The Arrangement 21: The Ferro Family (The Arrangement #21) Page 3

  I shouldn't be surprised, but the rapid transition from sweetness to darkness shakes me to my core.

  CHAPTER 6

  Standing barefoot on the wooden floor, he reaches for my silk slip, grabbing the hem and ripping it in two. It tears like a piece of paper, and I'm in front of the open door in nothing but white panties. An underwire goes flying, and I hear it clatter against the floor, out of sight. I flinch and move to cover myself.

  "Don't budge, Miss Smith."

  The muscles in my chest freeze as I force my arms back to my sides. I glance at the open door and back to Sean. My fingers graze my bare thighs as I try not to fidget.

  Sean drops to his knees in front of me and hooks his thumbs into the sides of my undies. He pulls them over the swell of my hips and past my thighs. They slip down over my legs and fall to the floor. He presses a kiss to my stomach, as low as possible. I'm not ready for it and tense, sucking in loudly in response.

  Sean stands, backs away, steps to the other side of the doorway. His eyes wander over my body, lingering in places as if he's deciding something. I wonder what he's thinking, what he wants to do. His eyes are so dark. The part of his lips combined with the downward tilt of his head give him a dangerous quality. "Turn around."

  I could say no. I could tease him and provoke the man standing there, but the expression on his face, the way he hangs his head and flexes his hands slightly as if trying not to—he won't hold back. Not listening will have repercussions. He will have complete control over me.

  Glancing around the room, I turn and face away from him. I wrap my arms around my middle and glance over my shoulder, wondering if I'm ready for this. The past few days have been so difficult. It feels like I barely caught my breath, and, if faced with Sean's darker side, I'm not certain I can handle him.

  CHAPTER 7

  This building is not a shed. The walls are not metal. There are no rakes, no brooms, and not a lawnmower in sight. The exterior is tumbled brick and stone with little black shutters next to the windows. The interior floors boast scraped hardwood across the entire 3,000 square foot lower level. The wood is stained dark to match the coffered ceiling, which matches the ceilings in the mansion.

  If I had to guess, the dark wood up there is mahogany. Who puts exotic wood in a shed? Who would think this was a shed? It's like a big-ass shanty from the Alps. The walls are Venetian plaster with a light wash, and a monster chandelier hangs in the center of the room—instead of the bare bulb most ax murderers use.

  Henry Thomas possesses an obscene amount of money. It wouldn't surprise me if his lawn was sliced from emeralds and his trees were covered in black diamond bark.

  I'm glancing around, but I say nothing to Sean. There's no furniture in here, no supplies, no seeds, no nothing. It could be a cottage for Henry's mother. Maybe she's under the floorboards in a box!

  I cringe inwardly hoping there are no boxes in my immediate future. I talk a good game about the box, but it still freaks me out. It's not like I learned to love small spaces during my time with Sean.

  The door is still open. I don't like that mainly because I'm sure Henry can see me. There's no way he doesn't have security cameras. Additionally, a little drone circles the property every few minutes, little green and yellow lights flashing as the thing flies by, buzzing as it goes.

  The first time it passes the shed, it ignores me. My gut instinct is that drones are creepy little buggers. But if Constance had used them at the Ferro mansion, would she still be alive? Maybe Sean should invest in drones. If Pizza Dudes can use them to bring you a pie, how bad could they be? Vessels that deliver pizza aren't inherently evil, right?

  I could use a pizza. Or cheese. Something. I'm starving.

  Sean walks up behind me and puts a blindfold over my eyes, before going upstairs to prepare something horrifying, I'm sure. Waiting, blind makes my pulse pound harder. I'm kneeling, naked on the floor where he left me, hands in my lap and wringing my hands.

  The drone whizzes by again, but, this time, I hear the high-pitched sound of the motor buzzing linger. It gets louder like it's going to fly into the room. There's a breeze on my face like I'm about to get hacked with the propellers, and I wince, but before it slashes up my face, it's gone. Creepy mofo. I should wave and punch it if it comes by again. I still need to enroll in ninja classes. I envision myself doing cool things and being a badass, but my execution is a little dodgy.

  Back to evil things confusing me—the relationship between Henry and Sean is weird. It's strained, like one of them might snap at any moment and kill the other. I can see it in their stance, how they both assume the posture of a teenage boy with rounded shoulders and utter indifference.

  Add floppy hair and a skateboard and he resembles my high school crush. That guy didn't know I was alive. I wonder if he's currently kneeling naked in an empty shed.

  Warehouse. It's too big to be a shed. It could be the home of the third little pig.

  My knees are starting to ache when I hear the wooden stairs creak behind me. I picture Sean in my mind, descending the staircase, excited and a little worried that he'll break me. As far as I'm concerned, I lived through so much crap the past few weeks that I can survive anything. Physically, I've got it.

  Emotionally, maybe not.

  I mean, think about it for a second. How am I supposed to reconcile who I wanted to be, with what I've become? How do people stare in the mirror after killing someone? What if that man had a family? They still don't know where he is, that I ended his life. The guy forced my hand. It was him or me, but that doesn't change the way I feel. It'd be the same if I walked into Waldbaum's, picked a random guy and shot him.

  I don't kill people.

  I'm not a hooker.

  I want love, and I found it by selling myself to the man on the staircase. When we have kids, what am I supposed to tell them? Daddy bought Mommy, took her on a date, and purchased the right to take her virginity!

  My mind wanders. He played the piano then. We played together. If you remove the whoring part from the story, it sounds sweet. Sean needed me, and I needed him. How we met isn't important.

  My blindfold is removed. My senses are suddenly on high alert, and I feel like someone is watching me. I can't see anyone outside, but I can't hear Sean inside either. I glance over my shoulder and find him sitting on the lower step, leaning forward, chin resting on his folded hands. The tux shirt is gone, and the way he sits accentuates his hard, beautiful body. The way the muscles in his arms, swell and curve, wrapping around strength that's buried deep within. It's hard to look away.

  "Avery, come here." His voice is softer than usual, as if he's not sure of himself. That's a rare thing for Sean. I rise and pad over to him. When I stop in front of him, he straightens and peers up at me. "I've wanted to do this for a long time, but I don't know if you can handle it. How do you want me to proceed?"

  Awkward naked conversation. Whatever he planned, I can tell he wants it immensely. At the same time, the forewarning is freaky. "I need more information than that. What do you want to do?"

  This must be something bad, worse than the box and the fake rape. What the hell is it?

  His lips part and he relaxes his shoulders and jaw. His eyes avoid me for a moment, and when he meets my gaze again, he offers his hand. "Come and see."

  I stay where I am and fold my arms across my chest. Sean stands in front of me, stepping closer, towering over me. His broad shoulders are nearly twice the size of mine. He's in my space, and that cologne fills my head. I breathe in deeply, trying to place the scents. They're warm, strong, and masculine. They whisper of open arms, passionate kisses, and a firm embrace. It's a dance of power and seduction wrapped in the perfect smell.

  I step back, which just makes Sean walk forward. He immediately closes the space. I feel his eyes on me, watching me, tracing my curves as he tries not to touch me, not yet.

  "Sean, you could show me the things you want to do and they won't seem like a big deal until we're in the moment. It'
s you. You make the actions beyond comprehension. You make it intense, igniting the room with your presence. I don't think showing me will help. You need to decide how much you want this—if it's worth it to you."

  Before his gaze drops, I see the conflict warring within him. Love isn't supposed to be this way, but for him, it is. It always will be. Part of him suffered in darkness so long he can't simply walk away. I don't know if it's love or insanity on my part, but I know he needs this and I want to be there for him. Plus I kind of like it, but I'm not ready to admit that out loud yet.

  He lets out a rush of air and runs his hands through his hair and down the back of his head. He stays like that for a moment, arms held tight at the nape of his neck watching me, thinking. He's wondering if I can take whatever he's planning to do.

  He clears his throat and drops his hands, shoving them into his pockets. "I was involved in some pretty messed up things in the past, Avery."

  I want to say, 'I know,' but I don't know specifics, and I don't want to hear about how he fucked some girl on a cactus while she was screaming and terrified.

  I press my lips together and lift my chin. "I know you had to do what you needed to do to stay sane. Is this for sanity or recreation? Who's asking me if I can handle this? Survivor Sean or Fun Times Sean?"

  He doesn't speak which is answer enough.

  He thought I was dead. He thought my brother killed me and mutilated my body. I thought the same of him. I thought Vic killed Sean, and I had lost him forever. I don't want to be without him. I don't want to make him deal with this alone.

  I rest my hand on his elbow after taking a step closer. Looking up into his face, our eyes meet and hold. My stomach flips and falls to the floor shattering like a china bowl when I speak. My brain and my heart battle, but my brain is defeated. It's waving flags like a lunatic running across a battlefield, more likely to get killed than solve anything.

  RED FLAGS.

  Everywhere.

  I see them exploding. The tattered fabric waves from the end of the pole, burning. Fire slowly consumes the cloth until there's nothing left.

  It's one of those times my mind operates on instinct, showing me what will happen if I do this—it solves nothing, and his pain will still be there in the morning. I'll only destroy myself in the process.

  "Let's go," I say, trying to hide the tremor in my voice. "Take what you need and don't ask me again. My answer is yes."

  CHAPTER 8

  The crazy chick inside my brain is dancing naked with the burning flag. She skips around like a cracked-out banshee, enjoying this. I chose it, right? I should like things I select for myself. I love Sean, but OMG.

  I'm standing in the upstairs room and glancing around. The floors are polished stone, and the walls are bare, except for some racks hanging from the ceiling. They seem like they should hold rakes and shovels, but they're empty. Where the hell are brooms!

  There are no windows up here. No clock. Very little light. No chandelier. The stone beneath my feet is chilled, but it's not what has me frozen in place. It's something else, something resembling a pool, but I'm not that dumb. It's a slim, clear case about five feet tall, with a hinged top that stands open. Above it dangles a narrow pipe that almost looks like it belongs on a kitchen sink. My eyes fixate on the holes in the lid of the plastic prison.

  My heart is ready to tear out of my chest and run the fuck away. We are so far past nightmare territory. It's a combination of dreams, fears, and reoccurring horrors I try to erase from my mind on a daily basis.

  Worry pinches my brow no matter how hard I try to act like this is normal. Because everyone builds a shed with a torture chamber in the attic on their property. I don't realize I'm holding my breath until I suck in a gasp and feel my lungs burn.

  "I can't do this." Terror streaks through me, crying out for sane Avery to save me from the naked nut dancing in my mind, chanting that I can do anything!

  Sean grabs me by the wrist, preventing me from bolting butt-naked across the yard. At this point, Henry Thomas seems sane. Then again, this is his house.

  Sean's voice is firm. "We talk. We never run away. Sit." He points to the floor, and the command sounds a little too dog and master for me.

  "Do you—? That's what nightmares are made of, Sean!" I stutter, pointing—not sitting—and trying to make my mouth say real words, because holy fuckbunnies! No! I shake my head vigorously and step away from him.

  "Avery, you don't even know what I want to do." He smiles like this is funny.

  I slap his chest and yell at him. My head aches as I scream with my hands balled into fists at my sides. "This is not all right! I can't even fathom how this is here, why there's an Avery-sized fish tank in Henry's shed." I blink furiously and bellow, "Wherearethebrooms!" It comes out in a crazy rush so that it sounds like one word. My arms are tense, and I fling them out in front of me, palms up, making a very logical point with a very irrational man.

  His response is a soft smile and light laughter. He grins so adoringly at me that a dimple appears on his cheek beneath all that scruff, along with a lopsided smile that's more coy than menacing. He tries to take my hands, but I scream something incoherently, and he backs away. "You want a broom? Why?"

  "You think I'm asking weird questions? Are you fucking serious? Why is that tank the same size as me? Why are there plastic thingies that appear very similar to manacles right where my hands would be? Why Sean?" I get up in his face and poke his chest. I feel crazy, like I should run away.

  "Stop thinking. This is about feeling."

  "I FEEL NOT ALL RIGHT!"

  Still smiling, he steps toward me with a scrap of silk in his hand. "Then stop looking." He moves behind me, lifting the piece of my former slip and placing it over my eyes.

  As he's tightening it, getting ready to tie a knot, my hand darts up and jerks it away. Whirling, around, I plead, "You won't hurt me. Promise me that, say it." The words are all air, and I'm beyond panicked.

  Sean reaches for my face, cupping my cheeks. "Do you trust me?"

  I watch him for a few moments without speaking. I do, but this is too much. I finally feel myself nodding. Sean moves behind me again and ties the blindfold in place.

  CHAPTER 9

  I expect my wrists and ankles to follow, but he remains at my back and pulls me to him.

  His body is hot, and his skin is slightly damp with sweat. It makes me wonder what he was doing before I came up. His voice is in my ear, but his hands travel from my outer thigh over the swell of my hips and to my waist. "Breathe for me. Slowly, deeply." I feel him inhale, his chest pressing to my back as he does it. I'm close to shaking, but I manage to take the next breath with him. We breathe together and by the third breath, I'm no longer shaking.

  His hands begin to roam, sliding over my skin, tenderly sweeping his palm over my breasts and then down to my waist again. His neck is next to mine, his lips right by my ear. His breath is warm and perfect. I feel his whiskers against my skin when he moves, as he breathes.

  Worry pinches my brow as I start to think about the tank again, and Sean can tell. His voice is in my ear, "Stop thinking."

  "I'm not."

  "You are." He nips my earlobe, pressing the soft flesh between his teeth and grazing the skin. I gasp, not expecting the accompanying swirling sensation in my lower body. His lips travel down my throat to the hollow of my neck where he licks my skin with gentle strokes of his tongue.

  I melt. My knees no longer want to hold me, and the worried girl runs off with the flag chick, leaving my thoughts on nothing but the way I feel at that moment. His hot lips on my neck do something to me. It's that spot, nearly to the back, that turns my knees to jelly and makes my head feel woozy. I could get lost in that kiss, forget who I am and where we are.

  There's a veil that can't be seen fighting to cover my mind from within. The longer his lips stay on that spot, the more I moan and reach back for him. I touch his hair, tangling it in my fingers, pulling. My back arches away from him, but th
at only makes Sean hold on tighter. His lips devour me, his tongue working that place until I can't stand.

  I don't know how he moved me, but I'm pressing face first into a wall. The cold plaster makes me suck in audibly, but that sensation is fleeting. Sean's hands travel up and down my body as he battles me for control of my mind. That spot is so sensitive, so vulnerable. I feel a haze try to descend on my subconscious, but I won't allow it. It nearly swallows me whole when his hands cup my breasts. It comes close to overtaking me when his hand slips between my thighs, pressing me harder to the wall, stealing my breath away.

  I shiver beneath him, wishing I could let go the way he wants. I did it before, but it's rare. As much as he likes control, so do I. Letting that irrational nude dancing girl overtake me sounds like an insanely stupid idea, but his lips and the repetitive smooth stroking of his hands convince me.

  A sound comes from the back of my throat as my head tips back against his shoulder. I press my hips down, craving more pressure. He has me so turned on, so hot. I stand there blindly, facing the wall with my hands rooted to the plaster like a cop is patting me down in a very naughty way.

  His lips pass over that sensitive spot, and my knees give out. Sean's leg presses between my legs and holds me up, pressing me to the wall. I can't stop thinking about taking him in my mouth, kneeling in front of him, and doing anything he wants.

  The tank.

  I can't stop thinking about it. I don't want to go in there. I can't let him do that to me. My eyes flick open, and I'm staring at cream-colored silk. I reach to pull the blindfold off, but Sean grabs both my wrists and pins me to the wall.

  I feel him close to me, his warm breath in my ear, "That stays on, Miss Smith, and if you want your hands free, I suggest you listen. Keep your palms on the wall when I release you."

  I do as he says and then feel a cold rush of air on my back. He's stepped away. His voice comes from somewhere behind me. "Spread your legs shoulder width apart. Keep your hands where they are, and don't move."