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These drugs he had control of were obviously becoming much bigger than they once had been. It was obvious that he wanted to spread them throughout the states, but when people or clubs like the Brothers by Blood stood in their way, they either had to back off or fight back.

Peter—he wasn’t one to back off.

We pulled up outside of the house that often haunted my dreams. It was just how I remembered it, what little memory I held of being there. It really was beautiful. It was Victorian styled and had been around for many years. While it had the older style exterior, it had been redesigned to look very modern with dark colors and brickwork that framed the large doorway and wound up all three stories.

From what I understood, it had been in Peter’s family for a long time. It was the reason he lived here and chose to travel for work rather than live full time in New York where his family’s company was based and where his parents were. He told me once that the memories he had of this house growing up meant something to him, they felt important in his mind.

I struggled to understand how someone so destructive and heartless could feel anything at all. I think in his own way, he really did believe that what he had done to me was in my best interests. Like he almost felt like he’d put his heart and soul into our relationship and I’d crushed him.

No, he had destroyed me.

If he couldn’t see that, then there were more problems here than I first thought.

I stepped out of the car and took a deep breath knowing this was going to be painful. Peter may have had pleasant memories here, ones that pulled him in and kept him here. But every memory I had inside this house made me want to run screaming.

My hands shook, my eyes flicking around from side to side as I tried to figure out if I could do just that. Did I really want to relive this pain?

As I looked to the side, Peter stood watching me, holding the gun in his hand. I noticed now that he’d never actually put it down, except for to pour himself a drink. His eyes glared at me, almost daring me to try and escape him, the promise that he would hunt me down like an animal clearly evident in his demonic stare.

He nodded toward the house. “Let’s go inside and have a chat.”

My feet felt like they had been dipped in lead, each step heavier than the last. My chest already felt constricted as Peter stepped up beside me and pushed the door open, waiting to the side and directing me in first.

The smell was the first thing to hit me, and I instantly felt like I was drowning.

Peter had two maids, they kept the house so damn perfectly clean that they would practically follow you around the house, picking up after you and wiping down doorknobs that you’d touched.

He liked things clean—far too clean. He hated mess in business and in his personal life.

The smell of cleaning products and bleach struck me in the face, and suddenly, I was right back where I started. Right back at the gateway to hell.

Standing in the center of the room, I could feel their eyes on me.

My vision was hazy, but I could make out some of their movements, some of their shadows. I could see the whites of their eyes as they studied me with genuine curiosity, while others looked on as though I was their next meal.

There was a voice in my head, it sounded like it was in the distance though, like it had been pushed too far back now for it to make any impact on what I was doing.

Run, it said—no, it screamed.

It was my voice, it wanted me to run, to get the hell out of there and save myself. But even if I did want to listen to it, I couldn’t move. My body was numb, just the way I liked it. My limbs didn’t even feel as though they were mine anymore. I wanted the voice to go away too. I hated the noise, that’s why I was in this place to begin with, to escape from the noise.

So I pushed it further back, hiding it away.

With every pill I took it seemed to become quieter, leaving me in silence and bliss.

I was sick of hurting, sick of feeling like I wasn’t normal and being looked at like I was a freak. Peter was rescuing me, he was saving me. No more downers or breakdowns where I considered ending my life, no more crazy mood swings or manic states where I embarrassed my family.

Peter cared, he wanted to take my pain away, and he wanted to be there for me. But in order to get those pills that I wanted, I had to help him too.

A door opened off to the side. I couldn’t move my head to see who had come in, it felt like a brick sitting on my shoulders. I sensed the rush of air breeze past my body—when it hit my naked body, goosebumps broke out across my skin.

Angry voices spoke quietly in the corner. They were muffled, but I could almost make out some of the words.

“… needs to stop...”

“… show them what it can do…”

It didn’t mean anything, my brain struggling to piece together what the voices were saying. Another gust of wind passed by me and the door was closed again within seconds. That was when Peter stepped out into the light, his face contorted in anger.

My eyes widened as he held another pill between his two fingers. They were so tiny, but they were everything. They were my cure and the only thing that had ever helped me feel less than crazy.

“What are you gonna do for this, Annabelle?” he asked through clenched teeth.

Something had upset him, I could tell. I could comfort him, ask if he was okay, but instead, all I could see was that pill.

“Anything,” I whispered, the voice in the back of my head crying out in pain. I needed to silence her. I licked my lips. “Anything.”

“Get on your knees and beg me for it.”

So I did.

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