DELIVER(9)

“My father isn’t here, and I don’t expect anything unmanageable with my sister, but just in case?”

The thought of spending more time with her sped his pulse. The uncertainty etching her heart-shaped face decided it. One thing first.

He closed the final inches and tasted her lips. Her exhale caressed his mouth, and her fingers swept through his hair, pulling him closer. He fought the urgency to work his tongue past her lips and kept it chaste. Since kissing was the breadth of his experience, he’d stolen dozens of lip-locked moments, each one growing bolder but never out of bounds. Though the sensation of her lips whispering over his went beyond that point of contact, spreading south. He cupped her cheek, holding her to him.

Shuddering waves of need heated his insides and gripped his groin. If the kiss continued one more second, his vow to his parents would be put to the test. He broke the kiss.

The seam of her lips separated, the delicate lines of her face magnifying her allure. He grabbed his phone from the cup holder and jumped out. He wasn’t a slave to his desires, and she’d asked him to come inside because she needed a friend. That he could handle.

She joined him at the garage keypad and punched in the code. By the time they reached the interior door, he’d managed to wrestle down his libido.

A dark hush greeted them in the kitchen. There was a trace of mustiness in the air, the staleness of vacancy, but the red sauce smearing the dishes in the sink appeared fresh.

He trailed her shuffling pace over the worn brown carpet to the sitting room. A single lamp illuminated dark wood panels, a paisley couch, matching armchair, and a clunky tube-style television. He rubbed his jaw. “This place is familiar.”

Creases formed in her forehead. She scanned the room but didn’t really seem to be inspecting it, her gaze more inwardly focused.

“That ’70s Show was filmed right here, in this Temple, Texas living room, wasn’t it?”

Not a hint of a smile on her distracted face. “Poor people have poor ways.”

A reminder he didn’t know what she did for a living, and he’d probably offended her, dammit. He didn’t know anything about her. Except the smooth silkiness of her lips.

“Sis?” She ambled down the hall and poked her head in each of the two bedrooms. “She must be in the attic.”

The room chilled, and he shivered. “The attic?”

“She feels safe there.” She paused at the enclosed staircase that led up from the mouth of the hallway and held out her hand.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sure you don’t need a few minutes to talk? I can wait down here if you want privacy.”

Her hand remained outstretched, her rich brown eyes watching him with a pleading kind of intensity that told him his presence was important.

He joined her and twined their fingers, her palm cool and damp. What could he do to ease her nervousness? He tightened his grip and followed her up, the unlit stairwell closing in around him. “Where’s the light-switch?”

She stopped them on the top stair, the darkness as tangible as her silence. Her clothes rustled. Beeps followed. A small red light blinked on the wall.

Apprehension crawled over him, tickling the hairs on his arms. “Was that a keypad?”

A door opened, and he squinted into the fluorescent glare escaping from inside. Her grip on his hand tugged him over the threshold, and he followed, compelled, curious…shocked.

His attention landed on the center of the room, and he struggled to process what he saw. A teenage girl knelt before them, completely nude. Her white-blond hair and fair skin looked nothing like Liv. But what sent dread through his veins was how she lowered her brow to the floor, hands behind her back, thighs spread.

The door clicked shut behind him, snapping him out of his stunned paralysis. He averted his eyes to the cot in the corner and the steel rings bolted in the wall above it. Dear God, what was this place? His pulse roared in his ears, his voice strangled. “That’s your sister?”

She cocked her head, a smirk pinned on her face.

Holy crap. She’d lied. Why? Realization sank his stomach. She lied to lure him there. He spun, yanked the door handle. No give. He slammed a fist on the door, a muffled thump. Solid wood. Reinforced with a steel jamb. “Let me out.”

“No.”

No? She was refusing to release him? His blood drained to his legs, leaving a trail of ice in its wake. He pawed at the keypad on the brick wall. His heart rate redoubled. Surely the naked girl was there voluntarily. Maybe they just wanted to have some fun with him, and he’d given the wrong signals.

He turned, pressed his back to the door, and tugged out his phone. “I’m not into this…whatever this is.” The buttons wouldn’t respond. Black screen. He jammed his thumb against the power switch. Nothing.

A hard swallow caught in his throat. He raised his eyes, found her watching him with that terrible stillness about her. When she spoke, the voice didn’t belong to the girl with the silky lips and enthralling lullaby.

“You will learn, practice, and become the twelve requirements demanded by your Master.” She crouched to stroke the girl’s head, who hadn’t moved or glanced up.

It had to be a sick joke. Just some swinging neighborhood debauchery. He needed to hear her admit it, because imagining the alternative was kicking his heart rate to dangerous levels. “So you lured me here for some kinky game where I play gimp boy to your…your…she-Master?” He released a laugh, and it was strained and desperate. “Sorry, babe. You’ve got the wrong guy.”