Even Better

Текст добавлен: 4 октября 2016, 04:24

Текст книги "Even Better"

Автор книги: Skye Warren

Жанры:

Эротика и секс

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 6 страниц)

That earns me a soft laugh. “Trust? I’m not sure anyone can know him, much less trust him. But if you stay in Tanglewood, you’ll hear stories.”

“What kind of stories?”

“The kind that get told around campfires.”

“Except he’s real.”

The corner of Luca’s mouth turns up. “The money that he puts in my account is real enough.”

I can do anything I want with you.

The things he would do to me would be real enough too.

* * *

The first time I ever rode in a car, I was eight years old.

A woman with kind eyes came and took me away. Mama had a strange look on her face, like she was trying to be brave, so I tried to be brave too. Even though the building scared me. And the people scared me.

They put me in a room with no windows. A camera was set up in the corner, watching me. I looked anywhere but at the shiny black lens. A doll slouched against the bench on the floor. Her hair was red. Building blocks climbed each other in the corner, every color of the rainbow. Who could play at a time like this, away from their family? But my heart beat a little faster, just thinking about it. These were toys that hadn’t been made in Harmony Hills, that hadn’t been sanctioned by our leader. I knew how wrong it was, and that made me want to do it more. I fought with myself for what felt like hours until the woman with kind eyes came back in. She had another person with her, a man. He smiled at me but stood silently in the corner while the woman asked questions.

How do you like living in Harmony Hills?

Who watches you?

Does anyone touch you? Where?

I answered all the questions as best I could, so I could go home. I liked it in Harmony Hills. Mama watches me. No one touches me, not ever.

They weren’t lies, not really. Most of the time I liked my life, but it wasn’t like I had a choice. I knew the woman wasn’t really offering me one. And Mama did watch me most of the time, except when she was praying with Leader Allen. It took a long time, because her soul was so dark. At least, that’s what Leader Allen told me.

No one ever did touch me. The woman asked me that question a lot of times, using words in different ways so I would understand what she meant. Giving me a hug or giving me a bath didn’t count. The way Leader Allen put his hand on my head when he was testing my faith, that didn’t count either.

That was the day I learned that there was another kind of touch that might happen to me.

The next time I ever rode a car was a bus that took me from Harmony Hills to the farthest I could go. A city called Tanglewood.

“Come,” Ivan says, and I don’t hesitate. There’s nothing for me in the basement of his business. This is like the room from before, with no windows. No toys on the floor, but I understood them now for what they were. Distractions. A kind of test, like the files on his desk. And probably there was a camera somewhere in the room, watching me. Seeing if I passed.

I follow him up the stairs, my gaze trained on his shoes. They shine, even in the dim light, and they make a harsh sound with every step. My shoes are blackened and completely silent. I’m his shadow as he leads me out a back door into the night.

Luca follows us to the car and opens the door.

Both men watch me expectantly. When I don’t move, Ivan cocks his head. “In.”

In. Just that, a short command. “Where are you taking me?”

“Home,” he says.

That’s what the woman said too.

I don’t really believe him. She drove me back to Harmony Hills, and I know he isn’t taking me there. Even so, hearing the word soothes me. Home.

Because right now I don’t have anywhere to go.

I climb into the back of his car. From the outside it looks like a regular car, except maybe a little more shiny. A little more smooth. From the inside, it’s completely different. Nothing like the gray bus I came here on, with its plastic bucket seats and cracked window. It’s nothing like the car the woman with kind eyes drove either, where she buckled me into the back and gave me a juice box.

This car doesn’t even have seat belts, just incredibly soft seats. It’s like running my hands over a cloud, and I do it again and again until Ivan sits beside me. There are buttons built into the sides of the car and a little panel in front of us with a screen. And a dark glass wall separating the front and the back.

Luca sits in front, and then the car glides forward.

I’m quiet the rest of the trip. So is Ivan.

Maybe he’s thinking about work. But I know he’s thinking about me. I can feel his attention on me even though he faces the front. His profile looks stark and forbidding, shadows stretching over his face, not quite covering him. I try to shrink myself, to become invisible. I hold my body very still. It’s something I have a lot of practice with, like prayer.

Forgive me, for I have sinned…

* * *

We reach Ivan’s house too quickly. I’m not ready to face what will happen to me here. Not ready to face that I’ve ended up in this position, at another man’s mercy. Wasn’t I supposed to get free? Isn’t that why Mama risked everything?

Except a hundred dollars in cash and a brochure from the bus company didn’t get me very far.

Deep inside, where I don’t usually let myself feel, something sharp and hot burns. Frustration. Anger? Mama would know how to survive in the city. She had lived in one before she went to Harmony Hills. Why didn’t she teach me what I would need to know?

Why didn’t she tell me about men like Ivan?

It doesn’t matter now, because Luca opens the car door. I have no choice but to step outside and look up, up at the never-ending glass and concrete. It doesn’t look like a house. It looks like a sculpture.

It looks like a church.

“No calls tonight,” Ivan says, and Luca nods, wordless.

Luca holds the door open for Ivan and then myself. Lights are set in the wall, high up, so the whole room is bathed in a pale light when we first arrive. Ivan touches a switch, and they grow brighter.

“This way,” he says, leaving me behind.

I almost run to catch up, afraid to be left in this cold land of silver and white. It’s winter, but not made by nature. Made by man. I don’t know why anyone would make something so cold, but maybe Ivan wanted to see his reflection. Maybe he wanted to freeze.

He stops before I can, and I bump into him, the front of my body flush against his hard, unyielding back. I gasp and jump away. “Sorry.”

Beyond a raised eyebrow, he ignores that. “There are clothes in the dresser,” he says, gesturing to an open door. “And toiletries in the bathroom. Don’t—”

I stand there, waiting to hear what I can’t do. Don’t think sinful thoughts. Don’t talk back.

Don’t run away and take a bus to a strange city.

I’m used to being told what not to do, and for most of my life, I obeyed.

“Don’t wander,” he says finally. “It might not be safe.”

Might not be safe from what?

“I won’t,” I say softly. I’m too tired to wander. Too lost to even try. There’s nowhere else to go.

“Get ready for bed,” he says.

His words ring in my head while I go into the room and shut the door. They ring while I find the clothes in the dresser, a random assortment of feminine clothes, T-shirts and dresses, different sizes and colors. They ring while I shower under the hot spray, water burning away the smell of the city.

Get ready for bed.

Almost as if I’m to wait for him. As if he’ll be joining me somehow.

The bed is the largest one I’ve ever seen, but somehow too small for two people. Too small if one of the people is Ivan. He’s physically large and, more than that, terrifying. What will he do to me? I can’t fight him. God, I’m not sure I want to try. Home.

In the end I push back the heavy blankets, almost as thick as my sleeping pallet back in Harmony Hills, and climb onto the bed. The pillow is perfectly soft, so clean, and I let myself drift away. I’m floating on a cloud, plush and high up.

I dream in those moments. I dream about color and light. I dream about the sky.

There is a deep voice from above and all around me, telling me to get on my knees. Commanding me to pray. This is the first time in my life I’ve ever skipped bedtime prayers. The first time I haven’t begged for salvation. I’m not going to beg, not ever again.

The hand on my face doesn’t feel angry. It isn’t a slap for my insolence. It strokes down my temple and cups my cheek. My eyes flutter open. Ivan.

His hand falls away.

“Candace,” he says in the same deep voice of my dream.

And there’s a look in his eyes, the same look Leader Allen gives Mama. The same look he started giving me. That look is the reason Mama sent me away.

“You’ll stay here,” he says softly. “I can’t let you dance, but you can stay.”

The allure of it beats through me, a heart of its own, thumping away to a dream that isn’t mine. Safety. Home. I want those things, but I want freedom more. I want the flash of lights and of skin. I want the power those women had onstage.

Ivan wants to put me in a cage, but what I really want is to fly.

“Okay,” I lie, because one sin becomes many. Leader Allen taught me that, and he was right.

“Good girl.”

The praise washes over me, undeserved and darkly pleasurable, a stroke along my spine. It feels good, but I know what it is. A trap. A chain around my ankle to keep me on the ground. In this moment, it locks me so tight that I’d accept anything he did to me. If he were to touch me the way the woman with the kind eyes meant. The way Leader Allen touches Mama during prayer.

Ivan leans down, and I hold my breath. Large hands take hold of the blanket, lift slightly. I feel everything between us—anticipation and denial, lust and fear corded together. We feel them together, breathe them in through the air, pulse them with each beat of our hearts. It’s a kind of knowledge, this feeling, connecting a thousand nerve points to the core of my body. This is what he meant by teaching me. This and so much more.

Then he pulls the blanket higher, tucking it around me. “Good night,” he says, eyes glittering in the dark.

He is color and light, made even brighter by the silver slate of this house. It’s strange, the disappointment I feel that he isn’t going to touch me. He isn’t going to teach me. Not tonight. “Good night,” I whisper back.

Then he’s gone, shutting the door against the dark, locking me in. And I slide away into sleep, without dreams, without color, with only the shameless black of contentedness, knowing I am safe for the night.

Don’t miss the release of Pretty When You Cry! Sign up for Skye Warren’s newsletter to get new releases, sale announcements and exclusive giveaways.

THANK YOU

Thank you for reading Even Better! I hope you enjoyed the conclusion of Blue and Lola’s story. If you missed their first book, you can read Better When It Hurts now. Or if you’d like to start at the beginning of the Stripped series, Tough Love is the free prequel novella.

Pretty When You Cry comes out in October! Sign up for my newsletter today.

You can discuss this book in my Facebook group for fans: Skye Warren’s Dark Room

I appreciate your help in spreading the word, including telling a friend. Reviews help readers find books! Please leave a review on your favorite book site.

If you love the sexy Stripped series, you’ll really enjoy the dark and dangerous Chicago Underground series. If you love a strong-and-silent-type hero, this one’s for you…

Click here to start reading Rough now!

Other Books by Skye Warren

Standalone Dark Romance

Wanderlust

On the Way Home

His for Christmas

Hear Me

Take the Heat

Stripped series

Tough Love (prequel)

Love the Way You Lie

Better When It Hurts

Even Better

Pretty When You Cry

Chicago Underground series

Rough

Hard

Fierce

Wild

Dirty

Secret

Sweet

Criminals and Captives series

Prisoner

Dark Nights series

Keep Me Safe

Trust in Me

Don’t Let Go

Dark Nights Boxed Set

The Beauty series

Beauty Touched the Beast

Beneath the Beauty

Broken Beauty

Beauty Becomes You

The Beauty Series Compilation

Loving the Beauty: A Beauty Epilogue

About the Author

Skye Warren is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of dark romance. Her books are raw, sexual and perversely romantic.

www.skyewarren.com/newsletter

Like Skye Warren on Facebook:

facebook.com/skyewarren

Join Skye Warren’s Dark Room reader group:

skyewarren.com/darkroom

Follow Skye Warren on Twitter:

twitter.com/skye_warren

Visit Skye’s website for her current booklist:

www.skyewarren.com

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. Except for use in a review, the reproduction or use of this work in any part is forbidden without the express written permission of the author.

EPUB Edition

Cover design by Book Beautiful

Formatting by BB Ebooks

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six