The click of the front door key sounded like a gunshot in the silent house. I froze, my cheap heels in one hand, the buzz from the party still humming under my skin. A single lamp cut a slash of light across the living room, and he was in the center of it, sitting in the armchair like a king on a throne. Marcus. Mom’s latest slut, and my darkest fantasy.

"You're late," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in my bones. He didn't look angry. He looked bored, which was infinitely worse.

"Lost track of time," I shot back, a reckless energy surging through me. I...