C3, PT. 1 (Patreon)

She hadn’t gone into detail about why she wanted to go to the mountains. Nevertheless, Roth had understood what she was going for. From what little she could see, they were surrounded by towering trees, and they were far from any civilization. The long drive on a winding road promised the solitude she so desperately wanted.

No one had spoken a word for the past half hour. Mo and Johan sat in the front, while she and Roth sat in the row behind them. She leaned against the door, eyes closed, though she was wide awake.

Her busy mind had churned to a complete halt, something that occurred only when she was in complete shock, like when her father passed or when she was so overwhelmed that she shut down out of sheer self-preservation. When she left Roth and made her way back to the States, she didn’t remember the plane ride and retained just bits and pieces of what she’d done that week.

She was in a version of the blank space Roth induced when he pushed her body past its physical limits. But there was no euphoria or peace. It was a static emptiness, like a lake that had frozen over in winter. All was still. There were no questions or worries about where they were or what would happen once they reached their destination. The big details didn’t matter. Instead, her mind hyper-focused on the small things, like the feel of coarse wool under her fingertips.

She was engulfed in Roth’s coat, drowning in it. When they landed, Roth slipped her arms into it and buttoned the front. Since she’d slipped into the trancelike state, she hadn’t made a fuss. His coat had the same effect as a weighted blanket, suppressing her raw nerves so she could float.

The SUV braked, turned, and began a slow ascent. When they halted, doors opened and the interior lights came on. Then, three doors closed, the lights went off, and she heard the door locks engage.

A full minute ticked by before she decided to open her eyes. Johan stood in the snow, guarding her door. She followed his gaze to Mo and Roth, who addressed the small army of security who stood before them in a semicircle. She wasn’t sure whether the men were getting a lecture or briefing, and didn’t care.

She turned her head toward the source of all the light and scooted across the seat to Roth’s side and blearily took in a building four stories high with a stone facade and walls of glass warmly lit from within. At first, she thought it may be a hotel, but one glance at the driveway, which was empty aside from their five SUVs, made her realize it must be a private residence. She had pictured herself in a log cabin while Roth rented a château.

She pushed open Roth’s door and stepped out. The first thing that struck her was the utter silence. No sirens, blare of traffic, or hum of thousands of people. Absolutely nothing. She closed her eyes, luxuriating in another kind of emptiness, and lifted her face to the large fluffy flakes.

“Jasmine?” Johan said, an odd note in his voice as he materialized at her side.

She opened her eyes, but didn’t look at him. Instead, she started for the wrought iron doors that held two twinkling wreaths.

“We should wait until they clear the residence,” Johan said.

She ignored him and tried the door handle, which turned easily in her grasp. She pushed the door open, but before she could step inside, an arm wrapped around her waist and hauled her backward.

“It’s unlocked?”

Roth sounded pissed.

“Didn’t you talk to the caretaker?”

“I did,” Mo said grimly. “I repeated our security measures three times so he could write them down.”

Roth cursed and started barking out orders. Jasmine peered inside. The grand entry stairway curved around an eye-catching peppermint-themed Christmas tree with thick red and white ribbons, candy canes, and lollipops. The iron railing was decorated with blinking lights and a frosted garland. At the foot of the stairs was an assortment of oversized ornaments, the size of pumpkins. As Roth’s voice buzzed in her ears, Jasmine’s eyes rose to an antler chandelier, which had snowflakes dangling from it.

As if he were worried about a bomb, Roth pulled her to the side, so half of the men could file in.

“Stay by my side,” he ordered and stepped forward with a gun in his hand.

If she was thinking clearly, she would have been rattled by the appearance of the weapon. Knowing she wasn’t comfortable with guns, Roth normally kept it out of sight, but in the state of mind she was in, she took its presence in stride.

Going from the Trentham’s Gilded Age mansion to this mountain retreat with open wood beams and mounted moose heads was surreal. The château, while clearly modern and luxurious, still managed to be cozy and rustic. The exterior walls of the home were mostly glass and promised a spectacular view when the sun rose. Right now, all she could see was her reflection and that of the men prowling around her with guns in hand as they slowly began to clear the first floor.

 They walked into a great room, which had the largest U-shaped couch she had ever seen. There was a roaring fire in the stone fireplace and another Christmas tree with a winter wonderland theme.

Across from the great room was an open kitchen with double everything—fridges, stoves, ovens. Jasmine examined a tray that had all the fixings for tea, coffee, or cocoa. This didn’t feel like an impersonal rental property. It was clearly a well-loved home. It felt like the owners had decorated for Christmas and then left in a hurry, leaving plaid blankets tossed over the back of the couch and a stack of board games slightly askew. A ripple of curiosity disturbed the tranquil waters of Jasmine’s mind, but the questions slipped away as she followed the men down a hallway and entered a master suite.

The room was done in tasteful cream and gold and had its own fireplace, which made the room warm and welcoming. The caretaker may not have followed security protocol, but he’d lit a ridiculous number of fires, ensuring they’d feel right at home. When she had the energy, she’d tell Roth not to berate the man and compensate him instead for being so hospitable and preparing the home on such short notice.

**This is a raw draft of Bitter Sins. Please do not share or distribute.

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