Chapter 2

KENAI.

I remember that night as if it were this morning.

Shanon's wide, terrified blue eyes. Her shaking fingers. The stupid little short she loved to wear that barely covered her ass. One of those cropped shirts she always wore that were always too tight, hugging breasts that were growing too fast for her to notice.

But I noticed.

Hell, I did.

She was so young and she was already dressing like she wanted to be punished.

And above all, that night, there was blood on her hands. Real, warm, sticky blood.

She was crying, shaking, and mumbling something about how it was an accident.

I took her hands in mine, washed the blood off, smeared it onto my own shirt, and told her to run and never look back.

She actually listened, because she never looked back for eight fucking years.

Shannon was my undoing.

I ended up going to jail for a woman who never replied to any of my letters.

72... Seventy two letters, I wrote her in total...

I told her about my cell. About the fights. The way my cell stank of piss and rust. The way my cellmate screamed in his sleep. The way the guards looked at me when I carved her initials into my arm with a broken plastic fork.

I told her about the men I beat for looking at her picture.

How I starved for four days just because the meal tray had been passed through a hand that once insulted her.

I told her I still loved her.

But she never wrote back.

So much for love and promises.

So much for going to prison for a girl who stopped seeing me the moment I made her a free woman.

Tonight, I watched her close the curtains, and it almost broke me.

She used to leave them open.

I was right across the street, and she still didn't see me.

She never did.

Even when we were kids, she never saw me. She only looked at me when she needed something... someone to defend her, lie for her, take the punishment meant for her.

But I never wanted to be just her protector.

I wanted to be seen.

I wanted to be hers.

I had to step into the house tonight. The thought of just standing across the street and watching her isn't doing the trick for me tonight.

Her husband was out of town.

He has no idea the man who signs his checks also undresses his wife with his eyes every night from across the street. That I own the company he brags about at dinner parties. That I designed this schedule to keep him out of the house five nights a week.

He doesn't know I've stood in this hallway more times than he's stood in her arms.

And for Shannon?

She should have known better.

I told her I'd always come back for her.

And guess what? I always keep my promises.

I had the keys to her house.

Oh, good Lord. No one can ever begin to imagine the things I had access to in my little sister's life.

When I stepped into the house that smelled mostly of her, I could smell the lilac soap she used to steal from the guest room when we were kids. She still used it. Probably didn't even know it was discontinued, because I bought every last bar before I left prison. Had it shipped to her address under a fake subscription.

She never questioned it.

Of course, she didn't.

She almost never questions anything. That's why it's so easy.

I patiently watched her bathe. This would be the first time I'd snuck into her bathroom to watch her, and fuck, I had to regret about it… Steam on her skin, goosebumps across her thighs…. Fuck. The water trickled down her shoulder blades, just as I used to imagine back in my cell.

She took her time tonight.

She always does when she thinks she's alone.

She had hurried to the kitchen to fix something simple to eat when she was done washing that gorgeous body of hers. I enjoyed watching her cook. She hums when she cooks.

Sometimes, she hums some of those stupid songs I used to play on the piano.

She doesn't know I can hear it through the vent, and that sometimes I hum it with her.

We make a beautiful duet, she and I, even when she doesn't know we're singing.

I let her eat. I didn't want to startle her so she doesn't choke on her food. She eats like a child... lazy and distracted. Always forgets to chew properly.

She easily chokes. I've already been researching ways to prevent that from happening too often.

I had some time to explore her room some more. Not that it was new to me. I did it every now and then when they were away.

I lay on her bed for a while, resting my head on her favorite pillow like I'd done so many times before when she wasn't here. It still smelled like her – soft and feminine, that lilac soap and faint hint of coconut from her hair cream. She always smelled like something that could ruin a man, and I was already ruined.

I buried my face deeper into the pillow, let her scent invade me, fill my lungs, my bloodstream, and my thoughts. I didn't care if it was sick or if it was wrong. I went to prison for her. I earned the right to do this.

I got up after a while. I couldn't stay still. My body vibrated with want and hunger.

I walked to her vanity.

Her lipstick was still smudged around the edge of the cap. She never twisted it all the way down before closing it. I smiled. She was always careless with small things. That's how she got someone killed. And that's how she forgot me.

I touched her perfume bottle, tilting it slightly to see the level inside. She was running low. Of course. I'd already ordered more. Another shipment is due in four days.

I opened the top drawer. Lacy panties, mostly black and pale pink, were folded in a way only a woman who lives with a man does. I picked up the softest one, brought it to my face, and inhaled.

Jesus. I had to clench my jaw to keep from losing it.

My blood stirred like it used to when I heard her whisper my name through the wall demarcating our rooms back then.

I stepped inside the closet and slid my palm over the row of hanging dresses. She'd worn this one last weekend – the navy sundress she put on to grab coffee. The tag was still bent from when she yanked it off too fast. She thought she was alone when she changed. But she wasn't.

I lifted it to my nose, inhaled so deeply it burned my chest.

I saw a folded dress shirt. It was crisp, expensive, and definitely not hers.

It belonged to the asshole.

The color was a muted blue, the kind of color a boring man thinks makes him look powerful.

And suddenly, I hated him some more.

I reached for it and clutched it like it was a throat I wanted to crush. My knuckles turned white.

"You don't belong here," I muttered with venom curling around every syllable. "You don't touch her. You don't get to touch her."

I held the shirt up and stared at it with disgust, then brought it to my mouth and spat on it, before shoving it behind a row of old shoeboxes, somewhere it'd collect dust.

I checked the time. She always took twelve minutes to eat whenever she was alone. Fourteen, if she was tired.

Twelve minutes had passed.

I straightened the sheets, ran a finger along the edge of the dresser one last time, and then I left the room just before she finished chewing her last bite.

Timing was everything.

As I approached the front door, something inside me paused. It was that quiet little voice – the one that always came right before I did something wrong with the full intention of doing it.

I didn't want to leave just yet.

I needed to see her sleep.

That was my ritual. I never stepped into her house without ending the night with that. It was the only version of peace I'd ever known. Watching her tucked in bed, free of the guilt she buried me with. That was mine.

So I turned around.

Before heading back into her room, I reached into my coat pocket and tapped the small signal jammer I always carried. Every phone signal in the house died instantly.

She wouldn't be able to call anyone. Not even 911 or her precious husband. Not even her best friend, Valerie.

It wasn't just to protect myself. It was for her.

If she saw me and panicked, which she would, I needed to make sure she stayed safe. Fear makes people stupid. They dial numbers, make noise, and ruin things. I couldn't have her ruining this.

Just before I got to her room – just a breath away from the doorknob – her door jerked open from the inside, and she slammed right into me.

Fucking hell.

Her whole body stiffened the second she realized she'd run into someone. But it was already too late.

She didn't even have time to look up before I grabbed her and spun her around. My training hadn't left me.

Her back slammed against my chest, and I felt her. The way she used to feel. The shape of her shoulders, her waist, the curve of her hip. My body reacted before my mind could catch up.

She screamed, but I caught it in the palm of my hand.

Her breath was fire against my fingers.

She struggled, kicked, and bit. It was so beautiful to watch.

I leaned in until my lips brushed the shell of her ear.

"You used to hide in this closet when Dad got loud. Remember that? What stopped you today?"

I felt her freeze.

She knew this wasn't one of the dreams she thought she used to have about me.

God, she knew.

Her scent. Her heat. The whimper crawling up her throat... Fuck. I remembered all of it. I had fantasized about this very moment in every possible way inside that cold, damp prison. But nothing came close to this.

"Let me go!" she cried out, muffled into my palm.

I almost laughed. Not because it was funny. God, no. But because she said it like it ever worked.

She sagged slightly against me.

Her muscles went loose.

She was slipping.

I loosened my grip just enough to look at her reflection in the mirror across the hallway.

Her eyelids fluttered.

And for the first time in eight long years, she looked at me.

And then she said my name. "Kenai..." Just before her eyes shut close.

And the painful part? By morning, she'd still think it was all a dream.