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tray a little after eight, he sent her away, opting for a tumbler of scotch on the rocks instead. He hoped the drink would dull the edges of his anger. But two tumblers later, all it had accomplished was to make it impossible to stop thinking about Hannah, the woman he’d locked in a cage for the crime of not giving him what he wanted.
    He was behaving like an infant king, a tyrant given power far greater than his capacity for compassion.
    Her sister destroyed your capacity for compassion and Hannah’s purpose is to give you what you want. It doesn’t matter that she isn’t Harley; you’re still paying for her obedience. She knew the rules and she knew she would be punished for disobeying them.
    She brought every bit of this pain and suffering upon herself.
    That line of defense held until eleven o’clock, when he turned off the lights and slipped between the sheets, only for his mind to stubbornly replay the events of the evening over and over again, keeping him awake and riveted by remembered fear.
    He kept seeing Hannah struggling in the waves, reliving the terror that had flooded through him as he realized he might lose her until his heart thudded faster and his arms ached to hold her. All he wanted to do was to press her tight to his chest and assure his anxious mind that she was safe and alive. But she wasn’t safe and he doubted any amount of money could convince her to come willingly into his arms. She hated him. As she should. As she should have from the very beginning.
    But she didn’t. She cared. And you paid her back with cruelty.
    With a curse, Jackson flung the covers to the end of the bed and rose to pace back and forth on the cool hardwood. A part of him wanted to go to her, to try to make this better, but it was too late. It had always been too late.
    Maybe if he’d met Hannah first instead of Harley. Maybe if he’d never become a criminal or learned to take what he wanted and damn the consequences, maybe then he and Hannah could have been something other than enemies. But as things stood, the situation was too fucked up for it to ever be put right again. Harley had made sure of that.
    Jackson snatched his phone from the bureau, thumbing back to the picture of the two girls by the lake, feeling something painful flash through his chest at the sight of Hannah’s smile. It was the same smile she had as an adult, that sweet, open smile he’d seen in the moments she felt comfortable enough to let down her guard. It was the smile that had made him wonder if there was some way forward for him and Harley, as twisted and crazy as the path might be.
    But Hannah wasn’t Harley. Harley was dead and Hannah was a stranger he’d known for barely a week.
    She’s not a stranger. She’s yours.
    “Fuck me until I know who I belong to.” The memory of her words was enough to make his cock stiffen, but he ignored his body’s response. Hannah didn’t belong to him and she never would. She deserved better than what he could give her. A broken man was good enough for the woman who had broken him, but he would never be good enough for anyone else.
    Ignoring the odd rush of melancholy inspired by the thought, Jackson flipped forward to the letter he hadn’t had time to read earlier tonight. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was written in colored pencil and that the contents of the missive weren’t as childlike as he’d first assumed. The looping cursive was awkward, but the thoughts the words communicated were unexpectedly eloquent.
    Dear Aunt Syb,
    I miss you so much! I dream about the lake house every night and wake up sad that I’m not there with you. I wish it were already next summer. Don’t tell them I told, but Mom is still as sad as when we left and Dad is always at work. Sometimes I wonder if they wish they didn’t have kids, but I’m probably wrong. I guess I’m just cranky because Nanny Hammond is awful.
    She punishes us BOTH every time Harley does something bad!
    Harley says it’s because