five years earlier

​

“You’re coming out this time, right?” my roommate asked, sitting on the bed next to me. I yanked my earbuds out, pausing the recorded lecture. 

 

“Got to study,” I said.

 

“You know they’ve got tons of man-candy there?” She shoved my shoulder playfully. “You could use a real-life person and not a toy for once…”

 

I wasn’t the one who owned seven of those things; I had one, thank you very much. 

 

“You’re the one who needs a real person!” I shouted.

 

“At least come be my wing-woman.” She gestured to our housemates in the other bedroom. “They suck at it.”

 

A new library assistant position had been posted back home, and I had promised myself that if I aced my biology final, I’d actually apply for it this time. It was all about balance; get good grades for your career, then reward yourself with your dream. 

 

But I had passed the midterm. I was already on the right track. 

 

Maybe I deserved a break. And honestly, a real person in the bedroom sounded nice too. 

 

It was about balance, right?

 

“Please, Fi?”

 

“All right,” I said. “But I’m coming home before midnight!”

 

I dressed in a thin pink dress, one that my roommate approved of. Examining myself in the mirror. What could I add? I went through my drawers and found some purple lipstick and diamond fishnets. I swiped them on.

 

“Wow,” my roommate said. “You look like a gothic doll.”

 

That was accurate, and I was totally okay with it. We took a mirror selfie together. My middle sister would have been proud.

 

My roommate’s favorite bar downtown had half-price shots all the time, and on ladies’ night, like tonight, well drinks were buy-one-get-one, perfect for college students with a limited budget.

​

“Let’s take a shot! Kamikazes!” my roommate shouted. “In honor of Fiona! Let’s get her wasted!”

 

It was easy to swallow, and we all laughed. The alcohol warmed me all the way to my toes, and the way men looked at me in my short dress made me want to smile harder. To keep their attention. 

 

Maybe I did need to get laid. It had been far too long. 

 

Next up, we had hurricanes, then we were back to kamikazes, and as the night went on, the drinks added up. The room swirled around me like bacteria in a petri dish, but I didn’t check the time. I was having too much fun. 

 

When my roommate and housemates wandered off to do another dance, I propped myself up on the bar, too light-headed to join in for this round. Halfway through the song, the bartender brought me a drink: another kamikaze. 

 

“I didn’t order this,” I said. 

 

She pointed at a booth in the back corner. “He did.”

 

A man with black hair made eye contact with me. His fitted suit. Gold cufflinks. He seemed wealthy, too wealthy to be a college or graduate student. Subtle lines on his forehead, like he might be older too. Late-twenties, maybe. A stern jaw. Muscular arms and shoulders, like he might be on the cover of a fitness magazine. But it was his blue-gray eyes that captivated me; his pupils laser-focused, like I was the only woman in the room. 

 

Who was he? 

 

I glanced at my roommate and the rest of the college students in the bar. Why did he buy me a drink? Was it the pink dress?

 

I walked to him as evenly as I could, then slid into his booth.

 

“I’ll have to pass,” I said, raising the kamikaze, “but thank you. It’s kind of you.”

 

He stopped a passing server. “Whatever she’d like,” he said, motioning to me. I wasn’t going to object.

 

“Soda water with a splash of ginger ale and a lime squeeze,” I said. The server nodded and walked away. 

 

“Enough for one night?” the man asked, amusement in his voice.

 

I tucked my hair around my ear. “I had a few too many.”

 

“I noticed.”

 

Those words sent shivers down my spine. How long had he been watching me? 

 

“Do I know you?” I asked.

 

He leaned forward, resting on his elbows. “I’m curious. Why are you here?” he asked, ignoring my question. “Women like you rarely get out like this.”

 

I flinched. Women like me? 

 

“Am I right?” he asked, a twinkle in his eye. My mouth opened. “So, tell me. What are you doing out tonight?”

 

I should have been playful, hinting at what I wanted, making him chase me for the promise of a good time. But I was tired, drunk, and impatient. I wanted to get to the point rather than pretend like I wasn’t in desperate need of release. Besides, he was good-looking, and I knew what I wanted. 

 

“Honestly, I hoped I might find some physical action,” I said as matter-of-factly as possible.

 

His mouth opened subtly in surprised amusement. “Action? A good girl like you?”

 

“Good girls can be bad too.”

 

His eyes darkened, but that grin never left his face. It was like he was analyzing me, trying to figure out what my strategy was.

 

Why had I said that to him?

 

His eyes still focused on me. “What do you want? Besides the ‘action.’”

 

I blushed, but he winked, amusement simmering under the surface of his relaxed posture. What did I want? This probably wasn’t the answer he wanted, but hell, I had already been this honest with him. 

 

I blurted it out: “I want my own library.”

 

His eyes fixated on me, mulling over my words. “Libraries are important pillars of the community.”

 

Finally, someone who understood me. “Exactly!” I said. The server brought my drink, and I took a long sip, staring up at him. 

 

“So what would you do for your own library?” he asked.

 

“Like, what lengths would I go?” I laughed. “Am I being interrogated?”

 

“It’s a simple question. What would you do for your own library?”

 

His eyes blazed down on me, and I hoped that this was his way of flirting. So I considered it. If I thought about it, really thought about it, I didn’t know what I wouldn’t do for my own library. As long as I got a job as a doctor, I’d be able to volunteer at a branch, giving back to a system that had given so much to me. 

 

“Would you do anything?” he asked, his voice smooth as glass.

 

“Yes,” I said. “Anything.”

 

A hint of malevolence shined in his eyes, like I had walked into a trap made personally for me. 

 

“I can make that happen for you,” he said. 

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Play a game with me. If you win, you get your own library. If I win,” his lips pressed into a smirk, “you’re mine.” 

 

My vision was fuzzy, but as long as I focused on his face, I could sit up straight. Had he really just said that? 

 

The nice suit. The gleam in his eye. His confident posture. He pulled two red dice from his pocket, then rolled them in his palm. They reminded me of blood clots. 

 

Even if he was gorgeous, dreams never came that easy. No one was going to give me a library. Whatever his game was, it had to be a trick.

 

“I’m good,” I said, hesitantly. “I value hard work, you know?” I joked.

 

“You’re too good for a little game?”

 

I bit my tongue. It wasn’t about being too good for anything. “I don’t want to leave my fate up to someone else.”

 

“You don’t want help?”

 

“I refuse to beg.”

 

His expression darkened again, but in a flash, he relaxed into that charming smile. “It’s just a game,” he said. “Indulge me.”

 

The room kept spinning and the music throbbed. Indulge him? I should have been home, studying. I needed to ace my final so I could finally apply for the library. 

 

A wave of dizziness crashed over me. I leaned on the table, waiting for the room to stop spinning. I shrank down into my seat.

 

“I should go,” I said.

 

“I’ll give you a ride home.”

 

I grabbed my clutch. “It’s fine. Really. I’ll get a rideshare—”

 

“We both know you don’t have that money. You spent the last of your cash on the drinks and you left your cards at home.” How did he know that? He offered his hand. “It would be my honor to take you home. Free of charge. Perhaps we can even discuss the ‘action’ you were searching for.”

 

Though it was weird that he knew so much about me, I figured he might have seen my wallet when I paid for a round of drinks. And most of all, he intrigued me. He had a weird game, but he hadn’t forced me to drink more alcohol. And he hadn’t touched me yet, unlike the men on the dance floor. 

 

We went to my roommate. “I’ve got a ride home,” I said. My roommate looked at the man in the suit. I steadied myself, trying to seem as sober as possible.

 

“You’re good?” she said to me. You’re sure you want to go home with him? her eyes asked.

 

“I’m good.” I patted my purse, reminding her I had pepper spray.

 

“Call me when you get home.” 

 

At the apartment, the man unlocked the front door for me, then helped me out of my shoes. I laid on the bed, waiting for him to join me, but he stood in the doorway.

 

“You don’t want to lay with me?” I asked. Immediately, I flushed. Why had I asked that? He had said he was going to give me a ride home, not give me a joy ride at home. 

 

“I don’t sleep with drunk women.”

 

“I’ve sobered up since we’ve talked, believe me,” I laughed. “You said we were going to discuss getting some ‘action.’”

 

He sat on my bed, contemplating me. “So you want to own your own library,” he said, ignoring my statement. “A regular little angel.”

 

“I’ll take that as a compliment?” 

 

“You look like one too.” 

 

Everything inside of me was hot. So he did want me. He stroked my cheek gently like I needed comfort. I closed my eyes briefly, leaning into his touch. A chill ran through me. 

 

When I opened my eyes, the room sloshed to the side. He was a dark blob now. 

 

Maybe it was a good thing that we didn’t do anything. I might vomit on him.

 

He rose, his shadow taking up the doorway. I lifted a hand to stop him, but the room was spinning and I could barely see. Did he have brown eyes? Were they red, like a devil’s? Or were they blue and gray like a stormy sky? I couldn’t remember. I could barely see him there.

 

“You don’t want me?” I asked.

 

“I offered you my game.”

 

If I win, you’re mine, he had said. Why was that so hot? Like he wanted to own me.

 

Maybe a game or two wouldn’t be that bad. 

 

“I have games of my own,” I teased. 

 

His gaze sharpened, cutting into me. “One day, you will beg me. And I won’t be a gentleman. I’ll scare you. You will wish you had never met me.”

 

I squinted my eyes, trying to understand. His words were suddenly threatening, and yet he still hadn’t laid a single finger on me. It didn’t make sense. He seemed polite. Respectful, even. Charming.

 

 “I don’t believe you,” I said.

 

He stepped back, leaving me alone in the room. “You will.”

 

***

​

Sawyer

​

The next night, I stood outside of her apartment, watching her window. There was no reason to care that she got home. She was a college student, like so many others I had played with. 

 

But she was the first to deny my game. As if she was better than me. As if she believed she could do it all by herself. 

 

Fiona Ross. College student. Double major. On track to medical school. Struggled in her biology classes, but made up for it with her GPA in English. She even volunteered at her hometown library on the weekends.

 

But why had she declined my game?

 

The delivery came: a small tablet. The clunky old laptop worked well enough, but she needed something lightweight. One of her three roommates opened the door. 

 

“Fiona! It’s for you!”

 

Fiona bounced to the front door, her hair spun in a towel on top of her head. 

 

“I didn’t order this,” she said. 

 

“Says here you won it. On a grant or something,” the delivery man said.

 

“I can’t pay for it.”

 

“It’s already been paid for.”

 

She furrowed her brows.

 

“Just take it,” the delivery man said. He shoved the clipboard toward her, and finally, she signed her name, taking the box. Her roommate patted her back as they closed the doors.

 

I couldn’t figure it out. My livestock order had been completed; our client’s target was dead. There was absolutely no reason to be in this college town anymore. But I had been watching her apartment for hours. Waiting. Searching for that reason she had denied me.

 

She had acted like she had something over me. For a moment, she had. And that intrigued me.

 

How long would she last?

 

I headed back to Crown Creek. At the Feldman Farm, I went straight to my office situated inside of the Calving Barn. My father sat behind the desk.

 

“Where were you?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. “You were supposed to be done with Rice last night.”

 

I closed my eyes, then opened them slowly. “He’s dead.” 

 

“That face,” my father said, studying me. He rubbed his chin. “I know that face.”

 

I wanted to throw him out of the room. This wasn’t his domain anymore. I had taken over most of our family business’s proceedings; he was only here because I had gotten back late. 

 

“I’ve got a call to make,” I said, ushering for him to leave. But he didn’t move; he was waiting for me to explain myself.

 

“When do I meet her?” he asked.

 

“Who is she?” 

​

“I’m not stupid, son,” he laughed. “I know when there’s someone on your mind.”

 

I had learned not to care about anyone like that when I was a child. My father had made that clear.

 

“No one is on my mind,” I said. 

 

“Then where were you?”

 

I breathed through my nose, leveling with him. I hated him, more than I could stand, but all it took was the right moment. My brother on my side. Our father isolated between us. And then, I would kill my father. Our business would be far better off without him. 

 

“I was running your business,” I said. “Now get out.”

 

I picked up my phone, dialing one of our burner numbers, just to get him to leave. He stood in the doorway. 

 

“You know what must be done,” he said. Then he left. 

 

The Feldman Offering was a family tradition where we killed our wives. They were good for breeding, but other than that, they were a distraction. And when you ran a business like ours, you couldn’t afford that. The Feldman Offering was how we proved we wanted the business more than we wanted anything else.

 

And no matter what it took, I was going to rule the Feldman Farm one day. 

 

So why was I protecting Fiona from my father? She was no one. A woman who would become a doctor and help people, who would turn her back on someone like me.

 

And yet, that was it. She was too good. Rejecting my game. Playing by her own rules. And that made me want to destroy her. To show her she didn’t want her dream as much as she thought she did.

 

She wanted to die for her library? Then she would die.

 

The next day, I took one of the hunts. One of the livestock orders—our targets—had a girlfriend. And though she wasn’t there when I killed him, I waited until she returned. 

 

Dark hair. A slim fit. Blue eyes, not brown like Fiona’s. But she would work. 

 

I shot her in the head, a quick, merciful kill, then moved the bodies into my SUV, taking them back to the farm. The livestock order went straight to the incinerator, but I took the woman in a black garbage bag to the pond. The sunset reflected on the water as I drenched her body with gasoline. I threw a match and she burst into flames, her body crackling in the night. 

 

In the morning, I carried the charred corpse, some of the brittle remnants breaking off in my hands. As I drew closer to the main house, I let my shoulders sink under the weight, letting that pressure build, as if the corpse were actually Fiona’s. 

 

My father sat at a large dining table, eating breakfast. I dropped the blackened structure onto the wooden surface. It broke into pieces with a soft crack.

 

“You were supposed to have a son together before you killed her,” my father said. “That’s how we cultivate the family business.”

 

I tightened my fists. “Guess I’ll have to find another.”

 

“How long had you known her?” An old clock ticked in the next room, eerily loud as he waited for my answer. But I said nothing, keeping my eye contact even. “I’d say that I was proud, but I’m not,” he said. He stood up, drawing closer to me. “Now where is the real woman?”

 

I grabbed him by the shoulders, shoving him into the wall. The pressure built in my eyes as they bulged from my skull. I was supposed to give a performance. This was supposed to break me. I didn’t blink until tears burned my eyes, a few drops falling, then I shoved my father away before it took control of me. 

 

“Say it again,” I growled. “Say it again. Question my loyalty, and I’ll show you how dedicated I am.”

 

“I guess I was wrong,” my father chuckled. “That’s the fire I want you to harness. You need it to beat your brother.”

 

I grabbed him again, banging his skull against the back wall until he swung at my face. I blocked him, then kicked him in the side until he doubled over. My punches railed into him, blow after blow, until finally, one of the ranchers appeared out of nowhere and ripped me off of him. 

 

“It’s all right,” my father said, touching his nose, wiping away the blood. The rancher stepped back. My father’s eyes were cold and blank, the kind of face he had right before he finished an order, the same expression he had before he killed my mother.

 

But I was older now. I could finally beat him. I gestured at the rancher, who then took care of the woman’s body. 

 

“She’s dead,” I said calmly. “My Feldman Offering is complete.”

 

“But you still have to have a son, and fight your brother,” my father said. “A few more years, then we’ll begin the Feldman Trial.”

 

I shook my head, pretending to be more disturbed than I was, then headed toward the parking area. Did my father believe me now? Or did he know that the burned corpse meant nothing to me? I dismissed my driver, then slid inside of my SUV, driving back to the college town. There was no reason to go back there; no deliveries to monitor, no boyfriend to murder. 

 

So why did I keep coming back to Fiona Ross?

 

Perhaps I wanted to break her. Executing her like the Feldman Offering dictated was too easy. I didn’t want to simply kill her; I wanted to crush her soul, to exert my power over her emotions, no matter how strong she thought she was, to show her that every lie she believed in, wasn’t real. To teach her that I would always win.

 

With my eyes flicking between her bedroom window and my phone, I did another search for her on social media. Though there was no linked page, Fiona’s profile said she had a sister. How old was her sister? Could I torture her sister, using her to get information about Fiona?

 

Or could I convince Wilder to take her sister, using the two of them to draw Fiona closer to me, without having to step a single foot in her direction? Now, that was an interesting idea. I wouldn’t be surprised if Fiona was too intoxicated to remember me.

 

I scrolled back to her profile picture. Straight, white teeth. Innocent copper brown eyes. She was so determined to live out her dreams by herself, and I wanted to destroy that vision of her future. To show her she wasn’t better than me. That she would fail too. And if I had to, I would fuck it out of her until she was nothing more than a sobbing mess of insecurities. 

 

The light went out in her bedroom, and I stroked the head of my bulge through my pants. I would have her on her knees. Milky black tears running down her cheeks. And then she would realize that she wasn’t anything special, and she never would be. 

 

A strong woman like her, broken in half, made me hard.