That night, Davis lost his mind inside the hidden room.
He still stopped short of crossing the final line. But beneath the watchful eyes of bloodstained clothes and piles of evidence, he worshiped me with a devotion so obsessive it bordered on madness, pushing me to sensations I'd never known before.
Like a believer kneeling before his faith, he remained at my feet for what felt like forever, kissing my trembling toes again and again, as if every inch of me was something sacred he had spent years longing to touch.
Then he finally told me the truth.
Seven years ago, he had still been the Ward family's unwanted bastard son. Jones had beaten him nearly to death and dumped him onto a frozen street in the middle of winter.
I had been visiting the Ward estate that day. Without even knowing
