Sophia sits forward in her seat as we make our way down the long, lit driveway. Lightning bugs flicker everywhere, small darts of glowing orange rising drunkenly from the gardens on either side of us as we approach.

“Well, this is pretty much the last thing I was expecting,” she breathes, her gaze drinking in the grand columns and the prestigious, eight-foot-high entranceway. “You grew up here?”

“I grew up here,” I confirm. The words grind out between my clenched teeth.

“Incredible.”

In the distance, I can make out Cade’s family home, lit up like a bonfire against the darkening horizon. Nowhere near as ostentatious as Ebony Briar, the Preston’s property is still vast and completely over the top. I’m pretty fucking certain the only reason I never tried to murder my old man as a teenager was because I could escape there whenever his back was turned.

The front door is already opening as I park the car outside the house. Carl, who must be in his late fifties now, is my father’s longest-serving employee. Twenty-one years. The guy deserves a medal just for surviving this long. He sidles out of the house, barely opening the door, and jogs down the steps to meet us.

The first thing he does when I’m out of the car is pull me into a bear hug. “You’ve arrived in the middle of dinner, you crazy son of a bitch,” he says, smiling. Holding me at arm’s length, he shakes his head, as though I’m different somehow. As though he’s trying to marry up some mental image of a past, younger me with this older, more life-worn me. It may have only been four years, and I may not look all that different in my polished Italian leather shoes and my sickeningly expensive tailored suit, but Carl is the kind of guy to see people. Really see them. I wonder, when he looks into my eyes, if he can see the souls of all the people I’ve killed since we last met.

“So good to see you, Jay. So very good to see you.” He grips hold of my shoulders, squeezing tightly. The light’s still on inside the car; Carl sees Sophia still sitting in the passenger seat, looking really fucking uncomfortable, and his whole face lights up. “Who is this?” He hurries to open her door—good job, since I haven’t had the chance to unlock it from the inside yet. He holds his hand out to her and helps her out of the car, shooting disapproving daggers at me as he does so. “Seems your manners have abandoned you since you left Alabama, boy.”

My manners aren’t the only things that have abandoned me since I left the south. I left my moral compass on the side of the road somewhere along the way, too. “I know,” I tell him. “I’m just the worst.”

Carl rubs Soph’s hand in between his, the old bugger clearly rejoicing in the fact that I’ve finally brought a woman home with me. “What’s your name, darlin’? I wait for young master Jamie to introduce me and I’ll die of old age, seems.”

Soph’s eyes flicker to mine—the name’s obviously stumped her. This will be the first time she’s heard anyone call me Jamie. The first time I’ve heard anyone call me that name in a long time. Only Cade is privy to that information, and he knows better than to call me that. Ever.

She also looks smug, as though she knew someone was going to want to know her name at some point during this visit. “I’m Sophia,” she says. “Sophia Letitia Marne.” She doesn’t realize how weird it is to give someone her full name like that. She’s still trying to reinforce it in her head, so it must seem smart. For me, the guy who knows she’s still lying about who she is, it’s a pretty obvious tell.

“I’m Carl. A pleasure to meet you, sweet girl.” He kisses the back of her hand, still giving me disapproving glances. “You come on inside now. I’ll come back out and gather your bags in a moment, once you’re settled.”

I give Carl a hearty slap on the back. I’ve missed him badly. He grins at me, leading Soph up the stairs and into the house. I wait a beat, taking a second to gather myself. I never thought I’d be back here. Never thought I’d be climbing these steps again. And the fact that Soph’s here? Yeah, the fact that I’m heading inside with a girl I technically bought as my sex slave at auction isn’t helping how surreal the whole situation is, either.

SOPHIA

The inside of the house… Scratch that. The inside of the mansion is just as grand and austere as the outside. Carl leads me by the hand inside the marble floored foyer, and my breath catches in my throat. Two huge, imposing staircases sweep around, rising up to the second floor, just like out of a Jane Austen book. Likewise, the cut crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling is beautiful. It spills warm, honeyed light over everything. The heavy gilt-framed paintings on the walls. The plush maroon-colored rugs that dot the polished floor. The Grecian vases, filled with wild flowers, which sit on top of every available surface. Every single item of furniture, from the wing-backed chairs to the perfectly placed buffet dressers, looks old. Old, but beautifully taken care of.

Rebel’s behind me, his hand in the small of my back. “Perhaps we could save the penny tour ’til later? We’re both kind of tired right now, Carl.”

“Of course. It’s a really long drive from New York. You both must be dead on your feet,” Carl says.

I squirrel away yet another scrap of information that I might need later. Rebel’s father and his employees think he calls New York home. They probably think he’s some big city hot shot, living it up in some high-rise penthouse apartment or something, when the ironic truth is that he lives in a secluded cabin in the middle of the desert. About as far from New York as you can get, really.

I still can’t get over the name. Jamie. He didn’t look surprised when Carl called him that—like he was expecting it to happen and couldn’t care less. I think I know him better than that now, though. He’s secretive. Every small fragment of information I know about him is hard won. And he still never told me how old he was. I have to be close with my guess of twenty-nine, though. He certainly doesn’t look much older than that.

Carl squeezes my hand again, smiling warmly. “Well, all right then. I’ll go and move that beast of a car before your daddy sees it, Jay. Your room is still where it’s always been, son.” He slips back outside, pulling the door closed behind him, leaving Jay and me behind. I curve an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to speak.

“Louis James Aubertin the third,” he says, his mouth pulling down at the corners. “My grandfather refused to call me Louis, though—hated my father—so he called me Jamie. Or Jay.” He reaches out absently, touching his fingertips to the petals of a bunch of flowers sitting on a small pedestal at the base of the stairs. “It kind of stuck,” he says. “My father refused to call me Louis anyway. Said I wasn’t strong enough to carry the name.”

I give him a small smile, not sure how I’m supposed to react. “Louis James Aubertin the third. Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, does it? I prefer Jamie.” I don’t know why I say this. It’s not my job to make him feel better. I owe him nothing, but…I don’t know. It’s so hard to explain. Every single hour I spend with him leads me away from hating him, and feeling…what? God, it’s too complicated to even try and put a name on it.

“Thank you,” he says, his eyes resting on me. They seem less hard. Less fierce, somehow. “I prefer Rebel, though.”

“Why Rebel?”

A small crease forms in between his brows. He stares at the flowers, stroking his fingers over their delicate petals, being so, so gentle. “Jamie was before. Jamie was an honorable man. Rebel…” He looks at me, wearing a small, almost sad smile. “Rebel does what he has to. Come on. We need to make ourselves scarce.”