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into self-harm was not. So once a Sanctuary’s human was under a demon’s control, the best one could do would be to send him unknowingly into danger—lead him off a cliff, or, as in this case, a pier. And a drowning death was ideal, Thorn guessed, since it kept the victim’s body intact and useful. Once the security guard died, Thorn’s adversaries undoubtedly planned to commandeer his vacant body and use it to dispatch the people upstairs, which would be the fastest, easiest method of ending their lives. It was eerie. It was brutal. It was purely demonic.
    And two could play at that game.

5
    C-stands and studio lights in various stages of setup stood watch over the soulless living room and the pristine kitchen next to it. Crystal grabbed a sharp kitchen knife from a cutlery set and hid it in her purse. The worst had happened again. Ten days had passed since the last time, so she’d hoped that Brandon was done. Had something changed since then? Had she made him mad somehow?
    As usual, she couldn’t tell Cole. She could never tell Cole. Even as passive as he was, he wouldn’t ignore a rape claim, and Crystal didn’t have the courage to go to court over something like this. She could hear the accusations now.
    “What was she wearing?”
    “Did she lead him on?”
    “Did she secretly want it?”
    “She’s a porn actress; what did she think was going to happen?”
    “Didn’t she get paid for that anyway?”
    Just ignoring the rapes would be easier and less painful. Crystal was sure she could recover by herself. Driving a wedge between Cole and Brandon would remove Cole’s only source of income, and she couldn’t do that to him. Besides, Cole would end their romance immediately if he ever discovered that the baby was Brandon’s. Still, if Brandon ever tries it again…
    The knife in her purse gave her comfort. Maybe she’d buy some pepper spray before work tomorrow. I should have done that months ago. Stupid. Stupid.
    As Crystal sat gingerly on a barstool and dug through her purse for some painkillers, Heather used a blue plastic ruler to measure the distance from the countertop’s edge to some of Cole’s wine bottles. Crystal liked how organized Cole was—the opposite of her mom. He knew the exact position of every item in the house, and if she moved something, she’d have to put it back or he’d get mad. He’d yelled at Heather for that a few days ago, so she’d been extra careful ever since.
    Once Heather arrived at a measurement, she plucked up a bottle, popped the top with a corkscrew, and poured herself a glass of wine. “Do you know if we’re gonna film some more, or are we done for the night?” she asked.
    Crystal shrugged. “I think we’re done.”
    Then Heather gave her that look that said she knew something was wrong, and poured a second glass of wine. Does she suspect what Brandon’s been doing to me? Crystal lived in fear that one day, Heather or Cole would bring up the rapes out of the blue, and her world would shatter. Thankfully, Heather seemed content with small talk now, even if she did suspect something.
    “I can’t stand this condo,” Heather said. “All sterile and cold. Gives me bad vibes. No pictures of family or friends.”
    “There’s the one in the hall,” Crystal said. She glanced over at the small picture hanging just outside the kitchen: a snapshot of Brandon with his arm around Cole, enjoying drinks on a boat.
    “Friends, right,” Heather said with a subtle roll of her eyes. She set the second wine glass in front of Crystal. “You should know, not everyone in the business is like Brandon. He’s the exception, not the rule. You’ve already seen the worst, so it can only get better from here.”
    Crystal balled up part of her dress and clenched it in her fist. She appreciated Heather’s encouragement, but wondered how many other girls just like Crystal she’d known in her years in the industry. Heather’s motherly persona came just a little too easily,