God, what if I was next?

What if this was some sick, twisted game to him? Maybe that’s why he had been so quick to approach me that day when we’d met. I jumped up and raced toward the door. I knew it was locked, but I needed to double-check. Unzipping my jacket, I threw it over the back of a chair. I then abruptly smashed my knee into the back of it.

“Shit,” I cried, clutching my leg. Fuck, I was completely losing the plot. I couldn’t even keep my thoughts straight. Next I’d be seeing little pink elephants dance around the room. I limped back over to the couch and sat down.

Gripping the laptop with both hands, I brought it onto my thighs. My breathing was shallow, as though my body knew what it was about to be put through and wanted no part of it.

The first video was already on the screen, ready to play. I had to block out the emotional response. Watch it as though it is someone else. I was a god-dammed lawyer. If I couldn’t sit through this without judgment, then I was in the wrong field.

Subjective thoughts, Leet. You can do this.

I watched both videos from start to finish—all thirty-seven minutes and fifteen seconds of them—while Marcus sat beside me, oblivious to everything.

By the end, I was damn proud of myself. No breakdowns, no tears, but still no closer to anything concrete. When were the videos taken? Was it before we got together? Did that even matter?

But it did matter. Because regardless of how disgusting these videos were, I was looking for a reason to forgive him.

Slamming the laptop shut, I threw it on the floor and stretched out on the couch, my arms curled around my stomach. My eyes stared into nothingness as I struggled to hold back another rush of tears. No. No more. I refused to waste any more tears. It was time I toughened up and dealt with this like a fucking adult. I had to deal with it myself or call the cops, but for God’s sake, I had to stop dragging it out.

Did I trust him enough to consider the slightest possibility of an explanation?

#

I opened my eyes and groaned, reaching for my neck, which felt like it had been folded in half and packed into a briefcase. I sat up and stretched, my hand fumbling for the lamp on the side table behind me. I switched it on, and—

“Holy fucking shit!” I literally screamed—a high-pitched, old lady scream.

Mace was sitting in the armchair opposite the couch, his leg crossed over his knee. He looked tired, as though he hadn’t slept for days. Yeah, because he was too busy fucking unconscious women.

Stop it, I commanded myself.

I sat forward, struggling to get back my composure as my heart pounded. My eyes darted to my laptop, which sat strewn on the floor where I’d left it. Thank God I’d closed it.

“Mace. Shit, you scared me,” I gasped, my breathing still laboured.

He raised his eyebrows, his hand resting on his chin as his gaze burned into me. “I noticed.” He chuckled, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” I fibbed. Bullshit. I was feeling worse than I had all day.

“You look like shit,” he commented, raising an eyebrow.

“Gee, thanks,” I snapped. “Why are you here? Didn’t you get my message?” I’d told him I was sick.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He cocked his head and sat forward, his hands now joined in his lap. “Did you go to my house yesterday?”

Why the hell had I gone all domestic cleaner on him?? I’d done his washing, for fucks sake, and I thought he’d never know I’d been there? Was I insane?

Shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I could feel my face heating up as I struggled to keep myself calm, when all I wanted to do was let him have it. I wanted answers. Now I definitely looked as though I was hiding something.

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. I needed to get some work done and my laptop died. I didn’t think you’d mind me using yours. I, uh, didn’t think it would be a problem.”

He stiffened, managing a sharp nod. “No, it’s fine.” His eyes fell on my new laptop lying on the floor. “Here, I’ll have a look at it—”

“No!” I practically screamed, launching myself at the laptop. Fuck, Leeta. Get a grip. “That’s a new one. The old one is in the bin,” I stammered, hugging the Mac to my chest. He nodded slowly. I almost felt the need to race outside and show him I wasn’t lying.

“Well, anyway, I brought you over some food. I thought you might be hungry.” An awkward silence followed. He stared at me, and I avoided eye contact. I couldn’t even look at him. All I could see were the faces of those girls, just lying there.

Please just leave. Please, please, please.

“I might go to bed, try and sleep this off. You don’t mind, do you? I’ll call you later, okay?” For a moment I thought he was going to argue, but then he simply nodded.

We both stood up. He walked over to me and attempted to kiss me. I freaked out and backed away. Way to go, Leets. You’re doing an awesome job at being inconspicuous.

“Leet, what the hell is up with you?” he asked, running a hand through his hair. His forehead creased as he waited for me to answer. He towered over me, his presence enough to make me weak at the knees. The worst thing was I didn’t know if that was lust, or the fact that he might be a rapist.

“Nothing. I just don’t want you catching whatever this is,” I mumbled weakly. God, I was such a bad liar. How was it that I managed to successfully practice law?

“I’ll risk it.” He grabbed my wrist and yanked me toward him until I was flush up against his chest. I froze as his hand cupped my chin. He leaned down, his lips pressing against mine. My body reacted the way it always did when he touched me—with anticipation and want—in complete contrast to the negative thoughts that were racing through my head.

Yet there I stood, kissing him back. It was such an innate response, and left me feeling completely confused. I hated him…didn’t I? Then why was I standing here, kissing him with more passion and lust than I ever had? I couldn’t break myself away and it scared the hell out of me.

I whimpered as his hands wandered under my shirt, the feel of his skin against mine electrifying. Desire consumed me. I wanted him so badly. God, I was so wet . . . What the fuck was wrong with me? He pulled away, staring at me one last time as his thumb tweaked my cheek.

“Go get some rest, Leets. You’re acting really weird.”

#

I’m acting weird . . .

His words rang in my head. The last thing I wanted to do was arouse his suspicion. I wiped a thin film of sweat off the back of my neck. God, it was hot in there. Walking over to the back door, I slid it open and left the security door locked.

I needed a plan. I needed something set out. I worked best when I had things set out in action.

My skills at gathering information from the videos had pretty much exceeded their limits. I needed outside help. And there was only one person that stuck in my mind: the last person I ever wanted to speak to again.

Ben.

It had been two years since we’d last spoken. The man my parents thought was utterly perfect. I laughed. If only they knew. That dude was all kinds of fucked up.

If anyone knew the how to find out what I needed to know, it would be him. His obsession with porn had become scary. Even scarier was the role-playing he had insisted we act out. Hell, I wouldn’t have been surprised if Ben was into this kind of shit too.

In the beginning, he had been the perfect boyfriend: sweet, caring, and everyone loved him. He won my parents over easily. It seemed like there wasn’t a single thing the guy could do wrong.

About six months into our relationship, he proposed. I said yes. No hesitation. He was perfect for me. We were great together.