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The coffee maker beeps from the kitchen. I ignore it.

The sheets are cool and the pillow is soft, and my body has been waiting for this with the patience of a saint and the urgency of a freight train, and the moment my head goes down the exhaustion hits me.

I close my eyes.

I think about the eggs. The bacon. The orange juice in the rooster mug. The way his voice sounded when he said my cock’s had enough from you for now, and the small, traitorous warmth it left behind.

I stop thinking because I can’t go down that road.

And just before the dark comes up to meet me, I notice something on my face. Something light and strange and completely out of place in the aftermath of every terrible, wild, undignified, egg-covered, whip-wielding thing that has happened to me since midnight.

A smile.

Chapter Thirteen

Wraith

The knock pulls me out of sleep like a fishhook through flesh. My neck is stiff, my shoulders ache from the angle, and there’s a cramping sensation in my lower back that tells me I’ve been out for longer than I intended; the bondage gear is quality stuff — I’m comfortable enough that I actually fell asleep.

The knock comes again. Louder. Three heavy thumps that rattle the door in its frame.

Every muscle in my body goes tight.

That’s not a friendly knock. That’s the knock of someone who knows you’re in there and wants you to know that they know. The knock that precedes a breach.

The Sons.

They found us.

I hear June sit up in bed with a sharp intake of breath. Even through the cock-embroidered blindfold, I can sense the shift in the room. The fear.

“June,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Don’t answer it.”

Another knock. Harder.

“June?” A woman‘s voice. Sharp, clear, with the particular edge of someone who’s used to being obeyed. “I know you’re in there. I’m coming in.”

Not the Sons.

Something in my chest unclenches slightly.

“Shit,” June whispers. “That’s Molly.”

“Who?”

“Molly. She works for the Devils. She’s dating my brother. Fuck,” she says. June’s voice drops to an urgent hiss.

“Then don’t let her in.”

“I can’t just not answer. She’ll think something’s wrong. She’ll call Evan or Breaker or…”

The sound of a key sliding into the lock stops her mid-sentence.

“June, I’m not kidding,” Molly calls through the door. “I just want to check on you. Evan mentioned you had a weird night, and I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

June is out of bed. I hear her feet hit the floor, hear the rustle of fabric as she tries to make herself presentable, and then she’s crossing the room toward me and pulling off my blindfold in one swift motion.

The morning light hits my eyes like a slap.