But the next thing I knew, his door was opening, and I could feel him getting out of the car. I didn’t know if the officer helped him or he did it of his own free will, but I opened my mouth to speak. “Ethan…” But I didn’t know what to say. They had him now.

Shuffling and mumbling, I could feel the car shift under me as they dug in the trunk again.

But then…

“What?” Ethan shouted. “That’s not mine!”

I twisted around in my seat, hearing Mikhail whine a little as I tried to hear what they were saying.

“Cocaine,” one of the officers said. “That’s a felony.”

I shot my eyebrows up. Cocaine? As in… cocaine? I unfastened my seatbelt and opened my door. No.

Stepping out of the car, I got out, leaving the door open, and kept my hand on the vehicle, using it as guide as I walked toward the rear. I wasn’t supposed to leave the car. They were going to yell at me, but…

“You guys have to be joking?” Ethan growled. “You planted that!”

I heard a scuffle and a grunt, and I sucked in a breath.

“Whoa, whoa,” one of the officers said. “Are you under the influence right now?”

What was happening?

More grunting, gravel kicked up under their feet, and I knew they had their hands on him.

“Stop!” I yelled, my hands sliding down the hood of the car to the open trunk as I reached them. “He would never do drugs. What are you doing?”

I heard heavy breathing I assumed was Ethan’s as the chilly evening air stung my nose.

“We’ve got at least fifteen baggies here,” a cop said.

“That’s intent to distribute,” added the other.

Intent to distribute. Two possible felony charges? My head was reeling.

“You son of a—” Ethan growled but was cut off and shut up.

“Wait!” I burst out. “Please stop. This is my fault.”

This was all a setup. There was no way he had drugs in his trunk. These cops stopped us for a reason, and it wasn’t a busted taillight.

I stepped closer, careful of my footing. “I called him,” I said, taking the blame. “What do you want me to do? Just please… Please don’t do anything to him.”

There was silence for a few moments, and then I heard some clicks. Someone was on their phone.

“Sir?” one of the cops said. “I have her here.”

Damon. This was him. He was who the cop was calling.

A cool hand touched mine, and I jerked, pausing when I realized the officer had put the phone in my hand. My fear and confusion slipped away, replaced with anger. I breathed hard, seething as I clenched my teeth.

I raised the phone to my ear.

“I’m very disappointed you actually thought this would work,” a hard voice said. “Although I am surprised you even got out of the house.”

It wasn’t Damon.

“Gabriel?” I barely mumbled, shocked.

Damon’s dad had arranged all of this? I was pretty sure he hadn’t been at the wedding. I knew he had to fully support what Damon was doing, but it escaped me that he’d have his back, too. He was watching me.

“Try not to worry,” he went on. “They’ll let him go in the morning.”

“They’ll let him go now!” I growled.

I wasn’t having my friend suffer at all because of me. It was stupid. I should’ve known better. Even if I had made it out, I would’ve put Ethan in Damon’s path just by involving him.

“Or we can keep him locked up until the trial,” Mr. Torrance continued. “Your choice.”

I ground my teeth together, too angry to think. Ethan wasn’t tough. I loved him, but a night in jail wouldn’t be good. Much less weeks, months, or years. Tears sprang to my eyes, but I forced them away.

“What do you want?”

“I want you to get your fucking little ass back home and in bed,” he bit out.

I shook my head, knowing he had me—for now.

But not forever.

“You think I’ll be easy?” I challenged.

“Of course not.” His tone softened, sounding amused. “That’s why he wants you, Winter. Just try not to be predictable next time.”

“What do you care anyway? You have Arion.”

“Arion is Mrs. Torrance,” he clarified. “The face of his family, and the one who will raise his children. But you?” He paused, his tone darkening and making chills spread down my arms. “You’re his cherry on top.”

Damon

Seven Years Ago

I snake my arm around her, pulling her close and hanging on as I bury my nose in the back of her hair. The coarse little jewels glued to her costume cut into my arm. She’s so small and fragile, like a toothpick in my coil.

The fountain spills around us as her teeth sink into my hand, but instead of yanking my arm away, the pain of her sharp, little bite fills my veins with warmth and my eyelids flutter. Tingles spread under my skin, and the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding finally leaves my lungs.

It doesn’t feel bad. It doesn’t hurt the way it should.

I look at her small face, not resisting her as the pressure deepens, and I’m sure the skin has torn.

Yes.

I won’t pull away.

Not ever.

I squeezed her tighter in my arm, the curve of her body molding to mine as I refused to let go. Even as consciousness started to seep in, the fountain faded away, and the scent of her changed from flowers to my soap. The costume she was dressed in was now soft, like cotton, and her naked legs, free of their white tights, laid next to mine.

It was different. Something was different.

I blinked my eyes open, the weight of sleep heavy on my head as the dream floated away and the room came into view. As well as the body next to me.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the girl from the dream.

I stared at the back of my sister’s head, her hair laying across my pillow and nearly as dark as mine. I could feel her breathing in my hold as she slept, and my fist clenched where it lay across her stomach.

I’d reached for her in my sleep.

I never used to do that. We’d been sharing a bed for four years now. Just knowing she was there was enough.

Uncurling my fingers, I accidentally brushed against the skin of her tummy where her shirt rode up, and I stopped, my eyes narrowing as unease burned under my skin.

I lifted the sheet and looked underneath, taking in the pronounced curve of her waist, deeper than I remembered it, and her round ass pressing into my groin.

There were dips in her thighs where the toned muscles were now more pronounced, and her skin looked so smooth.

Fuck. I closed my eyes, the relief of the dream long gone by now.

She was starting to look like other girls. Girls who were old enough for guys to do things to. She felt like the girls I went out with.

“Damon,” she suddenly said, awake. “It’s Banks.”

I guessed I stirred her when I touched her. She probably thought I was thinking she was someone else.

Opening my eyes, I clenched my jaw and yanked away from her. “Yeah, I know who it is.”

I threw off the covers and got up out of bed, grabbing my cell phone off its charger. “I thought I told you to wrap yourself up,” I mumble, unlocking my screen and scrolling through my notifications.

She didn’t say anything, but I heard her scoot up to a sitting position. “When I sleep, too?” she whined. “It’s like a corset, Damon. I can’t breathe.”

You’ll get used to it.

After thumbing through a couple messages from Will and some comments on posts, I tossed the phone down onto my desk and started some music on the computer. Walking to the closet, I grabbed some slacks and a white shirt and then stopped, staring at a pair of jeans hanging next to my black hoodie. Devil’s Night was next week, and a familiar rush skated through my veins.

I grabbed the jeans, too, and headed for the bathroom to my left. I had a craving.

“Maybe…” I heard Banks say from the bed. “Maybe I shouldn’t sleep here anymore, you know?”

I stopped, narrowing my eyes as I turned to look at her.

Her gaze instantly dropped. She knew I didn’t want to talk about this.

Banks was my father’s daughter, but she was mine and had been from the day she came to live here. Her mom was some lowlife slut, one of the many my father had kept on the payroll, and if her mother hadn’t banged down our door for money four years ago, I probably never would have known Banks existed. My father certainly never acknowledged her and still barely did.

That was fine, though. She wasn’t his. No one could take her from me.

After the first time we met, I spent days scrounging and stealing all the money I could find around the house and any valuables my mother wouldn’t know were missing. It was thousands of dollars, and Banks’ drug addict mom put on a show of struggling with the decision for a full twelve seconds before taking the cash and jewelry and giving Banks to me. I brought her home and no one fought me on it. My mother, when she still lived here, didn’t let anything penetrate her happy, little dream world, and my father allowed anything that kept me happy.

Banks stayed in my room, she took care of me, and I provided for and protected her. She had her own mattress up in the little hideaway in the tower adjoining my room, but she’d barely ever slept there.

“Just in this bed, I mean,” she clarified. “In… your bed. Maybe I should start sleeping in my cubbie again. We’re not twelve and thirteen anymore. You’re bigger. You need more room.”

I cocked an eyebrow, angry and knowing I had no good reason to be. There was a reason I kept her a secret. A reason I didn’t let any other girl in my room and forced her to wear my old clothes, bind her body, and would never tell my friends my sister was the only woman who would ever sleep in my bed.

I knew I was fucked up.

I just didn’t care. As long as I was happy, I didn’t explain myself to anyone.

When she turned away, I knew she’d given up the argument, and I continued into the bathroom. Turning on the shower, I stripped out of my pajama pants and climbed in, washing and shampooing. I rinsed under the hot spray, bending my head forward and letting the water run down the back of my neck.