We Were One Once Book 1 by Willow Madison Page A

moved, and
quickly at that, but I remember the details as though we were
locked in place, made statuesque by the moment we were caught
in.
    Gillian’s face rises like a
ghost before my eyes now. She had two tear-stained streaks running
down her white cheeks, but her eyes were free of any tears. Her
gaze held its usual unreadable darkness as she turned her head
towards me. The icy stare she hid behind didn’t change. Her long
dark hair was trained into a thick braid so all of her body was
laid bare. I could see the belt marks that crossed almost every
inch of her back, butt and stomach. She was already black and blue
in places, but Anya had taken care not to hit her anywhere that
would be seen once she was clothed again. She always
did.
    Anya’s face was the
opposite. Her eyes were electric with rage and insanity. Her cheeks
flushed with it. Her chest rose and fell quickly. Her underwear was
abandoned on the floor next to Gillian; her dress was pulled up
high to her waist. I could see her excitement. Her voice broke the
spell.
    I open my eyes, seeing only
my darkened bedroom again. The flashbulb images of years ago are
still making my heart race though. I’ve given up trying to
understand what happened next. I’ve given up trying to seek
forgiveness. It happened as it was going to happen. Fate or karma,
I was doomed the moment I opened that door, the moment Anya spoke
my name and told me to close the door behind me.
    I was doomed, after all,
the moment I stepped into the library the year before that and saw
a young girl crying from the abuse her mother did in
secret.

Anderson Valley: Simon
Lamb

    I always love this drive.
It’s fast and winding, through fields and hills, past towns built
by one thing—grapes. The vines are heavy. Shiny strips of ribbon
flutter on the air above darkening fruit. The scent of roses
replaces the stench of the city. Warm sunshine replaces dense fog.
Earth and sky replace concrete and people. It’s not a long drive,
but it’s worlds away. And I always feel cleaner being
here.
    Grace has been quiet, just
staring out the window as the miles pass. She hasn’t moved; I was
able to forget she was in the car with me. I’m glad that I chose
not to toss her in the trunk. I thought about it. It’s how I
usually bring a girl here. It’s how I usually take a girl from
here.
     
    But then, the girls aren’t
meant for me, so it’s best if they don’t know where they’re going,
where they’ve been. Grace is unique. I don’t mind her seeing her
destination.
    I smile more as I pull into
the long drive leading up to the house. It’s an impressive
property. Surrounded by fields of grapes, orchards of olive trees,
and a network of underground caves for storing everything, the
house is a solid stone structure—massive in size and stature, set
up on the highest point.
    In Great-Grandfather’s day,
this was an active vineyard. Now I only use it as my private home.
Private being the key word. I have staff, but no one stays on this
property. My staff are all loyal; the same family has served mine
for generations. They never question my orders, my peculiar
demands, and no one steps foot in the caves unless invited. Or
brought.

    “What do you think of your
new home, Red?” Grace is still walking around the grand hall.
Calling it a living room would do nothing to describe its size and
lofty ceilings, or the massive furnishings and expensive antiques
that have manned the same positions on the floor plan for
generations. All have been passed down from Lamb to Lamb. The rug
alone is worth more than most homes, and it’s certainly bigger than
the apartment I took her from.
    She turns to me, standing
in the center of the room, arms crossed. “Stop calling me that.”
Her voice is raised slightly, like there should be a stamping of
her foot to go along with it. It’s the first she’s spoken since we
left the city.
    Smiling, I cross the room
to her and slam her down to the rug with a wide swing from the