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SHILOH

F or the past eleven years, I’ve lived with the biggest hole in my heart. A hole that’s grown blacker and more painful with every passing October.

Objectively speaking, it’s the most beautiful month of the year. The world changes before my eyes. Green turns to gold. The dark of the evening arrives earlier each day. The glow of each street lamp outside my window is a comforting beacon.

Beautiful.

And lonely.

So lonely.

I thought that returning to Seattle after years of living in LA would change that. That being physically closer to Kaleb would make me feel better about this time of year. That it’d be worth blackmailing my father to let me come back here finally.

Yes, I did that. After over a decade of being cast outside of my hometown, I had enough. I gathered enough strength to stand up to him. To threaten him back. I reminded him there were freelance reporters out there who would be drooling to hear all about our violent little family.

No one knows the truth behind what happened to our family. How my father used his money and influence to hide my attack.

How it drove Kaleb into taking matters into his own hands.

“I bet they’d love to hear all about it. Maybe the major outlets will listen, too. Maybe they’ll go behind their editors’ backs and discuss it on one of the major podcasts out there. You never know,” I told him .

His hands clenched at his sides. His face turned a darker shade of red. Nevertheless, he scrolled his name on the dotted line next to mine.

That same night, during the last summer break, before I started my master’s degree this year, I also tried bargaining for Kaleb’s freedom.

Dad laughed at me. Then he called a couple of judges and one politician to prove his point. They told him it was out of their hands.

My arms wrap around my middle, the wind chilling my bones. I’m standing on the balcony of my new apartment on the first floor, gazing out at the quiet neighborhood.

It’s way colder inside. Where it’s just me, my laptop, and my textbooks. Where it’s so quiet that all I can think of is him.

I’d go outside. The short walk to the main street would do me wonders. I’d see people. There would be distractions everywhere .

I wouldn’t. I hardly ever do. Here, I’m protected. Hidden in this cozy apartment where I spend most of my days. So far, I’ve gone out with my two remaining friends once. Grocery shopping. Driving to campus.

I don’t visit my dad and Kaleb’s mom. After I signed the contract, Dad was done with me. Done being embarrassed whenever my name was mentioned in the tech conferences he attends. By anyone who still remembers that Kaleb and I were ever alive.

Kaleb. I never go to see him, either. He isn’t allowed to have visitors.

Even if he were, I don’t know if I would’ve been brave enough to go there.

Every time I think of my murderous stepbrother, I can’t help the shiver running up my spine. Heat and emotions I can’t wrap my head around swarm through me at the mention of his name.

The breeze grazes my cheeks, and I rub them. I turn to the end table on my balcony, pick up my coffee, hugging the mug between my palms.

That first sip scorches my throat.

It should warm me.

It doesn’t. Neither does the white wool sweater and the thick black leggings I’m wearing.

My soul is frozen. Irreparably so. The day they dragged Kaleb out of the courtroom changed everything for me.

My chest tightens at the memory. It was this month, eleven years ago, that they took away the one person I ever loved from me .

The man I haven’t seen in so long. Who I still care for. Who I need in a dangerous, twisted way like no stepsister ever should.

I haven’t felt this connection to anyone before or ever since.

As wrong as it is.

He’s a murderer. If he ever gets out of the psychiatric hospital, he could kill me.

Every part of me craves him. Every part of me mourns the loss of having him in my life.

Some days, it hurts to want him this badly. Days like today.

I don’t understand it. I’ve been questioning my attachment to him for years.

Having a bachelor’s degree in psychology and throwing myself into my master’s studies hasn’t offered any explanations.

I would’ve gone to therapy, except the system failed me before. The system let those two kids go despite calling what they had done to me assault .

No. One day, when I’ve studied enough, when I’ve learned from the best, I’ll understand why I am the way I am.

Kaleb’s face flashes before my eyes. The adult version of him that I’ve made up in my head. It barges into my consciousness unannounced, raising the hairs on the back of my neck.

His harsh golden eyes. How his jaw ticked that morning in the courthouse. His lips set in a tight line.

Full-body shivers rack through me, tightening my throat.

Fucking Octobers .

They remind me of the month that Kaleb was taken from me. It was the month after the two boys from school assaulted me.

The sound of the lock clicking on the school’s bathroom’s door had me crying out in terror.

I pressed myself against the wall. Put as much distance as I could between them and me.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Lee was the bigger of the two.

The one the girls in my class would whisper about whenever he walked down the hall. In my eyes, the blond boy was as ugly as they come. It was his eyes. Brown and cruel.

He crowded my space. There was no escaping him.

“We’re going to have fun, the three of us.” Connor, the one who secured the door, sauntered closer.

He stood shoulder to shoulder with Lee. Shorter and skinnier than him. As he scratched his head, dandruff flakes fell from his curly brown hair. They dotted the front of his navy school uniform shirt and his striped tie.

I would’ve been disgusted if my heart hadn’t been racing a million miles a minute.

They’d been giving me strange looks for weeks. Since the school year started. Two sets of brown eyes that had been following me around wherever I went.

No place seemed to be safe from them, even in our private school, where they had cameras everywhere.

Almost everywhere. Not inside the bathrooms.

I’d been avoiding these two as much as I could.

That day, I failed .

They got me.

And it was up to me to stop them.

“No.” I raised my hands, balling them into fists. Imagining I was as big and strong as Kaleb. For the past four months since my stepbrother had been living with us, he did that whenever Daddy started screaming or was about to slap me. “Stop. Go away.”

Warmth surged through me as I thought of what Kaleb would say if he saw me right now. He would be so proud of me for standing up for myself.

He hardly ever talked, but I knew he would’ve wanted me to beat them up. To not be scared or call someone for help.

Me.

I was going to make Kaleb so proud.

“No chance in hell.” Lee slammed his hand on the wall next to my head. “We’re done chasing you.”

My uniform shirt was buttoned up all the way to the top. My blue blazer was open, but it hid most of my chest. His dirty eyes were on me, anyway. On my breasts that grew over the summer. I hated that.

It was like he could see right through my clothes.

It felt icky. It felt wrong .

“Fuck you.” I gathered every bit of strength I had left. Despite being shorter than the two boys—five-foot-two, same as today—inside my head, I was taller. Leaner. Meaner. I was Kaleb with his broad shoulders and serious scowl. With his mask on. “Fuck both of you. Let me go.”

I said the bad word and I didn’t care.

“No,” both of them said .

I punched Lee’s stomach first. He laughed while Connor reached for my hair and tugged. Hard.

Lee gripped the front of my shirt, and I grunted in pain. He pulled on it, ripping the buttons off. I’d never forget the sound they made as they landed on the floor.

Clink.

Clink.

Clink.

“Stop it,” I kept growling, kept fighting—kicking Connor’s shin. He had his hand on my left breast, no matter what I did. Lee had his on the right one, yanking the cup of my bra down. Exposing me to them. But I still fought. Still needed to make Kaleb proud of me. “Stop, don’t touch me.”

“Fuck, they’re huge.” The pain from having Connor squeeze my breast was unbearable.

“Pink nipples.” Lee twisted mine, and though I clawed at his wrist, though I made him bleed, he wouldn’t let go. Pain and humiliation burned my skin. It made it red, itchy. My lungs felt too big for my body.

At eleven years old, I hardly knew what porn was. What I knew was that I didn’t want any part of it. Not if it made your stomach sink like that. If it made your heart ache and had tears leaking from your eyes.

“G-go away.” I kicked Lee since he hurt me worse. Didn’t make any difference. “Go ? —”

The word got swallowed because Connor tricked me. I wasn’t paying as much attention to him and he used it against me. Leaned in and bit me through my bra.

His hand on my throat. Choking me .

This is how I die. Choked and bitten and?—

My train of thought got cut abruptly when Lee mimicked his friend. Two sets of teeth clamping on my breasts. Two mouths sucking. One hand curled around my throat, another on my navel, going down, down, down.

As much as I wished for it, I wasn’t Kaleb.

But I wasn’t going to die there.

“Help!” Blood trickled from both of my breasts. Fear gripped my heart and wouldn’t let go. Black. Black dots clouded my vision. I couldn’t afford to faint in that bathroom, alone with them. “Help me! Help me! Help me!”

I was lucky that day. Extremely fortunate that the hall monitor walked past the bathroom and heard my cries for help before either of the boys slammed a hand on my mouth to silence me.

Less so in the aftermath.

The boys claimed I’d asked for it. Threatened the hall monitor that if he told anyone, their wealthy daddies would have him fired and no other school would hire him. I was too shocked to confront him and say that my dad was probably the strongest one of them all.

The hall monitor sighed, took one last look at me, then escorted me to the school secretary. He said I’d fallen and needed a new shirt. I couldn’t accuse him of lying. Couldn’t talk the whole time we were there.

Then I came home.

To Kaleb. He stood in the foyer, same as he’d done on any other day before and after our summer break. While his mom spent hours sleeping in her bedroom .

Tall and dark and menacing. His white mask in place. Black eyes staring back at me.

He cared for his mask. He did. Yet at the sight of my crumpled uniform that was a size too small for me, with my mouth twisted in pain, he dropped it to the floor like it meant nothing to him.

He ran over to me like I meant everything .

“Shiloh.” The first tear slipped out. I couldn’t hold it back a second longer. Rage flashed in his eyes as it trickled down my cheek. His hands gripped my shoulders. “Who did this to you?”

He didn’t know what they’d done. He didn’t need to hear my story. Didn’t ask for proof. It didn’t matter that their parents were rich and could cause him trouble.

He wasn’t the hall monitor.

He was my big stepbrother.

He saw through my pain.

He believed me without an explanation. Without words.

Relief crashed over me. I clung to his waist and cried my eyes out, soaking his shirt.

For as long as I needed him, Kaleb hugged me.

He wouldn’t let go, waited out my tears. Made me tell him everything.

Then, the boy who hardly spoke to anyone picked up the phone. He called the cops first, my dad second. He was my voice when I was too shocked and hurt to say a word.

Only him.

That September was awful. The following October was a nightmare I can’t seem to recover from.

Kaleb being hauled out of the courthouse to the psychiatric hospital. Me being threatened into silence by my dad. Locked up in my own version of prison, in a boarding school where my calls and letters were monitored. I wasn’t allowed to contact Kaleb.

I was scared of what he’d write back to me if I did. If his letters would detail all the ways he wanted to kill me for being an ungrateful brat.

Guilt and fear wash over me. I don’t force them back. I deserve them.

Because when I graduated high school at eighteen, I wasn’t any stronger against my all-powerful father.

Brainwashed. Threatened.

On some level, I still am. I’m still not sure why I’ve been determined to move back here, closer to him.

To Kaleb.

Goosebumps prickle across my skin.

Maybe Dad isn’t wrong. Maybe I’d been living in the same house as a ruthless murderer.

We spent hours and hours in his room. While he wore his mask.

That should’ve been a red flag.

At eleven, it wasn’t.

But no matter how much thinking about him evokes fear in me, a part of me still cherishes and misses him.

A murderer who has me longing for him.

My hand goes to my throat, massaging the strained muscles. Forcing air inside.

Why am I even thinking about all of this?

My abusers are dead .

Kaleb isn’t getting out. The head psychiatrist has been reporting back to Dad for years, saying precisely that. He hasn’t shown any sign of remorse. He isn’t cooperating in group meetings. He barely talks to his doctor.

I shouldn’t even want to be here, so close to the boogeyman.

But I do.

In my darkest, loneliest moments, I’ve been thinking of him. How he could’ve hurt me and didn’t.

That maybe he would’ve, had I done the wrong thing. Like he killed Lee and Connor for hurting me. If I’d hurt him, he could’ve taken his anger out on me .

Shaking my head, I go back inside my home. Where it’s warm. Safe. I’ll have to focus on my studies, then I won’t think of anything and anyone.

I slide the glass door shut behind me, padding on my socks across the living room. Past the white couches and the glass coffee table.

My footsteps are silent on the oak wood floors, then the patterned white rug, as I make my way to the kitchen. The cupboards are just as white as the rug, the couches, and the marble countertop.

White, the color of his mask.

Dad hated my obsession with him. The endless questions.

When will he be back? Are you sure he would’ve hurt me too? I miss him, Daddy. I know it’s wrong, and I don’t understand it. Help me. Help him. Please, Daddy. Help us.

He wouldn’t .

Instead of helping, I was beaten up during the fall, spring, and summer breaks I spent at home.

No more.

Just when I set my mug in the dishwasher, my phone rings. I screech and hate myself for it. For being jittery.

“Everything’s fine,” I tell myself. “Your head is a mess as always. That’s all there is to it.”

My phone flashes from the coffee table, the name on it relaxing my tense muscles altogether.

Val, one of my two remaining friends from when I lived here.

The few video calls with her and Marina were my last tether to this place.

I appreciated Val for trying. I respected Marina for joining our calls, even though I could tell she never liked me. I was demonized at my old school, blamed for the two kids’ deaths. I also understood why I wasn’t her favorite person.

“Hey, Val.” Emotionally drained, I drop onto the couch. My classes ended at noon today, but this month has been exhausting. And it’s not even nine. “What’s up?”

“Hey, um…” For a long, tense beat, she’s silent. “I take it you haven’t watched the news today.”

She isn’t asking. She isn’t saying it, either.

She’s whispering. Her voice trembles. It never does that.

Instantly, I’m on high alert, my spine straightening.

I hate the news. Hate everything about it. My stepbrother’s face was splashed on every channel before Dad contacted the press and killed every report on us a day after .

He runs a tech empire, holds patents in multiple fields. He’s always on the lookout for new companies to acquire, and his connections run deep. He’s everywhere.

Before he managed to do it, they put Kaleb’s photo next to mine. They called us freaks. Monsters.

“I’ve been…” My hand trembles as I reach for the remote. I don’t grab it. Can’t. “I’ve been catching up on reading school material.”

“You’ll need to watch it. In a minute.” Val sucks in a long breath. I imagine she’s at home, her hand brushing through her long blonde strands. Her green eyes must be blinking rapidly. She does that when she’s nervous.

My hand closes into a tight fist, nails digging into my palm. My eyes are on the three deadbolts on my door. Locked. I locked them when I came home. Checked they’re set in place three times.

“In a minute?” A thought crosses my mind. If something terrible happened, wouldn’t Dad call me? Probably not. He hasn’t so much as messaged me since I blackmailed him last summer. I shouldn’t be surprised that he doesn’t care if I live or die anymore. “What’s going on?”

“Fuck,” she hisses. “Fuck. Okay. There’s no easy way to say it, so I’m just going to come out with?—”

Without my permission, my hand closes around the remote. The television is on before Val completes her sentence.

My heart stops at what’s on the news ticker.

The manhunt for the dangerous killer continues.

Kaleb’s face fills the screen. It appears to be a recent photograph. He looks so…grown up .

Empty golden eyes. Hair cut shorter than I remember. His cheekbones are more pronounced, his jaw sharper.

He’s staring into the camera.

He’s staring straight at me .

A punch to the chest—that’s what it is, leaving me breathless.

The air is sucked from my lungs. My hand flies to my throat. Shock and terror sink their claws into me, choking me.

It’s more than that, isn’t it?

He’s beautiful. Heart-stoppingly gorgeous.

A man.

Better than anything I could’ve imagined.

My thighs clench. My cheeks burn. If he were here, would I run away? Or would I lean in and kiss him? Let him touch me the way no other man has?

I’m just as fucked up as I’ve always been, aren’t I?

Jesus.

Fuck.

Val talks and talks. Begs me to turn off the TV. I hear her. I don’t listen to her; instead, I turn the volume up.

“…police reports confirm that Kaleb Blackwood has escaped from Berkshire Psychiatric Hospital.” The brown-haired broadcaster in the blue suit remains stern and unfazed while my world goes up in flames. “What was meant to be a one-hour round trip turned into something out of a horror movie.”

Val’s raising her voice, asking if I’m okay. If I need her to come over, I think .

Can’t be sure. Blood roars in my ears. I’m struggling to make sense of what the broadcaster is saying.

Murdered guard and driver.

Dangerous.

Suspected to be wearing a black hoodie and jeans that were stolen from the driver.

Do not approach him. Call the state police hotline immediately.

The number rolls on the bottom of the screen. White on red.

My breath comes out in shallow, wheezing gasps.

“Shiloh? Hello? I’m coming over, I swear.”

“No.” I’m a ball of fear. Of need and want. “Don’t.”

I didn’t— couldn’t expect this reaction. Couldn’t imagine my blood would run hot, then cold, then hot again. I want to run to him. Want to but stay away. Curse him. Punch him.

He scares me and I’ve missed him, and I don’t ever want him near me, ever again.

“What do you mean, no?” Heels click on the marble in Val’s penthouse. Her parents bought her one of the prettiest ones in the city. Unlike my father, they love having their daughter around. “I’m not asking, I’m telling you. I’m coming.”

“I’m fine.”

He’s dangerous and insane, Shiloh . Dad’s voice booms inside my head. He’ll kill you or any of us for no reason whatsoever. You’re a fool for caring about him. Such a disappointment.

I didn’t fully believe Dad back then. Kaleb killed the two boys who hurt me for a reason.

The guard and driver, though, did nothing to earn this.

I gulp in air. Blink .

Maybe Dad was right.

Maybe he escaped so he could take his revenge on me.

Maybe I deserve it.

I definitely deserve it.

I might even want it.

Acid burns my stomach at the idea. I’m sick. Terribly sick.

“You better open the door when I get there.

“I’m really okay.” I press the button, turning off the television. The screen goes black. As black as my heart. As black as my soul—one that feels everything and nothing at all. “A little shaken, that’s all.” Liar . “Otherwise, I’m fine. I think I’ll take a sleeping pill and go to bed.”

Kaleb’s mom has plenty of those. She never noticed one or ten were missing. Her golden eyes are constantly empty. Being Dad’s source of adoration and personal rag doll has turned her into a lifeless creature.

Kaleb’s eyes, however, are usually empty for no reason whatsoever.

Unless he’s looking at you.

“I can be there in thirty minutes.”

My phone vibrates. An unknown number flashes on my screen. Since it’s not my dad’s, it must be reporters.

Why hasn’t he called? The psychiatric hospital’s manager must have called him by now. He’s probably busy doing damage control, shutting this down before the story leaks to tomorrow’s morning news.

If that doesn’t work—though I’m sure it will—he’ll have his lawyers calling me soon. Telling me how to repeat the words no comment .

He’ll add security detail to his mansion, I imagine. Keep himself safe while leaving me here to die.

Kaleb would be doing him a huge favor if he kills me.

I’d be six feet under. Kaleb would be locked away, another news article that Dad would bury.

Honestly, he might be doing me a favor too.

My stepbrother would bring a cleaver to my flesh. Run the tip along my skin.

Blood would trickle up. A little at first.

Then a lot of it. And I’d watch his golden eyes as he slowly kills me. I’d get off on it. I’d come when he rips my heart out of my chest.

I’d know I had paid for my sins against him.

“Don’t. Tell Marina I’m okay.” The pressure between my legs is too intense to ignore. I need this call to end. Need to go to my closet, where I keep the most valuable item I own. That’s where I’m headed. “We’ll talk in the morning. They’ll catch him by then.”

“Yes. Yes, of course they will.” She isn’t convinced. Neither of us are. “Call me if you need me?”

“I will.” Won’t.

I’ve only ever needed one person.

And that person is a murderer.