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Tovah

“S hit,” I muttered, wiping sweat off my forehead. “Why is there nothing incriminating in this fucking house?!”

I had been snooping top to bottom through Isaac’s home for hours while he’d been at hockey practice. Pulled papers out of filing cabinets, searched the trash for old receipts, tried every password I could think of on his laptop. I’d tried the code on that drawer in his office again, but after multiple tries, I’d given up.

All I had to show for my hours of work was exhaustion from painstakingly removing possible evidence, only to replace it when I realized it wasn’t evidence after all. Oh, and sweat. And tears, because I felt like I was going to cry. I’d been living with Isaac for a week, and I was no closer to finding answers that would put the Silvers in prison and set my mom and me free.

A good journalist never gave up on a story. I knew that. And this was more than a story—it was life or death. But I was getting absolutely nowhere but discouraged.

Glancing up at the mirror across from the desk in Isaac’s office-slash-workout-room, I frowned at my expression. The purple-haired girl in the mirror—which I’d dyed this morning because fuck Isaac and the Zamboni he rode in on—looked a little pissed off and a lot defeated.

“Don’t you give up,” I told her, tossing my head. “You’re Tovah fucking Lewis, future Pulitzer Prize winner. You don’t give up; you just get creative.”

I sat at the desk, running my fingers through my violet-colored hair. I’d dyed it with the only box of old, fun color dye I had among a range of new boxes of browns. Isaac must have accidentally brought the purple from my apartment when he’d brought the rest of my stuff over. He’d think I’d dyed it as a fuck you to him, and that had been part of it, but mostly it was because I was starting to feel twitchy, which was the sign it was time to change my hair color again so no one recognized me.

There had to be some other way to get either evidence or some sort of confession, I just had to keep thinking.

At that moment, the alarm announced that the door was unlocked and Isaac was home.

Crap, he was early.

Quickly, I scanned the office to make sure nothing was out of place, but before I could exit, the door began to open.

Shit, shit, shit.

I dove out from behind the desk, landing in a heap on the workout mat.

Isaac stood before me, framed in the doorway, his face thunderous.

“Find what you were looking for?”

“No,” I said, a little out of breath. “Why don’t you have a yoga mat? Or foam blocks?”

His face was unreadable. “They’re in the closet.”

Oh, damn.

“You do yoga?” I asked, momentarily distracted by the thought of Isaac doing downward dog.

“It keeps me limber. I do Pilates too—it helps protect me from injuries. But I like yoga the most, it keeps me emotionally centered and calm.”

I rolled my eyes. “You should probably do it more, then.”

He walked toward the mat, until he was looming above me, his arms crossed over his chest. A paper bag dangled from his fingers.

“I should,” he agreed. “Since my emotional equilibrium was thrown into chaos the moment you moved in.”

“I have an easy solution for that,” I said amiably. “Let me move back out.”

He shook his head. “And let you publish some article that will destroy my family? No, little snoop. I know better than to trust you. Here.” He dropped the paper bag on the floor next to me. “I got you something to wear. There’s a big party at the hockey house tonight, and you’re going to be helping serve and clean up after our guests.”

Alarm bells went off in my head. I looked over at the paper bag with concern. Based on his tone, poisonous snakes could come slithering out of it at any moment, and I wouldn’t be surprised.

He grinned, a little viciously. “Look at what’s inside.”

“What if I don’t want to?” I asked truthfully.

“Then I leak those photos I took of you on social media. Open the bag, Tovah.”

This fucking guy. Why did someone so fucking evil have to be so fucking hot?

I opened it, pulling out some lacy, frothy fabric and holding it up to the light.

Dear god.

“No,” I said immediately.

There was no way I was wearing this thing.

Wicked satisfaction flashed in Isaac’s eyes.

“Yes,” he said. “I gave you a heads up about this, after all. Remember?”

Careful, or I’ll put you in a maid costume and nothing else. Make you clean up my floors with your tongue.

Lost in horror, I said absently, “There’s no way I’m touching my tongue to the hockey house floors.”

He shrugged one sexy shoulder. “Of course not. I wouldn’t want you to do something—so unsanitary.”

“You’re really going to humiliate me like this? Make me be the help for the night?”

My breathing sped up. The shock of almost getting caught was wearing off. Isaac didn’t know this, but the maid costume was giving me flashbacks to my childhood. My mom had never had to wear something so skimpy, but she had worn a formal maid uniform, and she’d been treated like crap in it. When my stepfather had set eyes on her, we’d thought it meant no more mistreatment by the Silvers.

We’d been wrong.

And now I was going to have to parade around in the slutty Halloween version of her uniform while Reina students laughed at me and whispered and made me do god knew what. And I’d have to suck it up and deal with it, because otherwise Isaac would leak those horrible photos of me naked and covered in his cum. Or, worse, much worse, he’d tell his dad about the little fake maid living in his house, which would become Abe Silver finding his real former maid, and then?—

I stopped my mind before it could go that far. All I’d get out of it was a panic attack.

“Fine,” I said, scrambling to my feet. “I’ll wear the stupid costume. I’ll let you embarrass me in front of all your friends and all our schoolmates. It’ll be a grand old time.”

I stormed toward the door.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he called smoothly.

I stopped, turning back to look at him. He held the frilly maid costume and matching thong in his big, beautiful hands, and I hated how, in that moment, even though I wanted to kill him, a part of me wanted to crawl over to him on my knees, pull out his cock, and suck.

What had he done to my brain?

Was there a cure?

I stormed back toward him, trying to hide the way my hand trembled with want as I grabbed the costume from his hands.

If he wanted a damn maid, he’d get a maid.

But I wouldn’t go down without a fight.

* * *

In my three and a half years at Reina, I’d only been to the hockey house once—with Aviva. I’d promised myself I’d never go back, but then I’d been breaking all sorts of promises to myself.

I followed Isaac inside, wrapped in my raggedy, worn pea coat. The party had already started, and people were on their way to getting drunk and high, if they weren’t already there.

Everyone was dressed normally, in jeans and t-shirts or cute skirts and skimpy dresses. I’d hoped that this was a costume party and that I wouldn’t stick out, but no such luck. Although his teammates and their friends eyed me curiously, no one said anything.

The only thing that kept me even a little calm was the fact that no one could see what I was wearing underneath.

Until we reached the kitchen, and Isaac held out his hand, that same dark, wicked look in his eyes. I was beginning to loathe that look.

“Why don’t you give me your coat, Tovah? You must be warm,” he said, full Isaac Jones Good Guy charm—and dimples—on display. We were back in public, so the mask was back on.

I hesitated, crossing my arms over my chest. I might pretend I didn’t care what people thought about me, but their judgment still stung. And they were going to judge my outfit, no question.

Isaac apparently didn’t have much patience for me, because he uncrossed my arms and started to remove my jacket, pulling off one sleeve and then the other like I was a petulant child. I felt the warm, recycled air of the house caress my bare skin as he pulled away the wool of my coat and my pretty fucking scandalous, pretty fucking ridiculous costume was revealed.

There was shocked silence, and then laughter broke out. I wanted to disappear.

“Tovah agreed to serve everyone’s drinks tonight. Said she was in the mood to help out the team,” Isaac called out to everyone around us. “She’s going to clean up the mess after, too, so don’t feel like you have to be mindful of where you put things.”

“All the messes? Because these parties tend to get…sticky,” Nick McPherson, a junior and the Kings’ backup left wing joked, and the girls around him giggled.

“She can clean me up if she wants,” Bryan Marks, another junior on the team, added.

One of the girls whispered something to the other. I didn’t have to hear them to know it wasn’t something nice.

Isaac’s gaze went hard. “Make a joke like that again, Marks, and you’re off the team.”

The room got very quiet in the wake of Isaac’s threat. He wasn’t defending me, he was marking his territory, and I was sick of it. Sick of the way he ping-ponged between protecting me and hurting me. I could feel how red my face had turned; my cheeks and neck were hot, and I wanted to hide from all the eyes on me. All their speculation, their taunting, their ridicule…

…but then this wasn’t anything new, was it? I’d been speculated about, taunted, and ridiculed ever since Veronica had started those rumors about me. I hadn’t lied to Isaac when I’d said their opinions of me didn’t matter. All that mattered was my own opinion of myself. And maybe there were moments, like now, where that was hard to remember, but it didn’t make it any less true. I was fucking amazing, and if I had to deal with being exposed in some slutty maid costume and try to pretend it didn’t make me think about my mom and all she’d endured and all we’d lost, then I’d deal with it.

Squaring my shoulders and tossing my hair, I glanced around the room, catching people’s gazes, making it clear that not a single one of them intimidated me. When I finally ended on Bryan and Nick, I winked at both of them playfully.

“I can handle a mess or two,” I told them. “The stickier, the better.”

The girls who’d been whispering froze, their eyes widening in shock.

Yeah, I went there , I thought, grimly satisfied.

Raising my voice, I called out, “Guess I’m working tonight. Who needs to be served first?” I made the insinuation as obvious as possible, rewarded when Isaac’s eyes darkened and his jaw got stiff.

“Tovah—” he warned.

“What? You said it was my job to serve at this party, Jones. So I’m serving,” I said sweetly, making sure to sway my hips as I headed in the direction of some of his teammates to take drink orders or whatever inane bullshit he wanted to get up to.

I was livid. Completely livid. But I’d die before I showed him how much he’d angered and embarrassed me. And if I was right—and I had the gut instinct of a news reporter, which meant I was almost always right—Isaac was already regretting what he’d done.

Good. Let him stew over watching his teammates hit on his…whatever I was to him.

Let him fucking burn.

“Jack, man, you’re here! Hey, Aviva!”

My head lifted, and I scanned the room. I hadn’t seen my best friend since the hockey game, before all this blackmail and bullshit had started with Isaac. God, what was she going to say when she saw me? I wanted to tell her everything, so badly…but I also knew I couldn’t. Because if I told her Isaac was blackmailing me, she’d ask why, and I’d have to tell her about his family. I’d have to tell her the truth, and not only would she never look at me the same way, it would also make her unsafe. Isaac’s dad would come after her and Asher, too, and I couldn’t let that happen.

Which meant I had to lie. More.

“Tovah? What the hell?” Aviva spotted me across the main living room, headed in my direction, tugging Jack along with her.

When she reached me, she released Jack’s hand and grabbed me in a tight hug, and I let myself hug her back, taking refuge in my loyal best friend, even as I worried the aspiring therapist would do some psychoanalyzing magic on me and figure out what I was hiding from her.

Finally, she pulled away, her eyes narrowing as she looked me over.

“Was there some costume party you went to before this?” she asked. “Or is this the costume party, and the rest of us missed that line in the invitation?”

Fuck . I had no interest in defending or making excuses for Isaac, but I didn’t want her digging too deep, either.

As I tried to think of a way to explain the current situation, while also berating myself for not planning for seeing Aviva earlier like I should’ve, she laid into me.

“I’m so mad at you, Tovah. What the actual hell. I’ve texted you multiple times, messaged you on literally every platform that exists and some that probably don’t, and nothing. You haven’t responded once, not even just to tell me you’re alive. The only thing I have to rely on is the rumor mill that claims you’re either dating Isaac or you’re his live-in fuckbuddy?! You’ve apparently spent more time with the Wasserson twins than you have with me lately.”

“Princess—” Jack interjected.

“Don’t princess me, Jack. This doesn’t concern you.” Aviva waved him off.

I watched as Jack raised an eyebrow at her. “Are we really back here? Everything about you concerns me. Maybe we should let Isaac and Tovah handle what’s going on with Isaac and Tovah. Although…” he looked at me with those Jack-Feldman-lie-detector-eyes. “Are you safe?”

Aviva scoffed. “It’s Isaac. Of course she’s safe. But she’s been avoiding me and I want to know why. ”

Jack just watched me.

I considered. Was I safe? Isaac had threatened me numerous times, and somewhere, not far away, his father waited in the shadows. But at the same time, Isaac hadn’t actually hurt me. He’d even been bandaging up my wrist every night before putting on the handcuffs…

…oh god. I’d been Stockholmed. Aviva had told me the supposed syndrome had been fabricated to discredit a woman, and yet here I was, emotionally connecting with my captor.

Goddamnit.

“I don’t know,” I answered Jack truthfully.

Aviva gasped. “If you aren’t safe, then you don’t get to be around him. And if he’s hurt you, I’ll kill him.” She turned to Jack. “And I don’t care if he’s your best friend, you get to bury him. He’s too heavy for me.”

I put a hand on her shoulder. “No, I’m safe, I misspoke. Aviva, I’m fine.”

Her eyes grew wet. “If you’re fine, then why have you been avoiding me? What did I do? ”

She hadn’t done anything. She’d been perfect. It was me. I was the liar.

But before I could say any of that, or come up with anything reasonable to say, there was a hand wrapping around my good wrist.

“We’re going upstairs to my room,” Isaac gritted out between his teeth as he began to drag me away from Aviva and Jack.

“Hang on,” Aviva said. “You aren’t taking her anywhere, Isaac Jones.”

Isaac completely ignored her as he pulled me through the center of the living room.

“Isaac, why?—”

“Hang on,” he muttered, stopping at the edge of the room and dropping my wrist so he could pull his long-sleeved Kings shirt off his head.

I gaped at him.

The whole room gaped at him.

And his abs.

He ignored them all, dropping the shirt over my head and pulling my arms gently but firmly through the sleeves, so that it draped over me, hanging all the way down to my thighs, and hiding the maid costume and my bare skin.

Oh.

That done, he grabbed my wrist again and started dragging me up the stairs, clearly not giving a shit about the whispers that broke out at his actions.

Even I couldn’t care, or parse, what the hell was going on. I was too busy jogging up the stairs so I didn’t trip and fall. I hurried to keep up with him as he stormed down the second floor hallway, stopping at a room that said Jones on the door and unlocking it with a key he produced out of nowhere before he picked me up, carried me inside, locked the door, crossed the room in three strides, and threw me on the bed.

I stared up at him, eyes wide.

“You think you’re cute, Tovah? Flaunting yourself, displaying your tits for every single asshole here, showing off that pretty skin? Well, the game’s over, and you’ve had your fun. Congratulations: you get to be my personal maid for the rest of the night. And I’m about to make things really fucking goddamn messy in here—and you are going to clean it up with that sweet little tongue of yours. Now, get on your goddamned knees and open that smartass little mouth.”

My mouth did drop open, but not to take his cock. No, I had shit to say.

“I’m sorry, you’re blaming me ? It was your idea to dress me up in some slutty costume and parade me around in front of your friends. Did you expect me to cower and cry? To let you humiliate me in front of everyone? Clearly you don’t know me at all.”

“I do know you, unlike the rest of those fucknuts,” he muttered. “I know you like your showers scalding hot. I know that you change your hair color when you get antsy, even though you pretend it’s a fuck you to everyone. I know you’re stubborn as fuck, especially when it comes to finding out the truth. And I know despite your reputation, you don’t actually go out of your way to flirt with assholes. You did it to fuck with me, and I don’t like it.”

Oh.

Oh.

He was jealous.

That should’ve amused me, or settled me in some way, but I was still fucking angry at the way he’d treated me tonight.

“There’s only one reason why you’d react this way, Isaac Silver. You’re feeling territorial. I should have seen it before. Is it because you’re starting to care?”

I was aware I was taunting him, but I was too pissed off to give a shit. He was acting like a little boy during recess who shoves the girl he likes because he can’t admit his feelings. Except worse. Isaac was so determined to pretend to be someone else, he’d turned like into lust and loathing.

Both lust and loathing were clear in his eyes, which had darkened to a burning black.

“You really think,” he said slowly as he unzipped his jeans, “that I care ? That you’re anything other than a pain in my goddamn ass? I’m not jealous. Why would I be?” He climbed on the bed, shoving my legs down, and crawled on top of my prone body. “I’m the one who fucks that beautiful face. I’m the one who makes you come and sees you at your softest. I’m the one who turns that delectable ass red.” I struggled against him but lost as he straddled my arms and chest. Trapped. “I don’t have to care about you to own you, Tovah Lewis. And I think it’s time to give you another demonstration. Now, open that smartass mouth so I can put it to use.”

“You get your dick near my mouth, and I’ll bite it off,” I threatened.

Pulling out his cock, he slapped it against one cheek, then the other.

“If I even feel your teeth, I’ll follow through on tying you naked to the founders’ statue and leave you there. Anyone could find you. Will you think I’m jealous then?”

I shut my mouth, glaring at him.

He pinched my nose shut, watching me. I tried to keep my mouth closed, but my lungs burned and I opened it. The second I did, he released my nose and surged forward, shoving his cock deep inside. From this angle, with my arms trapped under his thighs, and him on top of me, I couldn’t control anything. Not when he pushed his hard, thick cock down my throat and stayed there. Not when he stared down at me in angry triumph. And not when he slowly, almost tenderly, stroked my face, his touch belied by his next words:

“Oh, little snoop. I bet you’re already soaked. You love being treated this way. This time I’m going to fuck your face so hard, you’ll learn your mouth is only good for one thing: pleasing me.”

And then he did exactly that.

As I tried to ignore him.

Tried not to come.

Even though I worried I’d fail.