafficked? Forced them?

A phantom memory of hands unbuttoning my shirt punched the air from my lungs. It had been months since I’d had a flashback to the night I’d been assaulted. Well, almost assaulted.

I’d been saved just in time by Maddie and the guys. The drugs I’d been given had messed with my memory, but every now and then, a glimpse would surface like the words in a Magic 8 Ball before sinking back into my subconscious.

Like the scent of fresh soap and leather as Court had carried me home and tucked me safely into bed.

I’m sorry, Becca.

Sometimes I thought those were the only words he knew how to say.

“Bex?” Eric squeezed my fingers again, his expression concerned. “Are you all right?”

I placed my free hand over my stomach. “Honestly? I’m feeling kinda off.”

“You barely touched your dinner,” he mused, his brow furrowing.

“Probably something I ate at lunch,” I replied, reaching for the door handle. “I’m sure I’ll be better tomorrow.”

“Wonderful. The weather is supposed to be clear—I was thinking of taking my family’s helicopter to Brussels tomorrow. I have business there, and thought it would be wonderful for you to join me. There’s a fabulous restaurant where we could eat before returning. Or… we could stay at my family’s flat for an evening or two.”

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