Page 9 of The Dark Before Light

He nods slowly. “Exactly.”

“Out of curiosity, have you ever trusted someone enough to show them the deepest, darkest parts of yourself?”

Another predatory flash in his eyes. He wants to lie. I see the moment he decides not to—there’s an infinitesimal release of tension in his jaw and a sardonic twitch of his lips. Another surrender. Smaller but no less important than the first.

“Can’t say I have.”

His accent is suddenly thick, his voice close to a growl. My long-sleeved blouse conceals another bloom of goose bumps. I’ve hit a fault line, though I’m not sure which one. Childhood trauma? Early relationships? Or his marriage?

I nod, refocusing. “It’s perfectly natural to have defenses against vulnerability. I’m not asking you to trust me off the bat. Give me three weeks. If you still think this is a waste of time, we’ll go our separate ways.”

His fingers clench on his thighs. He forcibly stretches and relaxes them. “Fine.”

I retrieve my pad and pen, then jot down an address. “I’d like you to meet me here tonight at nine.”

“Tonight?” he asks sharply.

I look up through my lashes. “Yes. Do you have plans?”

His jaw clenches. “No.”

“Great.” I tear off the paper and extend it.

He grabs it and reads the address. “What is this place?”

I smile fully for the first time, knowing it will unsettle him. It does; he shifts in his chair.

“A rage room.” I stand, signaling the end of our session. “Don’t be late.”

Chapter 3

Kieran

“Your brother and his wife are here.”

Looking away from the white caps on the Pacific, I nod at my head of security, Sven. He touches his ear and speaks to one of his men.

“He’ll receive them on the back patio. Is the chef still here? Okay, ask him to put something together. Light fare.” He pauses. “No alcohol.”

I don’t dispute the order. Sadly, the person who knows me best is a man whose company I pay for. Sven is a special case, though, and worth every cent. He’s been with me for years, has seen me at my lowest and highest—both figuratively and literally—and we share a bond deeper than most conventional friendships. Life-and-death situations will do that for you.

Resigning myself to the coming inquisition, I walk away from the cliff, past the glittering pool, and up a set of steps to the covered deck that spans the back of the house. Sven follows, ever my shadow.

I drop onto a padded chaise, cross my ankles, and fold my hands over my stomach. Said stomach is gurgling, still recovering from the obscene amount of booze I’ve poured into it over the last week. My liver’s protests, at least, are silent.

My head feels like wet cotton sits between my ears, my typically whirring thoughts subdued. I have no idea if it’s the hangover catching up to me or the oddness of this morning. The office. The woman.

It’s been a long time since I was so unnerved by another person. Or felt as challenged. I can’t shake the suspicion that everything she said and did was carefully orchestrated, from the too-small chair I sat in to her every movement and word.

Who the fuck is she?

And why does she seem familiar?

The latter question I can thankfully answer—my hungover brain was clearly hallucinating. There’s no way I could have met and subsequently forgotten that woman. Not when she dug under my skin in seconds and made my fucking bones vibrate.

Alistair walks outside first, followed by his wife of five years, Gail. While the effusive chatterbox is perfect for my brother and I generally like her, I also find her utterly exhausting. They settle close together on the outdoor couch opposite my chaise, looking like the cover photo of a magazine profiling lives of the rich and beautiful.

Gail smiles and waves at Sven; Alistair gives him a brief nod before shifting blue eyes a shade lighter than mine to me.

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