I can’t breathe.

All the blood rushes to my head. He chokes me, not hard enough to hurt me, but enough to be lightheaded. This is what I wanted only minutes earlier. The fact that he understood this without me asking—it drives me to a new point, a new climax that I have never, ever experienced before.

I come in a turbulent, blissful wave. I can feel myself contract around his fingers as he keeps them inside of me. A thin layer of sweat coats my body, and when he pulls out his fingers, he grips my chin, forcing me to look at him.

He makes me watch as he puts his fingers in his mouth, licking off the wetness from between my legs. The image kick-starts my sluggish breathing into a rapid-fire pattern.

When he takes his hand out, he says, “Just as I thought.”

“What?”

“I love the taste of you.” He leans over me and slips those same two fingers into my mouth. He licked most of me clean, and I taste mostly him—his mouthwash and minty breath. I suspect he knew I’d taste more of him than myself.

He checks his watch. “Three more minutes.” His lips skim my neck and he whispers, “What I could do to you in that time…”

And just as he slips his tongue into my mouth, a huge crash bangs against the wall. I jump in fright, accidentally biting him. Shit.

Connor places a hand on my collar, keeping my back to the mattress while he sits up. “I’m fine,” he assures me.

But I taste the bitter iron of blood. And I know it’s his. Before I can inspect his tongue, something else slams behind us again.

I flinch, but I glance back at him. “Let me see your tongue.”

“No.” In a single word he reminds me that I can’t push him around. “And my tongue is fine. You barely sliced it.”

Good.

The next crash in the wall comes with muffled yelling.

Connor stands from the bed, no longer hard. As he changes pants and underwear quickly, I realize he came too. I hadn’t even noticed. I was too enamored with my own climax.

“It’s probably just Lily and Loren screwing,” I tell him.

His eyes narrow at me. “I must have fingered the brains out of you.”

I frown.

“That’s Daisy’s room.”

I bolt upright and spring off the bed, grabbing a black silk robe. I slip it on and knot the tie at my waist. Another bang hits the wall hard. My heart leaps to my throat.

“You should stay here,” he tells me, zipping his black slacks.

I glare.

“It was worth a try.” He places a hand on the small of my back. “After you.”

* * *

The moment I reach the door frame with Connor, we find Scott standing here, watching the scene with crossed arms. Not doing a damn thing to stop whatever’s happening.

And then I look, and my jaw hits the floor.

A glass lamp is shattered on the ground, a bookshelf toppled over, any fragile knickknacks destroyed on the hardwood.

Ryke wrestles a medium-built guy in the center of the room. I discern his age quickly. Forties. Red hair that sticks up from being pummeled. His lip is busted, and he manages to put up a good fight against Ryke, who’s shirtless in a pair of track pants. The man shoves Ryke back and flings two punches, one connecting with Ryke’s jaw.

“Get the fuck off me!” the guy yells.

And then Ryke socks him right in the gut. The man crumples forward, coughing.

Daisy is in the corner, smashing something on the ground, hidden behind her bed. I give Scott a long agonizing glare for being a horrible human being and just standing here. And I go to my sister’s aid while Connor tries to separate the guys.

“You motherfucking pervert,” Ryke sneers, grabbing him around the throat. He’s about to slam his head into the ground, but Connor grips Ryke’s wrist hard and throws him off.

All I can think is that Ryke found Daisy’s boyfriend. Who’s a gross older man. That’s my first assumption.

“Don’t wake up Lily and Lo,” Connor says in a hushed voice. “Calm down.”

Ryke’s features are so dark. He’s almost hard to look at.

And then the man tries to escape, about to sprint out the door, but Connor snatches him by the shirt and drags him in front of his body. The man struggles in Connor’s forceful grip.

Right when I reach Daisy, I realize what she’s smashing.

A camera.

Now on her knees, she slams the device repeatedly on the ground, little plastic pieces flying in every direction. She screams furiously each time the mangled lens meets the floor.

“Daisy,” I whisper, but I grab her arms before she hurts herself with the sharp debris.

She drops the remains of the broken camera and slowly sits, shivering in my arms. It wasn’t her boyfriend in her room, I realize now. It had to have been the paparazzi—what looks to be a stupid one, a loser who obviously has no concept of the law. I glance over my shoulder at Connor and Ryke.

Connor has his phone pressed to his ear while he grips the man’s shirt. Every time he struggles, Connor throttles him with one hand. Composed, tall and strong. He speaks quietly to someone on the other line.

I make out Connor’s words, “We need to keep this out of the tabloids…Lily and Lo don’t need to know. They feel guilty enough for the media attention…”

“What happened?” I ask Ryke who nears the bed. Scott continues to just stand by the fucking door, watching. It’s not as though this is being filmed. We’re in a bedroom, which means there aren’t cameras here.

“Daisy called me on her cell,” he says.

She stares at the ground, her face as pale as a sheet.

I shake her arms, not very maternal or soft, and she almost blows over with my force. “Daisy? Talk to me.”

“He barged in my room,” she says under her breath.

I collect her waist-length hair out of her face, trying not to freak out. “And?” I say, clenching my teeth. If he put a finger on her…

Her gorgeous face contorts in a series of violent emotions. “…he started taking pictures of me…I didn’t know what to do, so I called Ryke…” She shakes her head and tears splash onto the floorboards. “…I’m so tired…”  I hold her to my chest while she begins to cry.

I look up at Ryke, and he stares at her with that same look I saw during the screening party. Concern. Dark empathy.

“Shh,” I whisper to her, combing my fingers through her hair. I rest my chin on her head and keep her close.

“…I’m so tired,” she says again, her voice trembling. When our mother’s not preoccupied with Lily’s wedding, she pulls Daisy in five different directions. She makes sure she’s booked for photo shoots, and for the past three weeks, Daisy has been working tirelessly. If she’s not at school, then our mom carts her to New York to visit her new modeling agency. I’ve hardly seen her at all this month.

I even had to convince our mother to let me throw Daisy a birthday party. She would’ve had to cancel one of her shoots so she could celebrate. It took four screaming matches over the phone before I won out. But that was just one free day I gained for her.

“What’s going on at school, Dais?” Ryke asks.

I glance over my shoulder to make sure Lily and Lo aren’t here. At least they’re still sleeping.

Daisy chokes on a sporadic breath. “I…I’m fine…really.”

I exchange a worried look with Ryke.

He mouths, It’s not fucking good.

I know, I mouth back.

But what can we do? She has to finish prep school, and I can only guess the kind of ridicule kids are casting on her. She’s famous now. Her sister is a sex addict, and she’s been painted as a sex-addict-to-be. Her photographs are everywhere—sometimes deliberately from modeling, other times not consented from paparazzi. It’s an abrupt change from her old life, and none of us can relate to her current situation. We’re all in our twenties, out of prep school by now. We don’t have to worry about bullying like that.

“We’re going to take care of this,” I tell her. I’m going to surround the fucking townhouse with security. We had iron fences and a guarded gate at our home in Princeton. We should have had better things in place here. “How’d he break through the front door?” I ask Ryke.

He glares. “I didn’t have time to fucking ask.”

My lips tighten. “Did he touch her?”

Ryke stares back down at Daisy. “Did he fucking touch you, Daisy?”

She shakes her head repeatedly. “No…I’m sorry…” She wipes her eyes quickly and tries to bottle her emotions.

“Don’t you ever fucking apologize for another guy’s offense,” he growls. He layers on a few more curse words as he glares at the ceiling.

Wow. Ryke jumped up twenty points in my book. Not for the swearing, to be clear. “When did you become such a feminist?” I ask him.

“Since I learned my alcoholic father cheated on my mother. Then he fucking left her so he could raise his bastard son.” The bitterness and resentment pours from his harsh words.

“I shouldn’t have asked.” His family tree is fucked up. I smooth Daisy’s hair.

Connor pads over to us, pocketing his phone. He no longer has the guy by the shirt. In fact, the man is gone. “Your father’s security came and took him,” he tells me. “He broke through the front door with a bump key.”

“We need—”

“Your father already hired extra security to stand outside. He’s taking care of the incident quietly. No one will know about this unless Scott decides to air it. He has footage of the man coming up the stairs and through the hallway.”

I look for Scott, but he’s gone too.

“Lily and Lo…” Daisy murmurs, rubbing her eyes.

“They won’t ever find out,” Ryke says. “This stays between the four of us.”