Author: Scarlett
Edwards
Genre: Dark Romance
Release Date: March 17th, 2014
Cover Reveal - February 18th, 2014
Series (Y/N) - Yes, first book in
series. Second will be out April 20th, 2014
Reveal Host: Lady Amber's Tours
Book Description:
When I wake up in a dark, unfamiliar room, I have no idea what's waiting for me in the
shadows. My imagination conjures up demons of the worst kind.
Reality is much worse:
A collar with no leash. A prison with no walls. And a life stripped of meaning.
I am presented with a vile contract and asked to sign. It outlines the terms of
my servitude. The only information I have about my captor are the two small letters inked at the
bottom:
J.S.
Armed with only my memories, I must do everything I can to avoid becoming ensnared in his twisted
mind games. But in the end, it all comes down to one choice:
Resist and die.
Or submit, and sign my life away
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/20512700-uncovering-you
ABOUT AUTHOR:
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/20512700-uncovering-you
ABOUT AUTHOR:
I live near beautiful Seattle, Washington. I grew up reading all types of
fantasy books before discovering the wonderful world of romances in high school. Now, I spend
most of my time writing about sexy men and the women who love them.
Links:
Oh God.
It’s him. There’s no mistaking that rich, masculine treble.
What’s he
doing down here?
“M-Mr.
Stonehart,” I stutter, turning. I curse my inability to hide my surprise. He totally caught me off-guard. I
have to look up to meet his eyes. Then up some more.
The face that I
find is so striking it should belong to a Greek god.
He’s younger
than I expected. Late thirties, maybe early forties.
That means
he started his company when he was younger than me!
Dark scruff
lines his angular cheeks. His jet-black hair is styled in long, natural waves. My fingers itch to run through
it.
Totally
inappropriate.
He has a
prominent nose that might be too big on a less imposing man, but on him, it’s perfect.
In short, he’s a
package of the purest masculinity I’ve ever seen.
And then there
are his eyes. Oh my God. His eyes. They pierce into me like honing missiles. They are the deepest black I
have ever seen. They would be frightening if they weren’t so beautiful. When the light reflects a certain
way, you catch a glimpse of the purple underneath.
They are
like midnight sapphires. His eyes reveal a cunning intellect. Those eyes do not miss a
thing.
Add all that
to his towering height, his wide shoulders, his confident-yet-at-ease posture… and Stonehart cuts an
intimidating figure.
My gaze darts to
his left hand before I can stop it. No ring. He’s unmarried.
He looks down
at me, expectantly. His eyes narrow ever so slightly, and I feel like I’m being dissected, measured up,
and tucked away in some small corner of his brain. I imagine this is what a gemstone feels like under the
magnifying class of the most critical appraiser.
Stonehart clears
his throat. I come to with a start, realizing I haven’t said anything in ages. I open my mouth, but the
capacity for speech seems like a foreign concept to my brain. “I—”
Somebody
bumps into me from behind. I stagger forward. I’m not used to these shoes, so my heel steps the wrong
way. My ankle twists under me, and I start to fall.
I don’t fall far.
The hand still on my elbow tightens, and Stonehart pulls me into him.
I plaster myself
onto the solid steel wall the man has for a body. I catch a scent of his cologne. It’s a deep, musky smell
with a hint of charred spruce that is all male. It scrambles my thoughts even more.
“Sorry!” a
rushed voice calls out. From the corner of my eye, I see the postman giving a hurried, apologetic
wave.
Although
the sequence lasts less than a second, it feels like an eternity. Pressed up against him like that, I don’t want to move. I know that I couldn’t have made a worse first
impression.
Stonehart eases
me off him with a firm yet gentle grip. Our eyes meet. I flush the most vibrant red. His fingers graze my
forehead as he brushes a lock of hair out of my face.
Any tenderness I
may have imagined vanishes when Stonehart takes out his cell. He long dials a key and growls an order.
“Steven. See the delivery boy leaving right now? Have his building pass revoked.”
I gape.
Stonehart keeps speaking. “Wait. I thought of one better. Bar his company from accessing the building.”
There’s a pause. “For how long? Indefinitely. FedEx can talk to me when they have an improved
employee selection program in place.”
The phone call
gives me just enough time to compose myself. My heart’s still beating out of my chest. But nobody has
to know that.
I speak
without thinking. “You’re going to restrict the entire company from serving this building because
of that?”
Stonehart
humors me with an answer. “A company’s employees are its most important asset. Their behavior
reflects the organization as a whole. If FedEx decided that clown is good enough for them, it tells me
they’re sloppy. I do not do business with sloppy organizations.”
“What about the
other tenants in the building?” I ask. “Won’t that piss them off?”
When I hear
myself and realize how improper my question is, my cheeks flame red again.
Stonehart’s eyes
darken, as if he cannot believe I asked that question. I open my mouth to apologize for my imprudence,
hating the way my professional skills have evaporated into thin air. I’m cut off by a short, barked
laugh.
“Miss Ryder.”
He sounds amused. “I believe that is the most direct and honest question anybody has dared ask me in
weeks.” He takes my elbow again and leads me to the elevators. I have to take two quick steps to match
one of his long strides.
“Yes,” he
continues. “They will be ‘pissed off.’ But the perk of owning a building—” he hits the elevator call
button, “—is that you get to make executive decisions.” He gives me an unreadable glance as the doors
open. “That is, at the risk of being questioned by inexperienced interns.”
If that isn’t a
loaded remark, I don’t know what is. I flush scarlet red for the third time since I’ve met him. I’ve never
had a man throw me so off balance.
The elevator
is packed, for which I’m infinitely thankful. The trip up will give me some time to properly compose myself.
Gratitude turns
to panic when the crowd files out, meek as mice, when Stonehart steps in. None of the people waiting in
the lobby follow us.
The doors close.
I’m alone in here with him. My heart’s beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings.
He catches me
staring. “Impressed?” he asks.
“They know
you,” I manage.
His dark eyes
flash with amusement. “Astute.”
Chapter One
October 2013.
Date unknown.
(Present day)
A faint hiss, like
the sound of an angry cat, jars me from my sleep.
I open my eyes
to pure blackness. I blink, trying to get my bearings. A vague memory forms in the back of my mind, too
far away to reach.
Why can’t
I see anything?
My breath
hitches. Panic rips through my body as the horrifying answer comes to me:
I’m blind!
I scramble onto
hands and knees and desperately claw at the dark, searching for something, anything, for
my senses to latch onto.
A dim overhead
light comes on.
Relief swells
inside.
I plop back on
my butt and close my eyes, taking deep breaths to dispel the rush of adrenaline released by my body.
When my heart’s not beating quite so fast, I open my eyes again.
The light’s
gotten brighter. I look up at the source. It’s far above me, like a dull, miniature sun. It spreads a little
sphere around me, maybe ten feet in diameter. Past that, everything is swallowed by darkness.
An irksome
memory keeps gnawing at me. But my head is too heavy to remember. I feel… strange. Kind of like I’m
hung over, but without the telltale pounding between my ears.
Cautiously, I try
to stand. My limbs are slow to react. They feel heavy, too, like they’ve been dipped in wet clay. I steady
myself. Only when I’m satisfied that my knees won’t give out, do I strain my ears for that hissing sound
again.
It’s coming from
somewhere behind me. I turn back—and nearly smash my head on a gleaming white pillar.
What the
hell?
The sound is
forgotten as I reach out and brush tentative fingers against the pillar’s surface. It’s cool to the touch.
Smooth, too. I put my other hand on it. If I had to guess, I’d say it was made of marble. But what is a
lone, white marble pillar doing in the middle of this room?
The memory is
like a gong going off inside my head. But trying to reach it is like grasping at a smooth, slippery stone at
the bottom of an aquarium. Just when I think I have it, it slips through my fingers and falls even farther
out of reach.
I walk a slow,
measured circle around the pillar. If I tried wrapping my arms around it, I doubt if I could even span half
the circumference. Something far in the back of my mind tells me I should be alarmed. I look behind me
and frown. By what? A dark room?
No,
you idiot. By the reason you’re here!
My eyes widen.
The reason I’m here? I don’t… I don’t remember.
I wince and
bring one hand to my temple. Why am I having so much trouble remembering?
I gasp as a
second gruesome thought hits me. Did I lose my memory? Do I have… amnesia?
I sink down with
my back to the pillar. Desperation starts to take over. I hold my head between my knees and close my
eyes to focus.
My name is
Lilly Ryder. I was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts, on May 17th, 1990.
My eyes pop
open. Joyous tears form in the corners. I do remember! I take a deep breath and try
to keep going.
I was
raised by my mom. I do not know my dad…
Suddenly, all
my childhood memories come streaming back. Moving around as a kid. Never staying in one place
longer than six months. All the cities I’ve lived in. All the apartments my mom and I called home. Even
the revolving door of her boyfriends. There was Dave, and Matthew. Tom, and Steve. There
was…
I shake my head
to stop myself. I don’t doubt my memory anymore. But that still does not explain why I have absolutely
no recollection of this place, or how I got here.
I push myself
back up. The spotlight above me has gotten progressively brighter. The little enclosure of light doesn’t
feel quite so tight anymore. I trail my eyes up the length of the pillar. I can’t see where it ends because
of the light. But I can tell it’s tall, at least twenty, maybe twenty-five feet…
There’s also
something about its surface that calls out to me. My hands itch to run over the smooth stone. A giggle
bubbles up as I picture myself stroking it. The column is quite phallic.
I waver at the
unfamiliar thought and have to catch my balance against the beam.
Focus,
Lilly! I chide myself.
I have no idea
where that thought came from. I have never been overtly sexual.
Nothing feels
right. The fog that’s heavy on my mind is starting to lift, but not yet enough for me to understand—
or remember—where the hell I am. This place is unfamiliar. I know that much. But right now, I feel
almost like a surgery patient whose anesthetic kinked out: fully
awake mentally, but completely impaired physically.
I go back to my
memories. I can remember high school. I remember college. That’s where I spent the last three years of
my life, isn’t it? Yes. Yes, it is.
“Hello?” I call
out. My voice echoes into the surrounding gloom. “Is anybody there?”
I wait for an
answer. All I get is the hollow repetition of my own voice.
…anybody
there, there, there…
I spent
the last three years in college… but that’s not where I think I am right now. No. I shake my head.
I knowthat’s not where I am. My memories are fuzzier the closer I bring them to today.
Time feels… skewed. Freshman year’s easy to remember. So is sophomore, and most of junior… but
things get weird toward the end.
I… finished
junior year, didn’t I? Yes. Yes, I did. And then…
And then I
took an internship in distant California for the summer, I remember with another gasp.
Suddenly, my
mind is crystal clear. That pressing memory hurtles into view. It’s from yesterday. The last thing I recall,
I was alone in a booth at an upscale restaurant. The waiter brought me a glass of wine. I took a few sips,
contemplating my future….
Oh,
God! Fear wraps a stranglehold around my neck.
The
restaurant. The wine.
I’ve been
drugged!
I can’t
breathe. A suppressing tightness constricts my throat. I feel dizzy, and terrified, and most of all…
ashamed.
Holy
shit, Lilly, way to look out for yourself! My semi-mad inner dialogue pans with a generous
dollop of sarcasm.
I’ve always
known about the dangers of sick men preying on unsuspecting girls. I just never thought I’d fall victim to
it.
I’ve been on my
own since I turned eighteen, after the final falling out with my mother. I’ve always been proud of how
well I managed. Even the shabby holes I’ve lived in while saving up college tuition were an improvement
over living with her and all her low-life boyfriends. At least there, I had autonomy.
I’ve dealt with
landlords selling crack on the side and the junkies they attract. Always, I’ve been known as independent,
and strong—maybe offputtingly so. But, those were the character traits I had to develop to have any
chance of getting ahead.
And all
that lead to what? To this? To letting my guard down for one night and ending
up… here?
Wherever
“here” is, I think to myself.
The shock of
the revelation has subsided a bit. I push off from the pillar. I can figure this out. I take a deep breath
and look at my hands and feet. I am not bound. I pick at my clothes. They are the same ones I wore last
night.
Do you
know what might be lurking in the darkness?
I shove the
meddlesome voice down. I don’t need more worries. Not now.
Carefully, I place
one foot in front of the other and edge to the outer reaches of the light. The strange hissing noise has
gone away. I don’t know when that happened. Maybe it was in my head the entire time.
I strain my eyes,
trying to pierce the surrounding darkness. It’s impossible. I reach out with one hand and find nothing but
air. This far from the pillar, I can barely see my outstretched hand.
“Hello?” I try
again. “Who’s there?”
There’s no
answer.
What
kind of madman would do something like this? I wonder. What is hidden in the shadows?
Without
warning, my imagination starts to run wild. Torture devices? Bondage equipment?
Something… worse?
Snap
out of it! I tell myself firmly.
I refuse to give
in to despair, even if my entire self-preservation mechanism is on high alert. Despair is what whoever
brought me here wants me to feel.
I will not
succumb to that.
I look down at
the floor. It is made of some expensive stone. I kneel down and brush my hand over the large, square
tiles. They feel solid. Sturdy. They don’t belong in a dingy basement or a dirty warehouse.
Somehow, that
thought strengthens me. Things aren’t quite as bad as they could be.
I stand up and
peer into the black. I glance back at the safety of my pillar. If I venture past the light, I can always find
my way back.
Go slow, I
warn myself. Who knows what might be waiting for me out there?
I’ve seen the
horror movies. Just because I don’t get the dungeon vibes here does not mean I’m not in one.
Haltingly, my
foot reaches past the edge.
A thousand
bright lights flood the room. I gasp and shy back, shielding my eyes on instinct.
After a few
seconds, I lower my arm, blinking through the sharp pain that shoots through my head. I can almost
groan. Light sensitivity, too?
Then I see the
room.
Holy
shit.
It’s huge.
Massive. It must be at least five thousand square feet of pristine, flat space. I’m smack dab in the middle
of it all.
The lights come
from embedded ceiling lamps high overhead. Three of the walls, far away from me, are decorated with
black and white abstract paintings created in bold brush strokes. The fourth wall is shielded by a heavy
red curtain. The entire floor is made of rich, creamy white tiles reminiscent of steamed milk.
The ceiling is so
high above me I almost feel like I’m in a cathedral. It’s made of exquisite dark oak beams.
But this
is no church.
I do a slow turn.
Something about this is all wrong.
So
wrong.
Why am I here?
What is behind the curtain? Other than the massive pillar and the paintings, there is nothing in the
room.
If I’m being kept
prisoner, why am I unbound? Why waste so much space on me?
I cup my hands
around my mouth and yell.
“HEY! Anybody?
Where am I?”
As before, I’m
greeted with silence.
I take one more
careful look around. If I got in, there must be a way out.
My eyes dart to
the curtain.
Behind
there.
I start toward
it, my bare feet making determined slaps against the cold floor. I’ve not even gone ten paces toward it
when I feel a small tug on my ankle.
I stop and look
down. I discover a thread, so thin it’s almost translucent, tied loosely around my foot. The other end is
attached to the base of the pillar.
I bend down and
finger it.
What on
earth is this?
The thread looks
like it should snap with the smallest amount of force. I wrap my hands around it and tug.
It doesn’t
give.
I frown, and
apply a little more effort.
This time, it
breaks in a clean cut.
I shake my head
as I straighten.
Strange.
I half-expected
something to happen when I did that. Alarms to blare, the lights to go off, something.
Nothing.
That’s when I
notice a small white envelope leaning against the pillar. It’s right where the thread connects. In fact, it
blends so well with the marble that I’m sure I would have missed it were it not for the string.
Exploration
forgotten for now, I pick up the envelope. Maybe it will give some clue about what the fuck is going
on.
It’s made of
heavy paper. A wax stamp seals it, imprinted with a two-faced drama mask that I would find unnerving
no matter where I saw it.
The only
time I saw a wax-sealed envelope was when my ex got tapped by the Spade and Grave at Yale. I can
understand the need for antiquity in New Haven. It makes no sense here.
My finger slips
under the flap. I carefully ease it open. A foreboding sense of doom swirls around me as I pull the folded
letter out.
I stare at it for a
long minute. This is all so surreal. It feels like being caught in a bad dream. Once, I play myself right into
my captor’s hands.
My natural
inclination to resist, to fight back, tells me to tear the paper up without another glance. But that would
be madness. The only clue I have to my whereabouts might be contained inside.
My thirst for
information gets the better of me. I sit on the floor, cross my legs, and slowly unfold the paper.
It’s handwritten
in swift, flowing blue ink. The rows of words make perfect strides across the page. Precision is the first word that comes to mind to describe the owner of the handwriting.
I set the sheet
on the floor in front of me, lean forward and begin to read:
Two
items require your immediate attention.
1. You may spuriously assume you are
being held here against your will. Nothing could be farther from the truth. You are a guest. As a guest,
you retain full ability to leave my home at any time. The door behind the drapes shall remain open for
the duration of your stay. There are no physical barriers to speak of—though I would advise you to read
to the end of this letter before making decisions based on a flawed understanding of your situation.
2.
You may have already noted the new adornment around your neck. If so, well done! I
applaud—
Adornment? I
stop reading. What adornment?
I bring my hands
to my neck. I feel the unfamiliar shape against my skin. Why hadn’t I noticed it before?
I scamper
closer to the marble pillar to try to make out my reflection. I can’t see much, but I can make out the
“adornment”. There’s a black collar around my throat. I touch it with one hand.
It’s smooth
and flat. It’s made of some kind of matted plastic, like the edges of a computer screen. It’s not tight or
uncomfortable.
It frightens me.
If it warranted a place in the letter, there must be something to it. I need to get it off.
My fingers dart
around the edges, seeking the clasp that opens it.
I don’t find
one.
The collar is
smooth inside and out. It feels like a single piece of plastic. I trail one finger around the rim on the
inside, and, finding no discrepancies, do the same on the outside. Again, I feel nothing.
There’s no crack,
no edge, nothing to indicate how it was put around my neck.
I jam all my
fingers between my skin and the plastic and pull with all my might. The collar flexes ever-so-slightly but
doesn’t give.
Dammit! I cry
out and try again.
I pull with all the
strength God gave me. It’s not enough. I try again, and again, and again.
Nothing.
I realize I’m
panting at this point. The exertion has me almost hyperventilating.
I drop my hands.
It’s just a stupid, harmless little piece of plastic. Why do I want it off so much?
Because the
idea of having anything foreign touch your skin is repulsive.
The voice
is right, as always. But what can I do? The collar is bound to be part of the mind game in which I’m
an unwitting participant. Reacting the way I just did is probably exactly what my captor wants. He—
and I am certain it’s a “he” now, from the wording of the letter—wants me to feel
terrified.
I will not give
him the pleasure. I return to the letter and continue to read:
…applaud
your perspicacity! You should know, however, that it is not an ordinary collar. Contained
inside is a small positioning chip and two electrodes. They become activated the moment you
stray outside your designated safe zone.
The string
around your foot offers a conservative estimation of the distance you may roam past the marble
column. Stay close, and you will remain untroubled. I am told that the electric shock the collar provides,
while not lethal, can be quite unpleasant.
Holy
fuck!
My spine goes
absolutely straight and I forget to breathe. Now the collar has meaning. It feels like
a live serpent wrapped around my neck.
My eyes are
wide as I look down to my foot. The piece of string is still there, but it’s not connected to the one linked
to the pillar.
I’d ripped it like
a moron.
How far do I
dare go? I’ll have to retie the string—unless I find a way to get the collar off my neck, first.
Another thought
occurs to me:
Maybe
this is a bluff? Does the collar really have an electrode in it? It’s so thin. Where
would it draw power from?
I stand up.
Assuming the collar is rigged, and the pillar is the center point… but that’s just
what he wants me to believe, isn’t it? The letter claims there’s a door behind the
drapes. It could be my path to freedom. I would have to be an idiot to stay here without testing the
boundary myself.
I can’t trust
anything the letter says. But, I can’t give in to despair, either. My only choice is to contest everything
that’s thrown at me. If this is supposed to be a battle of the wills, the guy chose the wrong girl to mess
with.
I pick up the
remainder of the string and hold it in my fist. I square my shoulders to the long, drawn curtain. I hold
my head high. My free hand itches to tug at the collar, but I keep it still. If my captor is watching me—
which I’m sure he is, because I’m positive there are cameras hidden all around me—I will not give him
the satisfaction of seeing me hesitate.
I take a deep
breath and start toward the curtained wall. My strides are strong and purposeful. I will not waver. I will
not turn back. Fear of a little shock will not keep me from testing the true limits of this prison.
The string goes
taut, and I stop.
So far,
so good.
It’s the next few
steps that will determine everything.
I glance at the
floor to mark my position. So, he expects to keep me in an invisible cage, does he? A cage of my own
imagination?
Yeah,
tough luck.
I drop the string
and take one solid step forward.
Nothing
happens.
I risk one
more.
Nothing
happens.
The corner of
my lip twitches up in a hint of a smile. I called his bluff. But, I’m not home free yet. The veiled wall is
another thirty-odd paces away from me.
I take two more
steps forward, and, when nothing happens, start to walk more briskly.
My stroll is cut
short by a sharp little zap beneath my left ear.
I tense and wait
for more.
Well, color
me surprised.
It looks like the
collar does have bite, after all. When a second jolt doesn’t come, I can’t stop my smile from becoming
a satisfied smirk. I knew the collar couldn’t possible have enough juice to hurt me.
Where would the battery go?
Extremely
pleased with myself, I venture onward, toward the curtain and its promise of freedom.
The violent
torrent of electricity blindsides me. One second I’m on my feet, the next I’m writhing on the
floor.
The current
pours into me. I thrash about like a grounded fish. Fierce convulsions rock my body. And all I know is
pain, pain, pain.
I can feel the
source of it, snug around my neck. I’m helpless to fight the onslaught. My head flails about on the
ground, throwing hair into my face. A high-pitched squeal sounds in my ears and I desperately hope that
pathetic sound is not me.
My eyes roll up
and all goes black.
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