Page 1 of North

Prologue

Quinn

The lake house loomed in front of me like something out of a magazine. You couldn’t even call it a lake house; it was more like a mansion. A glass-and-wood mansion that didn’t know if it wanted to be rustic or modern. It looked like the kind of place that architects built for magazines, not for actual people. Cold. Pretentious. And filled with the same suffocating sense of entitlement as the prick who locked me out.

North fucking Stirling.

Step-brother, and the bane of my existence.

“Fucking asshole,” I muttered, pounding on the door hard enough that my knuckles ached. “North, open the goddamn door!”

Nothing.

Of course, he wasn’t going to let me in. This was just another power play in a long line of them. Another way to remind me that this summer wasn’t going to be anything but hell.

I turned, my eyes narrowing as I glared at his Mustang. It was parked in the middle of the fucking driveway, glossy black and gleaming in the sun. Every curve, every detail looked like it had been polished that morning. Knowing North, it probably had been.

The way it took up half the driveway didn’t help. It took me twenty-fucking-minutes to park Dad’s—my—beaten-up Honda next to it, and I was pretty sure there was a scratch from the bushes. He made sure there was no room for anyone else—because why should there be? This was his house, his space, and I was just the inconvenient little problem dumped here for the summer. Bastard.

I hit the door again. “North! Open the damn door, or I’m phoning Mark!”

Yeah, ‘cause I had to resort to involving my stepfather like we were still in middle school or something. God, I hated him.

Still nothing.

My teeth ground together as I stepped back, dragging my hands through my auburn hair, likely making it even more out of place than it already was. The asshole was probably sprawled across their ridiculously expensive couch, grinning to himself while he watched me on the cameras. He probably thought this was funny—I stuck out here like an idiot.

I flicked my middle finger up, directed toward them, just in case.

If he wanted to act like a child, so be it. I’d deal with it.

I stormed around the side of the house, my eyes scanning for a way in. Mom always hid spare keys in dumb places, and after a few minutes of searching, my fingers brushed against cold metal tucked inside a stupid little birdhouse by the porch.

“Gotcha,” I muttered, yanking it free.

The lock clicked, and I shoved the door open so hard it slammed into the wall. If North wanted drama, I’d deliver.

Dad always said I could’ve gone into theater if I wanted to.

Inside, the house was just as obnoxious as I remembered—too big, too shiny, and too perfect. Shiny appliances that probably hadn’t ever been used, knowing Mom at least, and expensive orchids in glass vases. It looked expensive, smelled like it too—leather, polish, and candles that probably cost more than Dad’s—my, Goddammit, my—old car. I dropped my bag at the base of the stairs and looked around, waiting for him to show his smug face.

Nothing.

But I could hear something. Low, rhythmic sounds. Thuds. Grunts.

Anger surged, drowning out the uncomfortable heat crawling up my spine. “North!” I yelled, storming toward the noise. “Why the hell did you lock—”

My first thought was that he was working out, but then the sound shifted, turning wet, raw, and unmistakable. A high-pitched moan broke through, sharp and desperate, and for some reason I didn’t even think to question it as I rounded the corner.

“North, I swear to Go-” I stopped dead, my mouth suddenly dry.

Not because he wasn’t there, because he was. North was there, in all his American bad-boy glory, dark hair falling over those piercing baby-blue eyes that could turn gray in a blink. North was there, naked and sweating. North was there, his lean muscles clenching and releasing as he pounded the bleach-blonde sprawled all over the leather couch beneath him.

“God,” I finished saying, my voice a whisper.

The girl was a mess, her tits bouncing with every savage thrust. Her sweaty blonde tresses clung to her damp skin, and her skirt was shoved up around her waist, her legs splayed wide enough that I could see the gleaming slickness between them. One of her feet dangled off the couch, limp, while the other hooked around North’s waist, pulling him closer like she couldn’t stand to let go.

I probably should’ve left the second I realized what was going on, but I couldn’t move. He’d done all of this on purpose, I figured as much while I was standing there. They were on the couch closest to the doorway, and God only knew how he knew I would be home before Mark and Mom, but something told me he did.

---