CHAPTER ONE ~ Free Read: Hard-Pressed by Queenie Black

HARD-PRESSED

Club Hard, 1

Queenie Black Copyright © 2019

Chapter One 

Rose

I mounted the six shallow steps and faced the double front doors. Twin carriage lights cast a soft gleam over the brass plaque with its discrete lettering:

Club Hard
Private Members Only

I desperately wanted to run back down the steps, leap into my car, and drive home, but if I did, nothing would change, and I’d go back to dividing my time between working out, Candy Crush Saga, and the occasional night out with my friends. I might miss out on learning something about myself, something that could make a difference in my sex life. Worse, I might miss a chance at love.

I stayed, my feet rooted to the floor, but the insides of my hands were so damp, my finger slipped on the brass bell, setting off a short, discordant jangling. I winced as I rang it again properly this time. That certainly wouldn’t endear me to anyone.

Shifting from foot to foot, trying to keep the blood circulating in my toes, I looked around. Behind me, the gravel drive snaked away to a discreet carpark, and trees and shrubs created shadows within shadows. Autumn had finally reached London and in this exclusive part of it, crisp, clean air and earthy leaf mulch replaced the smell of fast food and exhaust.

I shifted again, starting to get irritated. If you were going to demand a woman wear nothing but a skirt that barely covered her butt, and a top that was little more than a bit of elastic bandage—on me it was ridiculous, if I sneezed, I’d pop out over the top—then you should damn well open the door promptly. Now, despite wearing my warmest coat over the absurd ensemble, there was a distinct draught zipping under my hem and freezing my exposed butt cheeks.

I lifted my finger to stab the bell again, and the door swung open.

Bloody hell. A real butler. I was no stranger to mansions with staff. Working as a bodyguard meant I saw the inside of a lot of wealthy homes, but so far, a liveried butler was a new one to me.

“Can I help you?”

I cleared my throat, wondering if there was any etiquette for addressing a butler, aware that my finger was still lurking in the vicinity of his eye. “Umm, I’m, ah, it’s Ms. Dainty. To see Mr. Dufort. I’m expected.”

He waved me through into a large marble-floored hall with a fire burning at one side. A wide, elegant staircase at the back curved away to the upper floors.

“I’ll inform Mr. Dufort that you’re here, if you’d like to take a seat.” He indicated a collection of sofas and easy chairs huddled as if for warmth around the fireplace. I made a beeline for the heat.

“May I take your coat?”

I crossed my arms tightly. No way was I exposing my scantily clad self. “Ah, thanks, but I’m a bit cold.”

“I see my guest has arrived, Henry.”

I turned away from the fire to see Lucien Dufort crossing the hall toward me. The floor seemed to drop a few inches and I had to grab the back of a chair to steady myself as his delicious, rich chocolate voice with its faint French accent wound around me, setting my heart hammering.

A tall, elegant man, he moved toward me with predatory intent, covering the floor in loose, confident strides, but it was his eyes that held my gaze, dark eyes, sharp with intelligence and power. He wasn’t a handsome man. His narrow-bladed Gallic nose, inherited from his mother, was slightly overlarge for that, but his lips were sensual, and the mix of tenderness and lust in his expression as he looked at me sent electric tingles charging down my spine.

“Rose, welcome to Club Hard.” He lifted my hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, his tongue flickering into the little hollow between my two smallest fingers, mimicking the act of sex. Normally, that would be an instant turn-off, but when Lucien did it, everything inside me melted. I tugged my hand free and shoved it into my coat pocket. This was bad. We hadn’t even started yet and my hormones were doing a happy dance.

“Your coat, ma petite.”

I undid the buttons reluctantly and he stripped it off my shoulders, giving it to Henry before indicating my feet. “Barefoot, please.”

I obeyed, steadying myself with one hand on Lucien’s forearm. I could have rested it there all day, enjoying the feel of thick bone and the flex of hard muscles, but I quickly unzipped my boots and gave them to Henry, who took them as solemnly as if I was handing him the crown jewels for safekeeping. He disappeared, taking my things with him, and I stood shivering, waiting for Lucien to say or do something. I shouldn’t have felt vulnerable. I fought with this amount of flesh on display, so it shouldn’t have bothered me, yet insecurity and apprehension crept hand-in-hand up my spine. “Lucien?”

He cupped my chin, his palm warm and sure, his thumb stroking my cheekbone in a gesture I found calming. “Tonight, you will address me as Monsieur, or Sir.” His words sank deep inside me, reaching a place I wasn’t aware existed. A place I didn’t want to believe existed. I stepped back, dislodging his hand.

Lucien’s cheek creased in amusement. “So, ma belle perle, the challenge begins. Are you ready?”

No, of course, I’m not ready. Instead, I said, “Bring it on.”

Lucien’s sharp gaze zeroed in on my hands which were clasped tightly at my waist to hide their faint tremor, and I was reminded that nothing escaped this man’s notice. Thankfully, all he said was, “Follow me.”

He led me out of the hall and through an oak-paneled reception area, nodding briefly at the man behind the desk. Then we were in a short corridor where I noted the doors were marked with locker room and toilet symbols. A man wearing a uniform that identified him as housekeeping staff exited what looked like a broom closet. I nodded at him, but he missed it, his gaze fixed on Lucien’s

back. The hairs on my neck prickled. Man, if ever someone’s look needed to be classified as poisonous, it was his.

At the end of the corridor, Lucien pushed a large, carved wooden door open and indicated I should precede him. I stepped through and stopped short, my mild apprehension segueing into deeper anxiety.

The room, which seemed to extend along the whole of the back of the building, was filled with the sound of edgy music. The throb of it vibrated through the soles of my bare feet and the air was heavy with groans, mixed with the slaps and thuds of impact toys. Cleaning products provided a base note for polish, leather, and sex and combined, the scents created a visceral reaction in me that made my nipples perk up.

Roped-off play areas and other sections, some very public, some giving the illusion of privacy, were full of mysterious equipment that sent shivers of wary anticipation up my spine. In one of them, a Dom in leather trousers secured his naked sub to an X- shaped cross.

Chr ... criminy. Ingrained habit made me swallow back the swear words even when I was only thinking them. My boss, the owner of Eagle Protection Services, was particular that we shouldn’t swear. He didn’t want us offending any of the princesses, did he? But man, that room filled me with a strange mix of feelings. I took a step back and came up against Lucien’s hard frame. He drew me more closely into his body, circling my waist with one arm, and his heat and sheer physical presence grounded me.

“Easy, chérie, you’ve seen this before. Calm down.”

I tried, gulping in breaths laden with his spicy cologne. He was right, I had seen this sort of thing before. In the nine months I’d protected Lucien, I’d caught some glimpses of him sceneing with subs. I’d also done enough internet research to fill in most of the gaps in my knowledge. None of it prepared me for the reality, the raw, primal sexuality of it.

“Evening, Lucien.” A Domme sauntered past, leading her female sub on a chain.

Stop being a wimp. I straightened my spine and Lucien gave my arms a quick squeeze that felt like approval.

Just to my left, a gleaming oval bar hummed with customers, and subs carried trays of drinks, flitting to and from seating areas like hummingbirds. Against one wall, a full buffet table provided a hub where people chatted and helped themselves to food. A Domme fed morsels from her plate to the male sub kneeling at her feet.

At the bar, Lucien indicated a stool. “Sit.”

I obeyed, muttering, “Woof,” under my breath.

“Did you say something?”

I shook my head, taken aback by how his expression had
chilled, but at the same time, amazed at how it set off a quiver deep in my core. I placed my hand on my abdomen to still it.

“What can I get you, Lucien?”

I huffed a silent breath of relief as Lucien turned his attention to the bartender. A second later, when I saw who the bartender was, I did a double-take.

“Your brother?” I whisper-yelled at Lucien.

He shrugged. “Why not?”

Why not? Because his brother, or to be precise, his half-brother, was a freakin’ Lord, an Earl of somewhere or other. Their father had been a very naughty young man and had ended up marrying the English girl who he’d gotten into trouble rather than the French one, even though both women had been from the same sort of upper social class. He’d acknowledged both boys though, and Lucien had grown up with all the advantages of being a Lord’s son and none of the disadvantages, such as crumbling estates and heritage, to worry about. As young men fresh out of university, the brothers had gone into business together and now had a very successful line of seriously elite kink clubs and a huge chain of less-contentious spa and gyms.

I stared at this aristocratic barman who was also Lucien’s brother, trying to dig his name out of my memory while a whole lot of thoughts went whizzing through my head. I’d have had to be dead not to notice his air of authority and his good looks. Other than the nose and eye color, he and Lucien were very similar. Calthorpe! That was it. George Julian Humphrey Calthorpe. The file on Lucien, which we had all seen when we took him on as a client, contained some basic information on his brother too.

Calthorpe smiled at me and said, “There’s no need to feel uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” I shot back, unhappy at being seen in any way vulnerable, “I’m just wondering if I should curtsy.”

His expression darkened at my sass, all his previous warmth disappearing, and I sucked in a breath at the sudden chill. 

Ignoring me now, which felt distinctly better, Calthorpe addressed his next comment to Lucien. “New subbie? I’ve not seen her around before but she looks familiar.” His gaze assessed me, lingering over my body. When it reached my face, I met his stare head-on with a frown to let him know I didn’t approve of his blatant appraisal. Instead of being intimidated, amusement lightened his expression and he said, “Looks like she needs some training.”

“When you last saw her, she was my bodyguard.”

“That’s where I know her from.” His gaze sharpened on me again. “Not your normal type, is she?”

I should have felt irritation at the way he was discussing me. Instead, a sliver of hurt wormed its way into my heart. Not your normal type... Okay, so I didn’t fit Lucien’s usual mold. I didn’t need anyone to rub that in. Firstly, it was rude and secondly, it was obvious. The truth was that compared to all the subs, usually Disney- princess types, I’d ever seen Lucien with, I was more like Mrs. Shrek, except without the green. A bit harsh maybe, but a girl had to recognize her limitations, and at six-feet tall and ripped—yes, I did actually have the whole eight pack happening—I didn’t look the part. I was fit and I worked as a bodyguard, and in my spare time, I did MMA. That tended to mean kicking the shit out of opponents, not watching other people do it, and it meant I did intimidating, rather than pretty or sexy. In fact, I didn’t really do sex at all anymore. Finding a man who wasn’t scared to date a woman who could whoop his ass one-handed was difficult and usually not worth the effort. Sex was overrated, in my opinion. It was boring and messy, and to put it bluntly, the juice just wasn’t worth the squeeze.

Lucien was the only man who’d tempted me in the last two or three years, but he came with a hell of a lot of kink.

Could I live with that or, more to the point, could he live without it?

That was the question I was here to find the answer to. “Rose.”

Lucien’s voice broke in on my thoughts. I scowled. I hate
people calling me Rose.

“Call me Ro,” I said automatically and then when I focused on Lucien and saw his expression, quickly added, “Sir.”

“Well recovered, ma perle, but you know the rules. Where should a sub’s attention be at all times?”

I swore my core did this involuntary clenching thing at his stern look, and my nipples bunched. It took me by surprise and I hated it and liked it at the same time. It was nice to know I wasn’t dead sexually from the neck down. On the other hand, if this kinky lark was turning me on, that meant Lucien might be right. He believed I was submissive and that was what tonight was all about. Him proving I was, and me proving I wasn’t. I didn’t want to be submissive, because I reckoned being submissive made me fundamentally weak and I couldn’t afford to be weak. So having my body come alive and proving me wrong wasn’t part of the plan.

Okay, I was confused, so what? No one ever said it was simple.

“Rose, where should your attention be?”

His annoyed tone drew me back with a start and I tried to focus on answering his question. “Umm, on my Dom?”

“And who is that, Rose?”

I glared at his repeated use of my full name.

“Lose the look.” Lucien’s silky tone held a clear warning and when I cast a quick glance at his face, his brows were drawn together. Yup, I’d managed to seriously piss him off. I didn’t like the feeling of letting him down, so I forced my facial muscles into something less confrontational.

“That’s better, now answer my question.”

I scrabbled around in what was left of my brain and said, “You?”

“I like the question mark on the end,” Calthorpe said with a grin. “She sounds as if she isn’t sure.”

“No worries, Cal, she’ll be very sure by the time the evening ends.” There was a delicious threat in his words that made me do a little wriggle on the barstool. I squeezed my thighs together, trying to find a bit of relief from the growing ache.

“Uh-uh.” Lucien shook his head at me. “Spread those thighs. You need to be fully accessible to your Master at all times.”

I looked around to check if anyone was watching and damn if Lucien didn’t read my thoughts. He caught my chin. “It doesn’t matter if anyone else is watching. I should be your only concern right now. I’m getting tired of your inattention and disobedience. Continue like this and there will be a punishment before the evening is over.”

I parted my thighs a little to placate him, and he nodded encouragingly. “That’s better, but it’s not enough. Spread them further or you will be punished.”

Punishment? My lungs constricted, and I sucked in a panicked breath. Uh-oh. No. Quickly, I obeyed, spreading my thighs as widely as I could, hooking my ankles around the legs of the stool. My skirt rode up and, aware that I was flashing the world, I tried to smooth it down. It didn’t work, and the skirt kept rolling back up. Thank heavens I’d put on a thong, otherwise, there’d have been no end to what I was showing.

Lucien’s smile at my skirt quandary dropped. “What is that?”

Hot color flooded my face when I saw where he was looking, and I hid my embarrassment under sass, pulling a Duh! face. “A thong.”

Thankfully, he ignored my grimace. “Did I specify underwear?”

“No.”

“Then why are you wearing it?”

“I figured you must have forgotten to include it.”

The brief deepening of the lines that bracketed Lucien’s mouth hinted at amusement but his voice remained unyielding as he commanded, “Remove them now, Rose.”

I shook my head.

Lucien turned to Cal, who was following keenly from his place behind the bar. “Do you have a knife behind there?”

“Sure.” Cal handed over the small, plastic-handled serrated blade he’d been using to slice lemons.

Lucien flowed off his barstool in one graceful movement. “Stand up,” he instructed.

I hesitated, eyeing his knife.

“You have two seconds, Rose. If you don’t obey, you’ll lose the skirt as well as the thong.”
I obeyed, pleased that at least my own movements were graceful too. It seemed all those martial arts I did had extra benefits. I smoothed the skirt back down my thighs.

“Raise your skirt.”

“What?” I’d just lowered the damn thing and he wanted me to raise it?

Lucien sighed and turned to Cal. “She’s questioning me again.

What do you suggest?”

“Hmm, let’s see.” Cal rubbed his chin. “She’s had one warning already so I’d chalk up three, I think.”

Three? Three what? “Are you talking about spanking?” My voice squeaked embarrassingly.

“Your only acceptable response is, ‘Yes, Monsieur.’” 

Uh-oh, I was meant to give instant obedience and here I was digging in my heels and being mouthy again. “Yes, Monsieur,” I said meekly and raised my skirt until it just uncovered my lower cheeks, which wasn’t very far since it was super-short anyway.

“I might have allowed that,” Lucien said, harshly, “but your disobedience means now you’re going to pull it right up until it’s around your waist.”

Keeping all my swear words tucked safely behind my teeth because I was in enough trouble already, I pulled the stupid thing up as high as he ordered, doing it sharply like tearing off a Band-Aid.

A satisfied look settled on Lucien’s face at my obedience and he shifted me out from the cover of the barstools with one large hand framing my hip, exposing my nearly naked butt to anyone who happened to be walking by. My face went scarlet and my insides clenched.

No way! I closed my eyes against the realization. How did I not know this about myself? I didn’t want to be turned on by being put on display, but dammit, I was.

“Eyes on me, chérie.”

Lucien’s voice had that deep Dom command to it and my eyes popped open before I could even think about it. He caught my gaze briefly and his look was so full of predatory intent and promise, it rocked me back on my heels and made me lightheaded. While I was recovering, he slid the blade under the elastic at my hip. The cold, blunt back of it dragged against my skin as the fabric gave. Shivers radiated out from where smooth metal touched me, hyper-sensitizing my skin.

“Now the other side.” When he’d cut both sides, he sent the knife spinning back across the bar to Cal who dropped it in the sink before moving on to serve another customer. The only thing holding my underwear up was the pressure from my thighs, which I’d clamped together, and the thin piece of fabric separating my cheeks, which I’d also clamped together.

Lucien made me the focus of his attention again. “Spread your thighs.”

When I didn’t move fast enough or spread them wide enough, he gave my thigh a little two-fingered warning tap of encouragement. “Wider.”

I obeyed reluctantly, and he slowly and deliberately tugged my panties loose, sliding the white lace between my cheeks and over the tender flesh between my legs. Shivers and sparks danced across my skin, raising goosebumps. I couldn’t suppress the whimper that escaped.

Download HARD-PRESSED here:
Evernight Pub | Amazon | iTunes | B&N | Kobo | Smashwords

Chapter One Preview: THE BIGFOOT MURDERS by Megan Gaudino

THE BIGFOOT MURDERS

"I absolutely loved this book! It is the perfect (and unexpected) combination of Bigfoot & romance. I’ve been a fan of all of Megan Gaudino's books and this one does not disappoint!" ~ 5 STAR AMAZON REVIEW

Megan Gaudino Copyright © 2019

Chapter One

I leaned against the painted, cinderblock wall like if I wasn’t standing there to hold it up, the whole place would collapse. That could’ve been partially true. Chunks of crumbled cement littered the floor like piles of sand.

My nerves had gotten the best of me, making my movements jittery. I joined Brooke on the narrow bench and tried to keep my knees from bouncing up and down. She didn’t look nervous, braiding and then unbraiding her hair while we waited for the news that would shape the rest of our lives.

Internships were limited to begin with, and the candidate who landed it ended up in a similar, if not the exact same position ninety percent of the time. Being in the other ten percent, the failed percent, wasn’t an option for me. I wanted better.

Pappy Law deserved better.

Detective Drew Witherall had been in his office for way too long. The decision should’ve been easy for him. I was the obvious choice. I was the one who spent all my free time at the station. I was the one who read true crime novels faster than they could be written. I was the one who had a legacy to fulfill. And, I didn’t want to throw my name around, but I was the only Holly who applied.

When I felt like I couldn’t wait a second longer, the door creaked open and Detective Witherall stepped out.

“Fiona.” He scratched at his neatly trimmed beard. “You can come in now.”

I glanced at Brooke before I stood up, to check her reaction and see the defeat in her eyes. As I crossed the hall, Detective Witherall held the door open, forcing me to squeeze past him in the cramped space.

“Have a seat.” He gestured to the folding chair across from his desk and let the door close.

I sat on my hands to keep them from shaking as I imagined how I’d celebrate. My application sat on his desk, poking out from under Brooke’s. Why was hers on top?

“Fiona.” He dropped into his chair, stirring up dust motes in the light from the window behind him. “You and Brooke are both strong candidates, and I know you’d work your ass off for this, but...” He trailed off, shifting in his seat like he was waiting for me to finish for him. When I didn’t, he added, “I had to go with Brooke. I don’t know what to say.”

I sat there staring at him, his face resembling a Ken doll’s when my eyes filled with tears. Speaking wasn’t an option. I’d cry if I spoke, and Drew seeing me cry would only make his decision not to choose me more valid. My arms and legs stuck to the chair as if they were filled with lead. If I could’ve just stood up, nodded, and walked out, I could’ve at least saved face. But I didn’t do that.

“You could start by saying what I did wrong.” When a tear squeezed out, I wiped it away with the back of my hand. Drew was polite enough to ignore it.

“Nothing. You know how much I enjoy you spending time down here with me and the guys, and you’ve been a big help, but I have to be serious about my interns. Hell, no one was more serious about them than Law. I had to go with my gut, who I thought would be the best, and that was Brooke.”

“Brooke is supposed to be setting curlers at the Chatter Box, not down here solving crimes with you. What will the MacIvers think when their only daughter tells them she wants to be a cop?”

Drew’s lip turned up in one corner. “They’ll think the same thing your grandfather thought when your dad wanted to become a teacher. Can you blame her for wanting to get into something more exciting?”

“Yes,” I snapped.

“Well, then maybe you can work at the salon.” His eyes narrowed.

My fingers reached for the golf pencil tied around my neck with a leather strap. I always wore it and kept a notepad in my pocket, in case I needed to write down clues for a case, because Pappy Law used to do that. Because I was the better choice for the internship. Brooke didn’t even take notes in class.

“So this is what the death of a dream feels like.” I pushed up from the chair. Drew stood too, planting his hands on his belt. “It really, really sucks. You know I’m the better choice.”

“I do know, Fiona. And I know how bad you want to be a detective. That’s why I’m doing this. Your pap thought you hung the moon, which is nice and all for you, but it didn’t make you hungry. Use this disappointment to push you to work harder. I wouldn’t have solved those murders if I wasn’t pushed so hard when I was younger, and I’m doing the same for you.”

My hunger clawed at my stomach with iron talons and kept me up at night. My hunger murmured a rumble of resentment at my father for not following in the Holly family footsteps of joining the force. My hunger led me to promise Pappy Law, on his deathbed, that I would follow in his footsteps.

Drew knew nothing of hunger, and it wasn’t worth explaining it to him.

I gnawed on the inside of my cheek, fought my eye roll, and nodded.

“Thanks.”

I stood, but the whole office tilted left and my lungs struggled to inflate like punctured balloons. I blinked. Hard. The tears had to stay inside but everything inside was on fire.

When I opened the door to leave, Drew said, “I hope to still see you around, Fiona.”

Brooke looked up as soon as I stepped in the hall, a small smile on her lips, surely hearing what he just said. Drew wouldn’t see me around. I wasn’t going to file his papers and play his secretary while Brooke got to do all the fun stuff. I ignored him.

“Congratulations,” I told Brooke.

Pappy Law’s picture hung by the doors. I swore he wore a little frown that wasn’t there before. I swore I’d do whatever I could to change that.

The sun slowly warmed everything all afternoon, gearing up for the approaching summer, but the heat hardly touched me. Everything was different, like it was happening to someone else. I wasn’t going to be the Ridgeview Prep student with the internship at the station. Everything I wanted, everything I worked for, everything I was meant to be had been ripped from me and sat in Brooke’s neatly manicured hands.

Degan waited at the end of the sidewalk. He stood in a patch of shade cast by an oak tree with a huge smile on his face and bouquet of wildflowers clutched in his hand. He remembered. Even without me telling him.

“So?” His long, dark hair got caught up in the wind and covered half his face. He brushed it back, revealing the full charm of his umber eyes.

“Brooke got it.” That was easier to say than I didn’t get it.

“Are you doing the old fake-out trick?” He laughed and held out the yellow and orange flowers. I took them from him, the gesture meaning as much to me as if they were diamonds.

“No.”

Degan’s smile finally faded as he realized I was telling the truth. “I’m sorry, Fi.”

I shrugged like it didn’t matter, like I didn’t care. Like my future hadn’t just turned to ash. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. You worked really hard for this. You deserve this. I don’t understand why it’s not you.”

“Yeah, well, me either.” I glanced back at the station. The loss of my dream made the building seem so far away, or maybe that was just because my goal was far away. My fingers grew restless as my heart beat with hallow purpose.

I promised Pappy Law. I promised myself.

“We should go talk to him.” Degan side-stepped me to head back toward the station. “Brooke didn’t even want it. She only applied because she wanted to piss off her mom. She said she was going to work at the salon. She said she wants to work at the salon. She said this sounded the easiest.”

My blood finally reached the boiling point, my tears turning to steam that fueled my anger.

“Degan.” I grabbed his arm and gave it a gentle tug. “You can’t go in there and demand Detective Witherall change his mind.”

He stopped walking but studied the station like he was going to try anyway. “But he made the wrong choice. You’re a better detective than he is already.”

“Thanks for saying that, but you can’t go in there.”

“Yeah.” He nodded and brought his gaze back to me. “I guess not.

It’s not fair though. You’re a Holly. It’d be like someone telling me I couldn’t work on my own family’s farm.”

An unexpected jealousy pulled at my thoughts. Degan’s family had kept his farm for longer than anyone had record of and no one could stop him tending to it.

“No. It’s not fair. And yeah, it would be.” I brought the flowers to my nose and inhaled the sweet scent. Degan Bone gave me flowers. I’d dreamed of this day since we met in kindergarten. I had fallen in love with him for already knowing how to write the whole alphabet.

Flowers can mean many different things when they are given, but flowers from Degan only meant one thing. We’d been almost-together for so long I worried it’d become our permanent state, like fake flowers. Always there, always beautiful, but not alive. Not quite right.

“Want to come back to the farm with me? We can help my mom make the cornbread you love so much. I’ve been wanting to learn how anyway.”

Keeping in the tradition of things in my life being unfair... “I can’t. I have to go to headquarters and report for duty.”

“That sucks.” He ran his hand through his hair, pulling it out of his face again. “But I did think of a new sabotage last night.”

“Yeah?” The idea of a new way to mess with my mom’s precious reality TV show got a real smile out of me. “What is it?”

****

I was a timeshare condo of a person. Every other Wednesday, and weekends, I spent time with my mom. Not because she wanted to, or even because I wanted to, but because the court said to.

It was only possible to get to HQ by hiking, four-wheeler, or SUV. It was tucked in the middle of Wandering Woods, down a path that was always only one or two days away from being completely overgrown. I stopped my Jeep on the cement pad near the ever-changing fleet of SUVs.

All the electronic activity from inside HQ made the outside buzz like a hive. They truly didn’t understand how to hunt. If they really wanted to catch Bigfoot, or anything, HQ would’ve blended in with the woods like a tree.

Cables thick like snakes wore marks in the door and acted like a makeshift security system for strangers who didn’t know their reach. I shouldered the door open and hoped to see Jasper or Amber waiting for me. Not Mom or Pearl. Jasper and Amber were easiest to distract while I did something to set back production a day or two. I’d hide a camera, unplug the GPS to keep it from charging, anything to annoy Mom.

No one waited inside the tiny living room. The threadbare couch sat empty and the concrete floor made my feet cold through my boots. Everything about the cabin made my veins fill with ice water. It was minimalistic in a way that wasn’t stylish, just lazy.

I set off to find Gems. If no one was around, I could pull major, uninterrupted sabotage.

What started out as a two-room hunting cabin turned into a sprawling fortress of bizarrely connected rooms. The cluttered, fast-food- container-filled kitchen opened into a long hall that every important room sprouted from. Mom’s voice sounded from the bathroom to the right. With the door open just a crack, I caught a glimpse of her frizzy, brown hair before I moved down the hall and out of sight.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” The words came out annoyed. 

“Lawrence... Lawrence ... you’re not even letting me speak.” 

Dad. They were fighting again. I knew that because they usually only spoke when they had to fight about something. I froze in place so I wouldn’t make a sound and listened.

“Because I am busy and forcing quality time on me isn’t helping our relationship.” When she paused, I had to hold my breath. What she meant was she was too busy for me. “I have a show to do, and I know youdon’t understand the amount of work that takes, but I need to get the deal for a third season. I’m not saying she can’t come over, but she has to call and I have to okay it. I don’t need this shit right now.”

She didn’t want to see me the few, measly days we were scheduled to be together because the show was more important. Just the potential for a third season was more important. Stupid, nonexistent Bigfoot was more important. Tears welled in my eyes but I’d already cried today, and I wasn’t about to do it again. If my own mom didn’t want to spend time with me, how could I have expected Detective Witherall to? My fingers clenched into fists as my devastated heart stitched itself back together with threads of rage.

I walked on silent feet farther down the hall, tuning out Mom’s excuses for the solutions Dad was undoubtedly offering her. My goal was to get in the editing room and destroy something, take out some of the pain on something that meant more to her than I did. Amber and Pearl sat behind the control panel, both wearing monstrous headsets, their fingers flicking over computer mice. I didn’t even notice them at first, with how quiet they were. They looked like silent DJs. I did a sweep of the room to see where Jasper was hiding, but I couldn’t find him.

With that plan out, I headed toward the garage. Degan’s idea about the tires sounded good. New tires were expensive, and Mom should have to pay for something.

When I got to the door at the end of the hall, Jasper’s handheld camera resting on the desk called to me like a siren song. Crouching down so I could be at eye level with the camera, I flipped it on its side and checked the memory card slot. The thin, blue rectangle barely poked out of its spot. It was risky, because Jasper was still unaccounted for, but I clicked the camera on, rewound for a few seconds, and hit play.

The footage showed The Gems, my mom’s group, stomping through the woods. Mom and Dad couldn’t fight forever, but I could still hear her in the bathroom, her voice rising a few notches in irritation. My fingers fumbled as I hurried to find the delete button, knocking the camera on its side again.

When I found it, I only paused for a fraction of a second, my adrenaline pumping, to think about what I was going to do. Was I really willing to be so destructive?

Yes.

Just the slightest pressure from my fingertip caused the camera to beep with a sad bloop sound, and just like that, the footage was gone.

“Fiona?” Jasper’s deep voice sounded from my right. I hadn’t even heard the door to the garage open.

“I—I—uh...” I trailed off. His large stature never felt more imposing.

“What happened?” He wiped his grease-covered hands on his jeans and kept the acquisition out of his voice. When he picked the camera up to check the footage, he asked, “Did it somehow get deleted?”

Good old Jasper, with his heart as pure as his head was bald, still giving me the benefit of the doubt. 

“I’m not sure.”

“When did you get here?” Mom. She stood next to Jasper with her jeans hung low on her hips because they were at least two sizes too big. Putting on the show and looking for Bigfoot were all that mattered to her. More than food. More than me.

“I can’t find the footage we shot yesterday,” Jasper interrupted.

“What?” She snatched the camera from his hands. “That was good stuff and now it’s gone?” She hit the buttons like she knew what she was doing, but Mom was never behind the camera, only in front. The screen remained blank, lifeless. “Dammit, Jasper. What happened to it?”

He glanced at me, then back to Mom. “I’m not sure. I must’ve messed it up.”

“Seriously? You messed it up? We can’t just mess things up.” Her voice rose with every word.

Jasper tried to take the camera from her, but Mom shrugged him off, turning her shoulder to keep it away from him. “I’m really sorry, Ruby. We can go out again today or I’ll edit old stuff together. It’ll be fine,” Jasper said, desperate to placate my mom.

Mom set the camera back down on the desk while my chest hammered like the Tell-Tale Heart was in there.

“This is unacceptable. I can’t believe you’d be so careless. We don’t need this kind of setback right now, and you’re really pissing me off with your lax attitude.”

There was no better wake-up call for my actions than seeing how they immediately impacted someone else. Mom deserved the sabotage. Jasper did not. And worse yet, he was getting blamed for what I did and taking it like a champ.

“Mom.”

She ignored me, probably forgetting I was there the moment show drama came up. She stepped closer to Jasper like she could intimidate him. He had almost two feet on her.

“I’m too busy for this. You need to fix it. Get it back. I’m not filming again because you can’t keep your camera under control.”

“Mom.” The guilt clawed at my throat, choking me.

“Ruby, come on.” Jasper laughed like she wasn’t in his face with crazy, angry eyes. “It’s no big deal.”

“Incompetence is a big deal. And if you think it’s so funny, you can be replaced.”

No. No. No. I couldn’t let that happen when Jasper was only trying to protect me. 

“Mom.”

“Fiona, what?” She turned to me, throwing her hands up as she did. “I’m busy here.”

“I deleted the video.”

Find THE BIGFOOT MURDERS here:

Evernight Teen | Amazon | iTunes | Kobo | Smashwords

Chapter One Preview: How Long Is Forever? by Erin M. Leaf

HOW LONG IS FOREVER?

Erin M. Leaf 

Copyright © 2019

Chapter One

“Charlie, I have a towel for you,” Eva called from the relative shelter of the front door overhang. She’d squished herself up against her house, hoping to keep from getting wet as she held the cotton fabric in front of her like a shield.
The man on the ladder spared a moment to fake scowl at her as the rain continued to pour down on him without mercy. A towel would do him no good at all until he finished his task and they both knew it, but she had to offer, right? It was only polite, after all. She held the towel out, half apologetically. Charlie shook his head at her, light brown eyes amused, then plunged his hands back into the clogged gutter.
Eva blushed and awkwardly tucked the towel under her arm. Embarrassment had her ducking her head. She wasn’t sure if it was his expression, the water plastering every piece of clothing to his sculpted, muscular body, or her stupid comment, but it didn’t really matter, did it?
“Sorry,” she mumbled, knowing he couldn’t hear her. She wished her dad were still alive to spare her this situation.
“I’ll be done with this side in a moment, Eva,” Charlie said, instead of yelling at her like another guy might. Then he coughed as dirty rainwater ran into his mouth. Eva cringed in sympathetic horror—those gutters were full of rotting leaves—but he shook his head like one of those dudes in a shampoo commercial, and all her sympathy went out the window as the spectacle of Charlie wet through to the bone registered against her retinas. The man was fine. He was more than fine, actually. He was the stuff girls’ dreams were made of: all wet, flowing hair, solid muscle, and competence rolled up into a tight, teasing package of male awesomeness.

Eva bit her cheek, hoping the pain would jolt her out of her fixation on him, but all it did was make her wince. Charlie was a hell of a man, and he was here, right now, helping her out of a nasty situation.
“Girlhood crush, still ongoing,” she muttered to herself, almost resentfully. If there was one thing she had always known in her life, it was that her father had loved her deeply and unconditionally, and she’d loved him back just as much. Growing up, that was all she’d needed. If he were still alive, he’d be the one up there on that ladder, and she wouldn’t be stuck here staring at his best friend, Charlie Greenwood: wet as hell and just as hot.
Because the second thing that she’d always known in her life was that her dad’s friend Charlie was probably the nicest man in the world. Certainly nicer than her stupid Uncle Albert, her mother’s brother, who had made himself a nosy, leering pest ever since her mother had died a year and a few months after her dad. Fuck cancer. And fuck sepsis. The infection had got her dad, and the cancer had taken her mother a year ago after he’d died. And so, after three horrible years of illness and hospitals and grief and railing against the unfairness of it all, Eva was alone, at the ripe old age of twenty-one, in the little house she’d inherited from her parents. And the gutters were clogged all to hell after the torrential rain this autumn. To top it all off, she hated heights, and that meant she needed help.
Enter Charlie, stage left, she thought, looking at his butt. His wet jeans clung in all the right places. She bet it made for a great handhold during sex, not that she’d know. She hadn’t had time or inclination or opportunity for anything even remotely resembling a relationship, let alone a hookup in the past few years. Grief had a way of stopping life in its tracks. She hadn’t even really begun life yet, anyway, before everything happened. She’d never been on a date. Never kissed anyone. She glanced down at herself, frowning at her generously-sized figure. And it’s not like anyone’s ever lined up to play footsie with me, anyway.

“Almost done,” Charlie called out as he balanced on the ladder over top of the front walkway. Water cascaded down over his ridiculously ripped body while he dragged out huge handfuls of rotting leaves from the top of the downspout. Charlie was hands down the hottest man she’d ever met in her life, and she remembered well her utter dismay at age fourteen when she’d first realized that she’d have a crush on him forever. That knowledge was enough to squeeze her insides into a tight, uncomfortable knot whenever he was around, which was more often than she’d ever expected him to be now that her dad was gone.
You shouldn’t be staring at his ass, she told herself, but she couldn’t seem to help it. He’s probably twenty years older than you, you idiot, the voice of reason in her head also said, but it didn’t matter. Her gaze was firmly stuck on Charlie as he stretched out his arm again—insane muscles bunching under his sopping wet, faded green t-shirt. He reached into the clogged gutter to haul out a stinking, evil wad of decaying leaves and God only knew what else and flung the mess onto the ground. Of course, it was still raining. It was always freaking raining these days. The roof had started leaking into the living room above the bay window because the gutters were blocked. And because Eva’s mom had been just as afraid of heights as Eva, no one had gone up there in several years to pull out the leaves. Charlie was who she’d had to call for help, and there he was right now. Soaking wet, right in front of her.
In all his glory.
Another thing Eva had always known was that she was abominably tall for a girl, and she definitely weighed too much, because the size sixteen jeans she used to wear didn’t go up over her hips right anymore. And she didn’t fit into normal sized bras. And most guys looked tiny to her as she stared down at them, so she had never managed a date, let alone a first kiss or any of the other normal things teenage girls did with boys. She’d been too large and too smart most of her childhood in comparison to the other girls at school, and then she’d been grieving, and so now here she stood, staring at Charlie because he was so damned perfect and she couldn’t help herself. Charlie was the only man she knew who towered over her.
Eva was twenty-one years old, and everything about her life sucked right now, except her dad’s best friend, who, at six feet five inches of gloriously muscled manhood, was taller than she was.

Charlie made her feel positively petite. And he always came when she needed him. And that was why, as she stood under the eaves of the front porch, watching him throw stinking, awful gunk from the gutters onto the ground in the pouring rain, that she suddenly decided that enough was enough.
She was going to ask him for help with something far more embarrassing, and much more bothersome than her stupid gutters.
****
Charlie reached his arm into the gutter for the umpteenth time
and cursed under his breath as he dragged out another handful of stinking leaves. He should’ve come here a month ago and cleaned out the damned things, but he’d forgotten, and now he was paying for it. He’d promised his buddy Phil he’d look after his wife Mary and their daughter Eva, and he’d done his best, but clearly, his best wasn’t good enough. Phil had died, and then Mary had died, and Eva was the only one of the family left. She was barely grown and living in their house all by herself.
And now Charlie was here, in the rain, wet through to the bone. From the corner of his eye, he could see Eva watching him, fingers twisted in the towel she’d grabbed. She looked embarrassed and uncertain. She looked adorable. He gritted his teeth and made himself reach in and pull out another handful of stinking mess.
She’s not for you, he thought to himself. No. Nope. Not gonna look. Eva had grown up into just the kind of woman he liked best but almost never met: tall, curvy, and gorgeous as hell. Even worse, she was ridiculously intelligent, and if there was one thing Charlie liked even better than boobs and ass, that was a woman with a brain. She’d managed to finish college early, despite her parents’ illnesses and deaths. It had been difficult, but somehow, she hadn’t broken under the misery of it all. He admired that. He admired her. If he were twenty years younger, he’d say he had a crush on her, but he was a grown man of thirty-five. Adult men did not crush on girls Eva’s age.
“Do not look at her,” he muttered under his breath, even as his eyes disobeyed him and shifted down and to the right. She stood under the front porch, hands crossed over her glorious boobs, curly hair in a wild mess around her shoulders. She’d slung the towel over her shoulder, and he could tell she’d used it to wipe rain off her face. He wanted to leap down off the ladder and toss her over his shoulder, towel be damned. He wanted to take her home and show her exactly

what a man like him enjoyed doing to a woman like her, but she was his dead best friend’s daughter, and that meant hands off.
“Looks like you got it all,” she called out, eyeing the lack of water fountaining over the top of the gutter. “I’ve still got that towel for you.” She uncrossed her arms and dangled it from her fingers. Of course she’d fetched a red towel. It was like waving a flag at a bull.
Frustrated, Charlie grunted, hand still in the freezing cold water now flowing through the gutter. Maybe if I leave it in there a little longer it’ll keep my dick under control, he thought, but then conceded that it was a losing battle all around. Eva was just too damned enticing. He moved his hand around, mostly to buy himself some time to get his shit under control. The clog was gone. When he’d arrived, water had been gushing over the front of the bay window, and a leak had started inside on the ceiling. He’d be fixing that later after everything dried out. Now, though, the water was sluicing down into the downspout like it was supposed to, and he had no reason to stay up here on this ladder. Where he was safe. And fucking freezing.
“You coming down?” Eva called to him.
Charlie sighed to himself, then nodded, and then he carefully stepped down the slick ladder. He should’ve worn his work boots, but he’d dashed out the door so quickly he hadn’t bothered. His sneakers slipped on the bottom rung, but he caught himself and landed on the walk. He tipped the ladder back and drew the extension down. Eva’s gaze bored a hole into his back. He had no idea what she was looking at. She’d seen him messing with ladders a hundred times.
“You want the towel now?” she asked.
He smiled wryly and tilted his head up as the rain continued to pound down on him. “I don’t think your little towel is going to help much, Eva.” He hefted the ladder and headed for her tiny garage, ignoring the water streaming down his face. It was a bit of a tight maneuver to get the damned thing down the stone steps on the side of the house, but he managed it. When he’d finished hanging it on the garage wall, he muscled the old, squeaky door closed and headed back up to the front of the house. Eva waited for him at the door. She looked adorable clutching the bright towel, but God help him, he wished she was wearing something less attractive. He’d always had a thing for women in sundresses, and Eva had a habit of wearing them often. The light cotton, though not form-fitting, hugged her curves in

a way that left nothing to the imagination. He bit the inside of his cheek, hoping the pain would distract his libido.
“I can’t believe it’s still pouring down,” Eva said, making a face at the sky. Even though she was under the overhang, it was raining hard enough to dampen her hair.
“Your curls are looking a little wild,” he said, smiling. He couldn’t help himself. He reached out and lifted the strand sticking to her cheek. She’d always had unruly, curly hair. He wanted to sink his hands into it and— No. No, you do not, he reminded himself, abruptly dropping the lock of hair.
“My hair is always a mess. You know that.” Not seeming to notice his sudden irritation with himself, Eva sighed, impatiently pushing the mass of her hair over her shoulder. “It’s been coming down for the past hour. And all day yesterday, too.” She opened the door and held it for him. “Come on inside. The least I can do is feed you. I have a lasagna in the oven.”
Charlie had just been planning on leaving so he could get home and dry off, and stop imagining my friend’s little girl naked, he reminded himself, but lasagna was the magic word, and Eva knew it. He couldn’t resist pasta. “You didn’t have to make dinner,” he said to her, following her into the house helplessly. The delicious aroma of sauce and garlic hung in the air, and he sniffed appreciatively. “Oh, God, that smells fantastic.”
She flashed a grin at him.
Charlie smiled sheepishly. Eva’s lasagna was to die for, probably because she used the same recipe her dad Phil had. Charlie had always loved his friend’s cooking. His stomach growled embarrassingly, and she smirked. Charlie rolled his eyes as he paused just inside the front door, dripping onto the small square of ceramic tile. “I’m going to make a mess, honey.”
Eva handed him the towel, not even blinking at the endearment that’d slipped out unintentionally. Get a fucking grip, man, he told himself.
“Go on into the bathroom. Take a hot shower. I can throw your clothes in the dryer while you warm up,” she said.
Charlie looked at her for a moment, trying to wrap his brain around the idea of being naked in her bathroom, but then a shiver wracked his body. She was right, damn it. It might be summer, but the rain was cold, and now he was cold.

“Go on,” she said, poking him until he moved away from the front door. She closed it behind them.
Charlie took the towel she held out and rubbed it over his face and hair. “Hang on.” He toed off his shoes, then stripped his wet socks off his feet. The least he could do was minimize the damage as he walked through the house. He’d take off his pants and shirt, too, if he were alone and not sporting a massive erection. He hoped to God she didn’t recognize the bulge pushing against his wet jeans. He knew she’d never had a boyfriend, never dated, so odds were she was still innocent about ... stuff. He winced internally. That thought did nothelp calm him down in the least.
“I’ll take those,” Eva said, holding out her hands.
Charlie stared at her. “You want my dirty socks?”
She glared at him and snapped her fingers. “I want all of your
wet clothes, Charlie.”Ha. If only. Charlie snorted and handed her the socks. She
didn’t seem to realize it, but she had the slightest hint of a blush high on her cheekbones. Embarrassed? he wondered. He smirked. She was the one who’d told him to strip.
“Go on to the bathroom. You know the way,” she said, looking down at his feet. A tiny frown marred her brow.
Charlie shook his head, grimacing at the water that streamed off his hair. “Sorry,” he said, looking at the droplets now decorating her tile entryway. He took off his shirt. That was safe, right? And the less clothing he wore to the bathroom, the less water he’d drip on the way there. When he looked up, he caught Eva staring fixedly at his chest. He held out his shirt. “Eva?”
“What?” A full-blown flush bloomed on her face. “Oh, yeah. Thanks.” She took the shirt from him.
She was ogling my chest, Charlie realized, surprised. He’d been noticing her for a while now, but he had no idea that Eva looked at him that way. In a sexual way. He looked at her face. She’d captured her lower lip between her teeth as if she were trying not to bite into a delicious candy bar. And that’s not a good thing, he told himself, but it didn’t help. His cock jerked despite the clammy, wet jeans he wore. The last thing he needed right now was for his erection to grow bigger. He had a difficult enough time controlling himself around her without trying to walk through her space with a giant hard- on that wouldn’t fucking quit.

“Go on,” she told him. She looked like she wasn’t going to budge until he headed for the bathroom.
He sighed internally. “It won’t take me long,” he said aloud, striding through the comfortable living room and through the dining room. Like all the ranch houses built on this street, the floor plan consisted of a living room, a dining room, and a kitchen each leading to the other, and then a short hallway behind the kitchen that held three bedrooms and a bathroom. The house was small, but cozy. It was nothing like the airy, soaring modern cabin Charlie had built himself on ten acres of forest north of town. But he liked Eva’s house. He’d liked it when it had been his friend Phil’s house, and Eva had been just a child. Somehow, he liked it more, now. Eva had done something with it to make it her own, although he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what.
“Hand me your jeans after you take them off so I can put them in the dryer,” Eva said when he reached the bathroom.
Instead of answering, he closed the door most of the way and took off his pants, careful not to catch his dick in the zipper. He pursed his lips, wondering what she’d think when he didn’t hand her any boxer shorts, then shrugged. What did it matter? She was off limits. It didn’t matter what she thought. “Here you go,” he said, slipping his arm with the sopping jeans through the cracked door.
She took them, and Charlie heard her open the basement door. He smiled wryly as he looked down at his erection. He hadn’t wanted to come here and clean out gutters, but he’d made a promise to his friend. He hadn’t wanted a hard-on, but now he had one of those, too. He turned on the water and stepped into the shower, rolling his eyes at himself when the scent of Eva’s soap wafted up in the hot water, making his cock ache.
I’m not going to be able to cold shower this thing away, am I?
he mused, then took himself in hand. He could jack off in ten seconds flat, especially in this shower, with Eva’s stuff all around him. He groaned quietly as he recalled the blush on her face. She was twenty- one, but he’d bet his left ball she’d never touched an aroused man. Somehow, that thought just made him harder. He hissed as his fist squeezed the tip of his erection, and then his hips pumped once, twice, and it was all over. Jizz coated the pretty white tile of Eva’s shower, and Charlie hung his head in the warm spray, panting and just a bit embarrassed. Had he ever come so fast in his life? He didn’t think so.

“Fuck,” he said a long minute later. His cock was still half- hard and sensitive, but at least now he could stuff it into clothing without injuring himself. At least, he hoped he could. Eva had a way of inspiring his body to new heights of stupidity.
“Hands off,” he muttered, thinking of Eva and her gorgeous body and her pretty blush. “Fuck it all to hell.”

Download How Long is Forever? here:

Evernight Publishing | Amazon | B&N | Kobo | Bookstrand

FREE FIRST CHAPTER: Instinct by Niki Cluff

INSTINCT

Breed, 2

Niki Cluff Copyright © 2019

Chapter One

“Run,” the voice crackles over the walkie-talkie bouncing against my hip.
Lights flicker above me with a hum. Walls painted a deep blue or slate gray, I can’t tell in the low lighting, stretch up to the matching ceiling, trapping me like a mouse in a maze. There are no windows here, no doors along the walls. A dusty old smell fills the space. No way out. Panic grips my chest and I take deep breaths in an attempt to steady myself. The walls are too close. The ceiling presses down on me.
I pick up the walkie-talkie and depress the button along the side. My hands tremble and I fumble with the button. I breathe through my nose, trying to hide the panic bubbling in my chest. He doesn’t need to know. If he does, he’ll try to fix it. To help me. To save me. Is that what I want? Is that what I need? “What do you see?”
“Nothing, Kyle,” Ichiro says with a grumble. He’s not happy about something, but I don’t know what, can’t see what, and I can’t focus on it. I’m trapped. I need to get out. I’m overwhelmed by my own anxiety. It’s crippling. Debilitating, if I let it overpower me. “I can only see your dot on the map. I need to get you out.”
I try again, realizing I hadn’t been specific. He wasn’t paying enough attention to read between the lines. “What do you feel?” Because I can’t feel anything right now with my own fears

overwhelming me. I need to calm down, but I don’t have my music with me. Don’t have Ichiro’s calming presence nearby to keep me focused and steady. I need Ichiro to walk me through this.
He doesn’t respond right away. I run down the hall and around a corner into another stretch of hallway that looks the same as the rest. Get out. Get out. I halt my movements and place my hands on my knees, bending over to breathe. I need to calm down. To think. Ignore the twisting knot growing in my stomach. When Ms. Hartmann brought me down to the lower floors of the school, I’d thought I would be doing more computer work like I had before the comet hit. Before the world ended and the Internet crashed. Before technology died. When she locked me in this room without a word, I realized she wasn’t trying to test me on my hacking skills. She was never testing my hacking skills. They weren’t a needed skill before the comet hit. I know that now. She’s testing my intuition. The bond I have with Ichiro. She needs this information the way she had when she’d tested my skills with a computer. I just don’t know why. Yet.
I stop trying to think my way through the maze. I’ve always been good at solving mazes on paper, but there is no map of this place for me to see my way through. To trace my finger along the tracks or to follow as I move along the corridors. The way I had when I was a child waiting for food at a restaurant. All I know is what I see ahead of me and what’s passed behind me. I am blind.
“Kyle, you need to calm down and think,” Ichiro says, his voice softening to soothe me. “Breathe.”
A shudder runs down my back. I take another deep breath in through my nose and release it through my mouth. My heart pounds in my chest. Blood thrums in my veins. I have to get out of here. Find the exit. Get out. Ichiro continues to murmur into the walkie-talkie. Every fiber of my being focuses on him. Getting back to him.
Slow.
My intuition warns me to move slowly. To stop running. Another thrill of panic runs through me and I shudder. Hartmann is capable of so many things. She could have all sorts of traps hidden along the walls and the floors. Government money put to good use, I suppose.
“I can’t see anything, Kyle. Move slowly,” Ichiro says, and I can tell he’s worried because his accent is thicker, more of the South Korean than the formal British.

I swallow and place my hand against the wall to my right. Feeling the smooth surface of the metal. The small gaps and cracks where the panels fit together. And then there is air on my fingertips. I stop moving, my left foot dangling above the floor mid-step. There is a gap in the wall that isn’t from the panels being placed together. Rather, in the middle of the panel. A hollow space behind the panel letting breaths of cool air whisper against my fingertips. A way out? Or just a hollow space?
“Ichiro,” I say, my voice a thin whisper. I don’t know why I’m whispering. It’s not like there is anything on this floor that can hear me. Is there? “Can you see anything in this room?”
The walkie-talkie crackles and then there is silence. A musty smell like old wet dirt fills the space. This place has been here for a while, perhaps the entire time Hartmann had been building the school. Like she’d planned on having someone with my skill set enroll. Like she knew she’d need to test their talents. The idea sends a shiver through my spine. What type of research had she done that led her to this point? To conning a bunch of teenagers to a school under the pretense of saving the world when really she’d intended them to become a breeding factory for after the comet hit? To bringing those of us who seemed to have a sixth sense together to raise the world up again? If the others truly had a type of sixth sense like Ichiro and I did.
I shift my weight backward and plant my foot on the floor beside my right. Safety, as far as I can tell. I drop to my knees and crawl to the small gap in the wall. I can barely see the line where the panel is split, the gap almost invisible. Chewing on my upper lip, I crawl over to the other side and feel along the wall. It contains the same gap. Not a way out. A trap.
“There’s a hollow space in the wall on both sides,” Ichiro says, the walkie-talkie crackling back to life, and I jump, falling back onto my rump.
I squeeze my eyes shut and let a puff of air out of my mouth. “I figured.”
“There’s something round inside both sides, but I can’t tell what from the imaging.” He growls. “I’m not good at this computer stuff. I can’t toggle between infrared, x-ray, or anything else I might need. It should be you guiding me, not the other way around.”
“You can do this,” I say, standing and brushing dust off my hands and jeans. I’m glad I can’t see what lives on the floors and walls

of this space. If there was rat feces or something—I shudder at the thought. “I need you to do this. Do you see any sort of trigger?”
“No,” he grunts.
In the low fluorescent lighting, I can see very little. I can’t tell if there are triggers in the floor or the wall. I need him to be my eyes. To figure out this room with me.
“Indiana Jones,” Ichiro says, and I hear a sound like the snapping of fingers.
I blink slowly, trying to keep myself from rolling my eyes though he can’t see me. Not me as a person. I’m a small dot on a computer screen wherever Hartmann has him set up watching me. “This really isn’t the time for movie trivia.”
“No. Maybe she modeled this place after Indiana Jones. The tiles are triggers.”
“You mean like pressure plates on the floor?”
“Yes.”
“Is this a guess or fact?” I ask, looking over the tiles in the low
lighting. I can’t tell if one is different from another by sight alone. Everything on this floor looks exactly the same.
“Instinct,” he says and a small burst of warmth blossoms in my chest. His instinct is kicking in. Are we so out of practice that we have forgotten how the give and take of our abilities works? The idea makes me cringe. I am the reason for that block.
“You want me to guess?”
The walkie-talkie crackles. “What do you feel?”
Nothing. I feel nothing but fear and the worry that the ceiling
may start to slide down the length of the wall and crush me. But I don’t want to tell him that. To sound utterly hopeless. Before the comet hit, I didn’t worry that Hartmann might kill us. We had parents, people to return home to. Who expected to hear from us. Except for Ichiro, whose parents died when Asia sank. Now that the comet had hit and wiped out everything as far as we could tell, she has no reason to keep us alive if she doesn’t want to. And I am not living up to my end of the bargain because I won’t sleep with Ichiro.
I close my eyes. Try to hear that still small voice deep inside of me. The voice that I had neglected when the world fell apart. When I lost my brother to the comet that slammed into the earth. And she knew where they were. She could have saved them, but she didn’t. I didn’t. I’d wanted to escape my parents so badly, I left my little brother to die.

“Don’t feed the guilt,” Ichiro says, his voice cracking. I wonder how far away he is that his voice cracks through the device. “It isn’t your fault.”
I shove the thoughts of Brandon back down into the black hole deep within me and close my eyes again. Ichiro starts to ramble. I don’t know what he’s talking about. He just talks to keep me focused on him. On us. I search for that voice again. The voice that led me to Ichiro our first day at the school. That gave me my companion and friend in this place. My new family. The world falls away a little bit at a time, the black void swallowed by him. By us.
Forward.
I take a tentative step onto the tile in front of me with my left foot then my right.
Right.
I shuffle my right foot onto the next tile and then my left. The tiles are small, barely enough room for both of my feet. One wrong move. One tip in the wrong direction. Whatever lives beneath these walls will do whatever they’ve been built to do. Destroy, frighten, or both.
Right.
Another tentative slide of my feet.
“Kyle!” Ichiro shouts.Get down!I don’t question the words that burn through my entire body.
The panic that surges into every limb. I drop to the ground with a hard thump, hitting my chin against the tile. My teeth clack together. Something whines behind the walls, followed by the release of a gear or a spring. Discs whir out from the slots in the walls, shooting into the opposite side. The panels scream and screech as metal hits metal. I cover my head with my hands and press myself into the tile like I’m trying to become the ground itself. Sparks fly.
“Kyle? Answer me,” Ichiro demands.
My hands tremble. I drop them from my head and look up at the walls. The discs are half-dug into their hollow panels. Teeth, jagged and sharp, stick out from the metal wheels. Large saw blades that belong in a mill somewhere. My hand slides down my side to the walkie-talkie.
“I’m fine,” I say, breathless.
“Fine? You’re fine? What were those things? What happened?”

he asks, and there is a growl behind his words. Something feral that hadn’t been there when we’d first met. Something that started appearing whenever Hartman put me in danger. Because it was never him that she tested and tried. Not physically, anyway.
“Saw blades,” I say, cringing. I stand and brush myself off, feeling the fine layer of dirt and dust on the ground clinging to the sticky sweat along my entire body.
“I’ll kill her,” Ichiro swears, his voice the thick growl of a feral wolf. “Wrap my fingers around her neck and squeeze until—”
“Can you do that after I get out of here?” I ask, rubbing my chin. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth and I realize I’ve bitten my tongue. For all his posturing, I know that Ichiro would never hurt anyone. It isn’t in his nature. Isn’t in the way he is built. I wonder if I have it in me to kill someone. The way Andy had murdered Angel.
Ichiro clears his throat. “You’re fine?”
I spit some of the blood onto the ground. Let her clean it up. “I’m fine.”
He lets out a breath. “There should be a door not far from where you are.”
“There is?” I glance up and take in the matching walls, ceiling, and floor. I don’t have to worry about springing the trap now that the blades have already shot free of their holds. Without waiting for his answer, I head down the hallway toward freedom. Toward him.