The Rush (The Siren Series) - By Rachel Higginson Page 0,30

that,” Chase said seriously.

I gave him one last wave as he pulled out of the circular drive that rounded a string of midtown apartment buildings and businesses and a sprawling park that tumbled down in front of the modern architecture. The park used to be the home of every homeless person in the city, but when the city remodeled this part of the downtown area, they kicked the bums out and made this section classy and upscale. The bums scattered further east to the heart of downtown and the no bigger than two bedroom condos filled in with rich couples and eligible bachelors. My mom loved this area because she felt hip and important. I loved this area because I felt like it was hiding a filthy, dirty, secret past.

Just like me.

With a deep, fortifying breath, I walked into the modern elegance of my building and took the elevator to the top floor, preparing myself for the worst. The shiny elevator doors opened and I crossed the quiet, empty hall to our sprawling two bedroom apartment that overlooked the park and downtown Omaha.

I let myself in quietly and set my keys in a porcelain bowl designated for keys and other junk on the kitchen counter. Mom had decorated the apartment completely modern chic, which meant that every room of my home was cold and unwelcoming, but expensive and looked nice.

I hated it.

Not that I would have ever expected my mother to pick out an overstuffed couch and comfortable throw. She wasn’t one of those women that could curl up in front of the fire with a nice book. She never stood still for more than two minutes at a time and the designer heels that were permanently attached to her slender feet would have poked holes in any such couch by now anyway.

Plus it’s hard to relax when you have a giant stick up your ass.

But I did wish that my house felt a little bit more like a home. Everything was ivory and robin’s egg blue or some shade of gold. Everything was breakable and easily stained. The appliances were expensive; the electronics were state of the art, the windows were floor to ceiling and the thread counts high hundreds. And everything, every single thing was bought and paid for with some other schmuck’s credit card, including my once upon a time father’s and the string of lovers stupid enough to fall for her charm and long legs.

Once the door was closed with a final click behind me and the lock had slid into place, I struggled for a big breath; I was slowly suffocating in this posh prison, slowly fading away into the slavery I had been born into. I set my backpack down on a narrow, Tiffany’s suede bench by the front door, and tossed my trendy pilot’s jacket on top. I straightened my shirt, and fidgeted with the hem of my short jean skirt doing my best to delay walking fully into the apartment.

I could already smell him here, his cologne permeated every inch of air around me. He was man where there was usually only female, he was musk and rich earth where there was usually just floral and fruit. Suddenly my feet felt cemented to the bamboo flooring, my back magnetized to the front door. He was everywhere and I couldn’t make myself walk forward and meet him. Every instinct inside of me cautioned to get the hell out of here, to run. But I was conditioned to repress those feelings, raised to ignore instinct and reason. Hot tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, my nose twitched with the effort not to cry hysterically. I was a wimp.

“Ivy,” Nix purred as he rounded the kitchen cabinets and came face to face with me.

I smiled at him, forcing my feet forward, forcing my legs to move. I was a coward and a hypocrite and a terrible, awful person. But I couldn’t do anything but move toward him and step into his open arms. I kissed his cheek, once and then twice on the other side. He held me close to him, his strong arms encircling my biceps and his hard, chiseled chest pressing against me inappropriately.

“Hi, Nix,” I greeted in what I hoped sounded like a chipper, welcoming voice. I mean, I heard the unmistakable tremble and crack in every word.… but I just had to hope he didn’t.

“How was school?” he asked. He took a step back and I relished in the