Overture (North Security, #1)

Laney’s mother works for North Security. She’s on the Red Team, the most active group of soldiers, so Laney stays on the compound more often than not. The three of us made up a strange little band of friends, despite our many differences. Like the fact that Cody has in-out privileges at the gates without needing a security escort. That comes from doing work after school on the compound. Ironic, since he’s the only one of us who doesn’t live there.

“Why did I agree to this?” Cody mutters, more to himself than to me. “Your parents probably know a hundred ways to kill someone. And they’re definitely going to kill me.”

“No, they’re not, because they’re not going to find out.” Laney slams the door shut and then smiles sweetly through the dusty window, posing as if for a camera.

I hide a wince in the back seat. It’s not a very well-kept secret that Cody has had a crush on Laney since the day they met. That’s not exactly Laney’s fault. She can’t help the fact that he has a crush, but she does seem to take a certain delight in tormenting him.

“I’ll make sure she’s safe,” I promise, stepping out into the cool night.

“Hell,” Cody says, and I close the door against the ache in his voice. He wants to be the one escorting her into a nightclub like the line of couples behind a velvet rope. Not as part of a secret night out and definitely not as our designated driver.

“You’re mean,” I whisper as Laney links our arms together.

“Maybe,” she says, sounding a little sad. “But this is for his own good.”

“I still think we should tell him what we’re doing.”

“He would never have driven us here if he knew.”

Laney tosses her hair back, marching right up to the bouncer, bypassing the line of people. “Hey, sweetheart. We’re looking for a good time.”

The man has arms the size of my head. He looks intimidating, and considering I live in a sprawling complex that houses armed mercenaries, that’s saying something. His dark gaze sweeps down Laney’s body, leaving no doubt that he’s weighing what he’s seeing.

My impromptu blouse and short shorts might look sassy enough to get into a club, but her red dress is the star of the show.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“The name’s Jennifer,” she lies.

“Sure it is,” he says, stepping aside to let us in. “I go on break in thirty.”

Laney waves at him as we slip past.

“How are we going to find this guy?” I shout to be heard over the thump thump thump. Someone stamps my hand, and then I’m shoved into a sea of people.

Bodies move me back and forth, interchangeable, indistinguishable. My stomach clenches. I’ve never been around this many people at once. Strobe lights flash over the blinding white smile of a woman. The heavy-lidded eyes of a man. Writhing bodies that make plain the kind of sexual knowledge I could only pretend earlier, humping my pillow alone.





CHAPTER TEN





The word “music” comes from the word “muse” in Greek. The Muses were daughters to Zeus and Mnemosyne, and protected the arts, including writing, dance, and music.


SAMANTHA

The front looks like a warehouse with a bar installed. Laney slips a wad of hundreds to a bouncer, and we wind up in the VIP section in the back.

Once we slip past the red velvet curtain, the scene changes completely. Deep leather couches create little islands for people to talk… or other, more physical activity. Raised sections of the floor surrounded by a metal railing put on a show.

“Women only,” the bouncer says, nodding to the platform.

“Sweet,” Laney says, grabbing my hand. “Let’s dance.”

I linger near the entrance, reluctant to be the center of attention. There are other women dancing, and Laney was right about one thing—my impromptu outfit doesn’t look out of place. “We’re not here to dance,” I say. Laney is crazy smart, but she’s like a hummingbird, drifting from flower to flower, her body held in suspension only because of how fast she moves.

She snorts. “Yeah, sure. Let’s stand at the door asking every person whether they’re going to sell us incriminating photos. We’re trying to appear normal, remember?”

That’s enough to push me up the short steps to join the other women. I can be normal, damn it. I can do normal things like dance in front of a bunch of men I don’t know in what basically amounts to my underwear… Acid rises in my throat. Oh God, I can’t do this.

I’ve never heard the song that plays over the speakers, loud enough that the bass reverberates in my bones. That’s just another sign that I’m not actually normal. I can name the composer in a handful of opening notes for most classical music, but I don’t know what’s popular on the radio right now.

A man reclines on the black leather, his skin a sharp contrast to the shadows, his gaze locked on mine. Most of the men are looking at the bodies in motion. He’s looking at me—with amusement.

Panic wraps itself around my throat, and I close my eyes against the strobe lights.

The darkness settles over me, and I can block out the dancing around me and the men surrounding us. It doesn’t matter that I don’t know the song. I know the beat. The notes. The rhythm. Music is a universal language, and it speaks through me now, moving my hips in time.

In the best moments I don’t move the bow or the strings. It’s they who move me the way they need. That’s what happens now, a kind of perfect passivity. The bass takes hold of me. My body reacts to the overt sexuality of the lyrics, turning warm and then hot, molten by the time the track thump thumps its way to transition to a new song.

I open my eyes and realize that Laney’s watching me, her eyes wide. And she’s not the only one. “I didn’t know you could dance,” she says, something like awe in her voice.

Heat rushes my cheeks. “I can’t.”

That makes her laugh, almost a euphoric sound, one that expresses the freedom that I feel in every breath after being caged for so long. “You should see yourself.”

I can’t help but grin back. “You’re a maniac.”

“Back atcha,” she says, throwing her arms around me for a hug.

“I’m going to look around,” I say as I squeeze her back.

There is no one more loyal or caring than Laney, but she’s already distracted by the music, shaking her booty with another woman when I duck beneath the railing.

I glimpse broad shoulders in the crowd, and my heart skips a beat.

It can’t be Liam, of course. He doesn’t know I sneaked off the property. He doesn’t know what club I’m in or that we paid our way into the VIP section, but that doesn’t stop the worry from bumping through my veins. Swallowing hard, I force myself to skirt the edges of the room, looking for someone who might be looking for me.

Laney is right about one thing—we can’t stand at the door asking every person whether they’re going to sell us incriminating photos. Only about half of the clubgoers are dancing.

The other half are standing around, looking sexy and faintly dangerous.

Then I glance up at a dark balcony. There are no dancing people up there. Only a single man wearing a black button-down shirt and dark jeans. I recognize him as the one who watched me dance before. He could be any one of the men come to pick up girls, but he surveys the club with a sense of proprietorship, as if he’s above it all.

His dark gaze meets mine, and an eyebrow arches in challenge.

I feel my cheeks flush. Is this how I would react to anyone flirting with me? Except I have the sense that he isn’t flirting. At least, not only that. There’s a sense that he’s waiting to see whether I’ll react. Like maybe he’s looking for the buyer to incriminating photos.

Circling the edge of the room I find a black spiral staircase with a thin metal railing. It leads me up to the balcony, where he remains with his forearms on the rail.

“What’s your name?” this man asks.

“Samantha,” I say before realizing that I could have made something up.

North Security is located in Kingston, Texas, a small town that had plenty of undeveloped land for Liam to purchase twenty years ago. There are endless hills for his obstacle courses as well as natural features like lakes and cliffs and even caves.