Page 7 of Twisted Devotion

“I should go,” I say, slinking toward the door. “I’d rather not spend my last day on the outside in the hotel.”

Nikolai shoots me a wry grin. “On the outside.Cute. You have full permission to do whatever necessary to keep him in line. Besides, he’s notthatbad.”

I offer him a blank stare.

“Yeah, okay,” he concedes.

That night, I toss and turn in bed, unable to get comfortable. When I finally manage to drift off, I dream of annoyingly tousled hair and cartoon frog pajamas.

3

“Don’t touch her!”

Shouting from downstairs woke me with a start. My heart raced as the voices grew louder, angrier, and I pushed the sheets off, crawling out of bed as fast and quietly as I could.

After stepping into the hallway, my hand flew to my mouth to muffle the cry racing up my throat at the sight of my foster sister’s bloodied body in the middle of the hallway. Her eyes were wide open, frozen in fear, and vacant.

My entire body tensed in terror. My family, this safe space I had finally found, was under attack. By whom, I didn’t know. I only knew that I had to get out of there, get help, before I ended up dead, too.

I ran down the hall, but instead of reaching the staircase to the main level, the carpet beneath my feet didn’t end. The hallway stretched on in front of me as far as I could see and suddenly I was surrounded by the unending horror-filled screams of the only human family that ever cared about me.

My eyes snap open to the familiar darkness of my room, panic flooding me from a nightmare I’ve had so many times that it’s ridiculous I still wake with a cold sweat and pounding heart.

Ilivedthe damn nightmare.

These unconscious flashbacks are nothing compared to the real thing.

I toss back the soft lavender duvet with a heavy sigh and reach for my phone on the table beside the bed. I fumble with it until I can press the button to wake the screen, and then I set it down with a groan. My alarm isn’t set to go off for another forty minutes.

Glaring at the ceiling while my pulse tries to return to its normal rhythm, I contemplate rolling over and going back to sleep for the little time I have left.

“No,” I mutter to the darkness, then swing my legs over the edge of the bed to get up. If I manage to fall back asleep now, I’ll only be more tired when the blare of my alarm pulls me back into reality.

I grip the gray cotton sheets on either side of me and push my toes through the plush rug at my feet before standing and shuffling into the bathroom. Squinting at the light, I turn the shower on to full heat and strip out of my training bra and sleep shorts.

As I stand under the brutally hot spray of water, I try to view the assignment I’m about to embark on with optimism. As a learning experience.

I can do this.

It’s only three months.

I repeat the words in my head until the idea of fleeing the city to get out of the job diminishes. Instead, I focus on the money that’s going to make twelve weeks of hell worth it.

I’ll get in, do my job, and get out. At least I have good practice in adapting to new circumstances quickly—courtesy of the foster care system.

An hour later, I’m showered and dressed in black leggings and my favorite olive colored knit sweater. Nothing fancy, but I’m going for practical anyway. That, and I don’t care what this guy thinks of my fashion choices. I’m there to protect him, not to impress him.

Pulling my suitcase out from under the bed, I flip it open and start filling it with clothes. I wanted to stay my apartment for the assignment duration; but apparently, part of this arrangement is me staying on the property in case of emergency. Tristan assured me that the rent here would continue to be paid in my absence, but that doesn’t make leaving any easier.

You were leaving, anyway, a cruel voice croons in my head, and I shake it away.

I stop in the bathroom again to load up on toiletries, and I massage product through my hair, deciding to wear it in its natural state of ringlet curls. The product tames the frizz; it’s absolute magic. I seal the bottle and carry my things back into the bedroom. There, I dump them into a plastic container and then into a duffle bag with my laptop and a few books.

Once I’ve packed everything I can think of that fits in my luggage, I load it into the car and hit the road. It’s a forty-five-minute drive and I desperately need to stop and get some coffee and a donut—or ten.

Pulling onto the long, winding drive as the sun rises would, under normal circumstances, be a stunning sight. The colors of the sky blending softly, the sun breaking through the dense pine trees lining both sides of the gravel drive—it’s a scene straight out of a movie. Too bad I can’t appreciate it while my stomach feels like it’s full of concrete.

It takes almost ten minutes to get from the road to the front of the mansion-sized house. The place is at least three stories high and the porch is pretentious enough to have pillars. No wonder this place is hidden. Anywhere else, it would stick out like crazy.

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