CHAPTER ONE
CARA
The whirlwind decision to leave Hollow Hills with just the clothes on my back, a small bag of belongings, and an envelope filled with ten thousand pounds was a necessary one. I needed to spread my wings a little, and I couldn’t do it in that town where I saw Doc’s face at every turn. I’d been grateful to Suzy and Jax for the money. It was more than I’d ever had in my life, but when they’d insisted I take more, I’d declined. Making it on my own meant working out who I was and where I belonged. I wanted to navigate the world by making my own money on my own terms. I stepped off the coach, and the second my feet hit the pavement outside the town square, in front of the brass Colonel Blackwood statue, I knew it was the beginning of my new life in Falcon Falls.
Searching through the local personal ads, I applied for a couple ofjobs the day after my arrival. I had a checklist, and I refused to waste time sitting about. I headed over to the second-hand car lot, investing a portion of the money Suzy gave me in a beat-up Volkswagen Golf. A brightly painted clothes store with a mismatch of interior design choices that ranged from muted art deco to seventies disco flamboyance, was where I found everything I needed to build my new wardrobe. It felt strange inthat first week to have so many choices, and for a brief moment, a sick part of me missed someone making all of my decisions for me. Thankfully, with the help of three pina coladas at the local biker bar, the feeling passed, and the determination to survive on my terms seeped back in.
My car trundleson the uneven gravel driveway lined both sides with grand oak trees. The gasket rumbles, the exhaust spluttering away behind me as the old banger struggles. I pull up to the stone spread-winged falcon water feature just outside the arched entryway to the gothic estate. With spires and carved gargoyle statues high above on the edge of the steeply peaked roofs, it lends the dark-washed brick building a sense of majesty and grandeur. The thick wrought iron bars covering every window detract from the initial awe I’d felt when I’d driven through the front gates.
A beautiful prison is still a prison, after all.
My first night in the rotten halfway house motel back in town had encouraged me to look for work with live-in accommodation available. The matron at Blackwood Asylum for the criminally insane had left me a brief message, welcoming me to join the staff as soon as I was available to start.Welcomingis the wrong word. Her terse request for my presence left me with a roiling gut and apprehension swimming in my veins, but beggars can’t be choosers, and an online search of the staff quarters settled me a little. I’d love to say it was divine intervention and my desire to heal those less fortunate that had inspired me to apply for this job, but that would be a lie. Even in a county as shockingly corrupt as Grimmville, few people are willing to give an ex-hooker with seven fingers and a questionable past asecond chance on the career ladder. Having no gag reflex and being able to tie a cherry stem into a knot with my tongue, surprisingly, are not attributes an employer is searching for. It was this or the local car wash, where the owner said I could get paid in substandard overweight married dick, whenever the mood might strike me. This asylum looked likeDisneylandin comparison. The national minimum wage they’ll pay me here is much more my speed than four-inch cock on tap. Mr. Marlowe of Marlowe Motorcade was only too willing to show me the perks of the job he was offering—no less than ten minutes after he welcomed me into his office with a sleazy smirk on his face. His trousers were down around his ankles. It took me all of 3.5 seconds to turn down his offer and run for the hills.
I smooth my hands down the uniform Matron Lenora Blackwood had couriered by special delivery to my lodgings; her note as to the point as her voicemail had been.
Washed, pressed, no embellishments. Mandatory. No street clothes.
I knew I had fallen at the first hurdle with the state of the uniform I was wearing, but I was hoping Lenora would be softer in person and wouldn’t jump to punish me on my first day. The vintage grey, candy-striped, knee-length dress smelled musty upon arrival, as if it had hung untouched in a closet for a decade. It took two rounds in the wash at the local laundromat to erase the cloying scent of mothballs. I should have just dealt with the stench because I hadn’t noticed the loose red sock in the washing drum, and what was once grey is now a shocking red, and the closer I get to meeting the formidable woman on the other side of those doors, the more I suspect she will not be happy about my inability to follow her simple rules.
I fiddle nervously with the end of my long blonde curls twisted into a braid and slung forward over my shoulder. My white gloved hands twitching as nerves bloom in my chest, thebase of my prosthetic fingers grinding against my knuckles as the strap around my palm loosens with the movement.
“I think I’ll call you Red, feels fitting.”
I spin on my heels when the warm flush of his breath hits the back of my neck, a shiver shooting up my spine at his proximity. I should be concerned that this stranger has invaded my space, but all I feel is intrigued. He towers over me, at least six-foot-two if I had to hazard a guess. The white doctor’s jacket he’s wearing carries the scent of cedarwood and leather, the blue scrubs beneath creased, likely from long hours tending to patients.
I gulp for air, any response to this devastatingly handsome man dying on my parted lips as I lose myself in his piercing eyes, one pupil ringed with a soft amber, the other with a moss green.
“Lost for words. I like that.” He chuckles, tucking a strand of hair that has escaped my braid behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my flushed red cheeks.
I agree, the moniker ‘Red’ is a fitting observation.
My belly flips at the connection, the giddy smile tugging at my lips too big for my small face.
“What would a pretty girl be doing all the way out here on her lonesome? This isn’t a holiday home, Red. I don’t know whether you’ve heard, but Blackwood Asylum has nothing but darkness and depravity beyond its walls.”
“I can handle myself.” I fumble with the statement, any authority I’m trying to convey floating away like dust on the breeze. Neither of us believes I know what I’m doing here, his scepticism clear on his quirked-brow expression, mine trying to hide behind wide eyes.
His broad shoulders block the setting sun, leaving his face cloaked in shadow. I mentally lose myself for a moment when my gaze tracks the movement of his tongue as it sweeps across his full lower lip. I wonder what he tastes like and have to banishthe thought, my thighs clenching as that heavy thrum of arousal tugs at my centre.
“My day just got better. Consider me the welcoming committee,” he gruffly retorts, raking his hand through his mop of wavy brown hair as he dips down to my level. I see tattoos snaking up his throat and wonder where else he might have decorated his body with artwork.
Tall, broad, tatted, and mouthwatering.I’m a simple woman with simple needs and this man ticks every box.
“Let the games begin, Miss Red. The female staff don’t seem to last too long around here. I hope we get a chance to play.” His lips part slightly, insinuation heavy in the wordplayas he watches my pulse flicker in my neck in response to his statement, a quiet adoration filling his expression. He’s close enough I can see his pupils dilate. I rock on my feet, my knees weak as I sway forward, my body yearning to feel the heat of his broad chest pressed up against it.
A curt throat clearing behind me yanks me back to reality, making me spin on my heels to see who so rudely interrupted my enjoyment of the sinfully attractive man at my back.
“Ezra Wolfe, you know better,” the stoic waif of a woman with a pencil-thin mouth snaps. The man I’m now realising is Ezra Wolfe walks around me. Standing beside her, he shrugs out of his white doctor’s coat and dutifully hands it to her as she eyes him disapprovingly.
Looking down at me, he winks, lowering his voice to whisper, “See you soon, sweetheart.” He doesn’t wait for me to reply as he turns and strolls across the gravel driveway. It’s then I see the words printed on the back of his shirt.
‘Patient of Blackwood Asylum’
Tall, broad, tatted, mouthwatering, and apparently insane.I wonder what else I’ll have to add to my list where he is concerned.
CHAPTER TWO
CARA
