Chapter One

Blindfolded and bound by her hands and feet, Lyndsay Ashland embraced a brief respite as her bare ass met the cool leather of the expensive couch. Dread of what was still to come pounded in her chest like a doomsday jackhammer, but she desperately needed this moment of relief. 

It wouldn’t last long.

Once upon a time, she’d moved to the Big Apple, a starry-eyed girl with dreams and ambition. She’d strutted the most exclusive of catwalks, flashing seductive smiles while photographers clamored for the best shot. The world had been hers for the taking. She’d been on the verge of becoming someone big. Someone important.

All it took was one small mistake to erase her success. Now she was forced to take what few jobs she could get.

Fate was cruel. But did she deserve this?

Blood dribbled from her broken nose, trickling into her mouth with each gasping breath. She struggled to keep from gagging as she sat in darkness. Every inch of her skin burned as if licked by flames, and deep down, she sensed the evening was far from over.

“A little rough play.” That was what he’d called it.

This wasn’t what she’d signed up for. The job had been billed as light BDSM.

Some role-playing, maybe some handcuffs, and a gentle whipping here and there. Nothing she couldn’t handle. Nothing she hadn’t done before.

But rough play, as he’d called it, started with a crop and shifted to a razor.

He’d told her to say “red” if, at any point, things became too uncomfortable.

Clearly, that had been a lie. He’d only pretended to set a safe word, getting her to play along as he bound her hands and feet before covering her eyes with the blindfold.

After rendering her helpless, he ignored her persistent screams. Or maybe rejoiced in them instead.

Time lost all meaning as the sadistic psychopath tortured her with his twisted sexual perversions of their agreement, taking his pleasure at the cost of her pain.

Perhaps her current predicament would’ve been easier to swallow if she’d had no control. She could have more pity for herself if she’d been threatened, manipulated, or backed into a corner. But that simply wasn’t the case.

He might’ve been the aggressor here, taking things way too far, but she had agreed to the job.

Pride. That was her downfall.

If she hadn’t been in such denial about her career, she could’ve just accepted that her time in the spotlight was over. She could’ve packed her bags and gone back to the safety and comfort of her mother’s home.

Tears soaked through the blindfold as her thoughts drifted to her mother. Always kind and full of compassion, she would have made things better with a kiss on the forehead and a whisper of support. Lyndsay could almost hear her mom’s words.

“It’s all right, baby. All that matters is that you did your best. A lot of people wouldn’t even be brave enough to try. I’m proud of you, baby girl.”

Her family wouldn’t have shamed her. There would’ve been no laughs or whispers behind her back. No one shaking their heads or talking down to her because of a failure. Her relatives all had a healthy respect for the drive to chase one’s dreams.

But her damned pride…

Heavy footsteps yanked Lyndsay back to reality.

As his monstrous presence saturated the room, every muscle in her body tensed. Adrenaline shot through her system, kicking her heart into overdrive.

Despite the strain on her already-taxed vocal cords, she managed to croak out one word. The supposed safe word.

“Red.”

The room fell silent again.

Seconds passed as she awaited the inevitable, her heart thumping as she struggled to control her breath.

Rough hands gave her a shove. “On your back. Now.”

She fell backward on the couch. An instant later, piping hot liquid scorched her torso like lava from the mouth of Mount Vesuvius, pooling in her belly button. Hot wax, probably. She screamed as she twisted against her bonds in a futile attempt to shift the burning liquid from her stomach.

A hand clamped over her mouth. “Quiet, bitch!” His harsh words came with a deluge of warm spittle, smelling as if it had marinated in a stew of factory runoff and garlic.

She ground her teeth against the burn as he poured more scalding wax all over her exposed body. The intensity of the heat made her imagination run wild. Would she have any skin left when he was done, or would it all melt away?

Despite her efforts to keep still and endure the agony, Lyndsay squirmed against her restraints. Her sweaty skin stuck to the leather, each movement tugging at her flesh. Or maybe that was the wax. She couldn’t tell the difference.

He removed his hand from her mouth, but she knew better than to scream again. It would turn him on even more. At the mercy of a depraved individual, all she could do was hope and pray the torture would end soon.

She licked her lips.

Fingers gripped her arm before a sharp prick broke through her skin.

Warmth began to spread from the point of pain, but unlike the last torture he’d inflicted, this heat provided a welcome numbing effect. Where the warmth traveled, all sensation stopped.

She wanted to ask what he was doing. To demand to know what he’d given her. But even as she thought to open her mouth, her mind drifted to her girlfriend.

Imogen’s infectious laughter echoed in her ears as if her lover were sitting right beside her. Lyndsay always joked that if they could bottle the joyful sound, it could be used to create cures for every ailment known to humankind.

“Ten thousand dollars per giggle. We’ll be rich one day!” Lyndsay’s teasing had made Imogen blush.

She wasn’t kidding. Something about Imogen’s smile and voice—like wind chimes tinkling in a light breeze—had a way of calming Lyndsay and magically soothing her into a peaceful mood, regardless of her worries.

Finding someone as special as Imogen to love had been a gift, and Lyndsay cherished the—

Bam. Bam. Bam.

She flinched as the pounding on the door sent her happy visions retreating into the darkness. The drugs had full control of her body now. Was she dreaming? Had she imagined the sound? Was there really a blindfold covering her eyes, or was she simply unable to open them? Her limbs refused to cooperate, freezing her in place.

A fresh whiff of the bastard’s putrid, garlicy breath assaulted her senses.

This wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t even a nightmare. It was real.

Another round of knocking broke the silence.

“Dammit. Who the hell?” Like a child throwing a temper tantrum…or a psychopath getting interrupted during a torture session…he stomped away from her.

A door creaked, but the sound was overshadowed by a woman’s shrill voice. “Have you lost your freaking mind? What part of this did you think was okay?”

The hairs on the back of Lyndsay’s neck stood as more footsteps and yelling joined in.

“This is sick…” This was another new voice, lower-pitched and masculine, though different from her tormentor’s.

Yes. It’s beyond sick. Please, please, please help me. Keep him away from me. Get me out of here.

Her lips refused to form the words.

“Hey, nobody asked you—”

“This was not part of the deal.” The woman’s harsh tone cut into the men’s bickering. “You’ve gone too far. Pack it up and get the hell out.”

Lyndsay struggled to place the woman’s familiar voice. She’d heard it before, but the drugs muddied her mind, scrambled everything that usually fell so easily into place.

An exasperated sigh followed the woman’s reprimand. Lyndsay had been dealing with her tormentor’s heavy, excited breathing long enough to know the exhalation had come from him.

The woman cleared her throat. “Do you really have the nerve to stand there and act like you don’t care?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” The other man’s voice grew smug. “He’s about to care.”

Brief silence ensued, followed by the loud pop of a fist connecting with flesh. Fighting had broken out, but the damn blindfold kept Lyndsay from witnessing whose ass was getting kicked. She could only hope her tormentor was getting a big dose of karma.

A heavy thud vibrated the floor.

If she had any energy or control over her limbs, she would’ve stood and spat on him. But when she tried to lift her head, her muscles weighed her down, her body lurching like she was on the edge of a cliff, about to fall to her doom.

More footsteps accompanied the woman’s piercing taunts. “Well, Vincent Sharpe, how many people will believe you’re worthy of your job as deputy commissioner of the New York Police Department now?” Her sickly sweet tone dripped with sarcasm. “How about that sweet wife of yours? Or your children? What would they have to say about their dear old dad?”

Vincent Sharpe. Lyndsay committed the name to memory.

“Don’t talk about my—”

“Have a look at this, you idiot.” This woman didn’t give a damn what Vincent had to say, filling Lyndsay with vengeful joy.

“Red! Red!” Lyndsay’s own voice rang out, followed by her tormentor’s taunts and heavy breathing.

A chill ran down her spine, and once again, she told herself she had to be dreaming. What other explanation was there for her own voice filling the space when she wasn’t talking?

“Stop it.” Vincent’s icy command froze the room. “Turn it off.”

A powerful wave of déjà vu hit Lyndsay before realization dawned on her.

There was a video of Sharpe assaulting her—the woman had recorded the horrid events taking place in this hotel room—and now she was playing it.

“You’re pathetic.” Hollow, high-pitched laughter rang out.

“Please…” Vincent stammered. “Don’t tell. Just please…I can’t…don’t tell…”

Disgust filled Lyndsay. How could a man who was so cruel present himself as a victim in the space of a moment?

The woman scoffed. “You’re in luck, because I’m willing to make a deal with you.”

“Yes! Anything.” Relief poured from Vincent’s voice.

A large hand clasped Lyndsay’s shoulder, making her heart rate skyrocket. “What am I doing with her?”

Caught up in their conversation and fogged over by the injection, Lyndsay hadn’t sensed anyone approaching. She’d forgotten another man had entered the room at all.

“Get her cleaned up. You know what to do. Take care of the mess while I deal with Vincent here. Come back for me when you’re done.” Barking the order, the woman seemed more annoyed than concerned.

“Right away, ma’am.”

A force tugged at Lyndsay’s arms and feet, loosening the binds that had been holding her captive all night. Instant relief mingled with pain, and she cried out as pins and needles prickled through her limbs, blood circulating through them again.

“Th-th…” Her jaw trembled, preventing her from uttering the “thank you.”

Hands seized her biceps and hauled her upright before smooth fabric fell over her head. The man pulled her hands through what she assumed to be the armholes of her dress. With her still sitting on the couch, the skirt bunched around her waist.

Reaching up with leaden arms, she attempted to remove the blindfold.

“Uh-uh.” The man cautioned her as he seized her wrists. “You’ll need to keep that on for now.”

Before she could protest, another quick jab stung her arm.

Surprised by the sudden shock of pain, Lyndsay opened her mouth to yelp, but unconsciousness took hold before the sound could escape her lips.

Chapter Two

Sky Stryker sipped her coffee, willing her brain to form a sentence. Since making the big move to New York, the Jolly Bean Coffeehouse—only a few minutes from her apartment on West 50th Street—had become her home away from home.

Usually, the words flowed when she nestled into her favorite corner seat by the wall and slurped her beverage of choice, a skinny vanilla latte with a healthy dose of cinnamon.

But today she struggled. “The writer girl,” as the head barista liked to call her, was currently stressed out and staring at her laptop screen in a creative slump.

The café owners appreciated her regular business, often commenting how they looked forward to future bragging rights about the famous Sky Stryker. But at the rate she was going today, those bragging rights were in danger of never materializing at all.

“Earth to Sky.” Javier Bainbridge grinned as he slid into the seat across from her. “You know, there’s a secret to writing a book.”

How long had her friend been standing there? “Oh, really?” She arched a brow. “And what’s that?”

He pointed to her laptop. “Putting words on the page.”

Sky rolled her eyes, refusing to cede the point. The page had been blank for the last half hour. Although she’d successfully launched three books in total since her move to the big city, this one wasn’t going to write itself.

Will it? Maybe I just haven’t stared at that cursor long enough.

Summer had rolled into autumn, leaving the city smack dab in the middle of a November with record-breaking snowfall accumulation. Maybe it was the onset of the bustling holiday season or the string of dramatic events she’d encountered since arriving in New York, but Sky’s brain had reached overload levels.

That damned cursor blinked, waiting, taunting her to come up with an idea worth typing. But writer’s block or not, she had work to do, and letting herself get distracted by people-watching and daydreaming wasn’t helping.

“This from the man who came here intending to distract me.” She huffed in mock frustration, a headache brewing at her temples.

With a devilish wink, Javier leaned forward. “I don’t have a book to write.”

“Lucky you.”

He must have sensed her mood turning sour. Before Sky had the chance to launch into a full-fledged, stressed-out writer meltdown, he nodded toward a pair of ladies arguing on the other side of the coffeehouse. “What do you think is going on with those two, Ms. People Watcher?”

Sky peered over at them, studying their body language. She noted the way they regarded each other, the intimacy of their expressions. The brunette reached for the blond’s hand with equal parts anger and passion. “Definitely a lovers’ quarrel.”

“Any inspiration there?”

“Not unless one of them is planning to murder the other for some secret fashion industry cover-up.” She shrugged. “But they do have excellent ensembles. Even you would have to agree there.” She admired the brunette woman’s bold choice of a calf-length, purple-and-yellow plaid coat. Then again, in NYC, distinctive fashion choices were almost expected.

Javier glanced over his shoulder and nodded. “Vintage. Seventies, most likely. But that is definitely in. Retro has been hot for the last few seasons.”

As the chief operating officer of a designer fashion brand, Javier had forgotten more about fashion than Sky would ever know. He was damn good in that role, and Guillermo De Luca was lucky to have him.

Sky jiggled her near-empty cup and considered whether a second latte might make her better at her job. “Anyway, you wanna tell me why you’re sitting here distracting me? Shouldn’t you be in your fancy office dictating the next spring line or something?”

“Spring is just around the corner. If my team were just starting to work on it in November, we’d be out of business.” He met her eyes with a lingering smile.

Certain he was mocking her for not knowing the inner workings of the fashion industry, she scoffed. “I’ll be sure to add that in my notes.”

“You do that. I can’t have you misrepresenting my industry in any upcoming books.”

If anyone else had said that, she might’ve taken offense. Javier was on her side, though. He wanted to shed light on the dark side of the fashion world as much as she did. But he never missed the opportunity to rib her.

“I’d say I’ve done your industry a solid so far. The good guys, like yourself, are safe.” Sky gave credit where credit was due, in her books and in real life. “You know my focus is on helping the people being exploited. The people who’ve been hurt.”

He cocked his head. “Is it sad that I instantly think of Delia? How’s her trip going, anyway?”

Sky turned to gaze out the window, aware that Delia Shaw would hate for either of them to consider her a victim. The modeling industry and its ugly underbelly had put her beautiful friend through a special kind of hell, but Delia was a survivor. Stronger than ever and thriving in her career. “I think being booked in a haute couture fashion event in Paris is treating her pretty well. Is it possible for Paris to do anything else?”

“I’m sure there are plenty of Parisians who’ve had a bad day or two.” Javier grinned before taking a sip of his coffee. The smile lingered on his face as he set the cup down. “On second thought, I wouldn’t mind being there myself right now. What do you say we drop everything and jet off to France?”

Sky’s cheeks grew warm. “Ha. Very funny. But like you said. I need to get some words on this page.”

“Right, right.” Javier waved off the reply. He was being a good sport, but she could sense that he’d wanted a different answer. Since their trip in late June up to her hometown in New Pleasant to participate in a documentary about the decade-old murder of her childhood best friend, he’d been hinting at exploring a deeper relationship with her.

When they’d first met, Sky had pegged Javier for a wealthy, arrogant corporate sellout. But she’d since learned the fashion executive was a man of substance. He had a good heart, and he’d do anything for the people he cared about.

The fact that he was tan, stood at just over six feet tall, and had classic features that would make a Greek god jealous didn’t hurt either.

But despite his long list of good qualities—not to mention their chemistry that she tried so hard to ignore—Sky wasn’t ready for anything serious, and she didn’t want to risk ruining the friendship they had built.

Not that she had time for dating and all the drama that came with it. Sky needed to stay focused on her writing career. She was determined to make something out of her life before bothering with romance. There’d be plenty of time for that later. But she wasn’t about to tell Javier to wait for her. Some things were better left unsaid, and that was how she planned to keep it.

She changed the subject before the mood curdled. “So…since you’re obviously not working on the fall season for GDL, what’s going on with you?”

“We’re still finalizing some ideas for spring, and summer is nearly complete.” He lifted the cup to his lips again. “But we’re also already working on next fall’s fashion campaign. That’s more than enough to keep me busy. Which is why I had to leave the office and get a little fresh air.”

“I get that. A change of pace is always good.” She wasn’t about to mention that his office was nowhere near her coffeehouse. He’d clearly braved the cold and come down here hoping to find her. Their small group of friends knew this was her spot. If she wasn’t at home in her apartment, more often than not, she could be found here in this corner of the café, typing until her fingers went numb.

Usually.

“More like escapism.” He finished his coffee and tossed the paper cup into the nearby recycling bin. “If I don’t get out of the office, I’m bombarded by constant interruptions. And I’ve been working nonstop since I got there bright and early this morning.”

Sky knew that feeling all too well. Working from her studio apartment meant she never left the office. That was a big reason why she brought her laptop to the coffeehouse.

“Now it’s just a matter of time before they figure out I’m gone and start calling.” He checked his watch. “But while we’re here escaping from the rat race, how’s the social media for the books going?”

He had to mention that.

Sky groaned. “I suck at microblogging. Making all those daily posts on social media is draining my will to live. Be quirky. Be pithy. Be fun. Be genuine. Be yourself. But most of all, be entertaining.” She made a face. “Have I mentioned I hate social media?”

“Part of being in the limelight. You’re a personality now. That’s what helps sell books.” His brown eyes practically sparkled, taking on a warm hue under the café’s dim lights.

“Right. So I had a thought.” She leaned forward. “I’m trying to shift my live streaming into a podcast. That’s a whole new platform to learn and grow. But I think it’ll accomplish all those things my publisher wants me to do, just in a more real way. And I can link it to all my social media accounts to drive more people to my website, and in turn, direct more people to my books.”

Her first book was a self-published history of celebrity scandals titled The Real Front Page. She’d also self-published her second book, Behind the Shadows, a tell-all book about the world of private detectives, just after meeting Maria Wagner of Cockalorum Press. Both books had garnered her just enough attention to convince Maria to fast-track her most recent tell-all, The Man Made of Shadows, where Sky exposed the murder case of her cousin Megan and a human trafficking ring called the Mill.

Since Cockalorum Press was more independent than the Big Five publishers, Maria had the clout to steer The Man Made of Shadows through the editing process faster than the traditional glacial pace of publishing.

While The Man Made of Shadows had sold even more than the previous two books put together in its brief time since release, there was no real rest for a writer.

Now she was struggling to crank out her fourth book. This one was all about true crime documentaries and her experiences surrounding the murder of her childhood best friend, Tessa Emerson. Its title had been set as Out of the Shadows.

The publisher wanted to see the full synopsis and chapter summaries by New Year’s Day.

Since it was already early November, that deadline was right around the corner. Another reason Sky had no time for things like dating drama in her life.

Javier nodded, admiration on his features. “I guess a podcast’s not a bad idea.”

Sky crossed her arms. “You guess?”

“Teasing.” He bumped his knee against hers in a reassuring nudge under the table. “It sounds great.”

“I’ve been submitting some small editorial pieces too.” Sky pretended not to notice the electric zap his touch sent through her. “Helps get my name out there and gives me a little pocket change in the process.”

“That’s great. I—” His phone buzzed. He glanced at it on the table, frowning as he ran a hand through his tousled brown hair. “They’re onto me.”

“Gotta go, huh?”

“Yeah. Time to return to the real world and approve an ad campaign before my team launches it tomorrow.” He scrolled before pocketing the device. “Do you want a ride home?”

“No, I’m good.” Sky checked the time on her phone. “I think I’ll stay a while longer. Besides, it’s only nine blocks. I can walk.”

His brows furrowed as he cast a glance out at the snow flurries falling on the street. “Okay, but it’s cold out there.”

“I’ll be fine.” She almost laughed but stopped herself. Nine months ago, when she moved to Manhattan, she would’ve taken the offer.

When she first arrived in the city, she’d taken cabs everywhere, thinking they were the only way to get around. Walking seemed so dangerous. But experience—combined with a dwindling savings account—had taught her that living in the heart of Manhattan meant she had to toughen up. If she couldn’t walk, she had to take the subway. Cabs were strictly for special occasions.

“Let’s do this again sometime.” He planted a quick kiss on her cheek before darting away with a wave.

The sensation of his smooth lips lingered on her skin as she returned her attention to her computer screen.

Would friends with benefits work between us?

She forced her inappropriate musing away, ashamed it even crossed her mind. Javier was one of the few friends she had in the city. As tempting as having benefits with him would be, it wasn’t worth screwing up a valued friendship.

Reinvigorated by Javier’s visit, Sky found her fingers dancing over the keyboard as the hours flew by. Before she knew it, afternoon had turned into evening. Closing her laptop, she gathered her belongings and disposed of her empty coffee cup.

Stepping out into the cold, she shivered and squinted, surprised by the snow’s brightness.

Maybe I should’ve taken the ride offer after all.

Flurries obscured her vision as she set off across the street. After getting over the initial shock of the cold, she found she didn’t mind the snow. While many New York residents viewed winters as a nuisance, she actually considered the snow beautiful, regardless of the hassle it caused for travel.

Various shops she passed had closed for the evening, leaving their outer signs lit through the bars in the windows. Sky turned into the alley next to the dry cleaner’s, taking the route she used almost every day.

She knew the way by heart and could walk it blind, but as she reached the edge of the alley, she spotted something strange.

For a moment, she was sure the snowflakes were playing tricks on her eyes. They couldn’t be piled up that high. It wasn’t cold enough for the flurries to stick to the ground. But as she blinked and did a double take, what she could’ve sworn was a pile of freshly fallen snow transformed into a woman wearing a white faux-fur hat with a matching fur-lined suede trench coat.

And that poor woman was collapsed on the pavement in the middle of the alley.

With a jolt of fear, Sky rushed toward the motionless figure, her rapid breaths fogging the air. As she closed the distance, the woman’s ghostly pale face came into view.

Sky was all too familiar with the pallor of death, having seen more than her fair share of it. Her memory flashed to her best friend Tessa Emerson as she drew her last breath in her arms a decade ago.

No. Not again.

She shoved the memory away before it dragged her into the darkness.

In a desperate attempt to rouse the frozen woman, Sky bent over and gave her a gentle shake. “Hey, wake up. Hello. Can you hear me? Please wake up!”

Something small and plastic rolled from the folds of the woman’s jacket and clattered against the pavement.

Sky gasped. “Oh, my god.”

A syringe.

Trembling from head to toe, she reached for her phone and dialed 911.