AUTHOR’S NOTE

Thanks for choosing Feel Free to Scream. If you’re an Emm reader, proceed, you’ve seen it all before.

If you’ve never read any of my Emm Darcy title (especially if you’ve read me under May Sage) and have a few triggers, linger here for a moment.

I will warn you: this is a steamy, filthy world, full of dark and devious deeds.

This story, specifically, contains stalking, coercion, so many kinky things, including exhibitionism, and a general sense of helplessness. You went down the rabbit hole the moment you got into town, too late Claire darling.

This specific book is a completely monogamous relationship with zero sharing, although they interact with a lot of swingers, but if you find the general theme of unfaithfulness triggering, this story might not still be for you, as Claire has a boyfriend at the start of the book, and Keller doesn’t care.

No cheating occurs between the protagonists at any point. And honestly, he’d just gladly murder anyone who gets their hands on her.

If none of that scares you away, welcome to Thorn Falls. Leave your panties at the door.

1. Claire

1

CLAIRE

You don’t need a new notebook.

I stare at the perfectly sized, pale blue leatherbound piece of stationery foiled in gold, and my heart sinks.

Claire, you need to buy a week’s worth of dinners more than you need a fifty-dollar notebook!

I dare to flip the cover open, and god, the page is so thick and smooth. There are little doodles in the margins, too.

I’m mentally calculating my budget, wishing I could have worked a few extra hours at the diner back home before I flew to Thorn Falls. I have a little money to spare, it’s true, but it’s the start of the month, and I haven’t yet found a part-time job here.

Then again, starting next week, the school’s dining hall will be open, and my scholarship covers every meal, so I don’t technically need much money.

No, Claire. Put the notebook down. It’s not going anywhere. You can come back for it at the end of the month.

I hate conceding to the voice of reason, sounding strangely like my grandmother’s inside my own head. I’m no longer at home—I’m alone, without any family or friends around to count on. I can’t start with frivolous purchases. I’ve only just put the book down when a little hand reaches out to take it.

“Oh, it’s so pretty! Like a princess’s journal!”

I look down with some surprise, and see the most adorable little girl, with stick- straight golden hair and the biggest amber eyes.

My face breaks into a smile. She wears a cute dress with a big bow at the waist. If anything looks like a princess here, it’s her.

“It matches your dress, too,” I say with a grin, as she presses the book against her chest.

I know the feeling, kiddo.

The girl looks up at me and blinks several times. “Oh!” is all she says.

“What? Do I have powdered sugar all over my face?” I shouldn’t have eaten that beignet on the go, but the smell knocked me out as I passed by the store in the mall. I truly didn’t have a choice.

“No,” she assures me. “But you’re too beautiful. My dada says that when a girl looks like she’s perfect, it’s because she’s wearing lots of makeup. He says no one is as floo—flo…”

“Flawless?” I offer.

She nods eagerly. “Flulesh,” she repeats after me, butchering the word.

“Well, your dad’s right. I’m certainly not that.”

“Are you wearing lots of makeup?”

“No,” I admit. “But that doesn’t mean I’m flawless.”

I can’t believe I’m having a conversation about beauty standards with a six-year-old on a Saturday morning, but if it helps the little girl grow up to realize that perfection doesn’t exist, I’m happy to discuss it all day.

I tug at the end of the fishtail braid thrown over my shoulder. “My hair’s all over the place unless I tame it like this. It's like it explodes all around my head. I had a buck tooth, until I wore braces for three whole years. If I don’t tint my eyebrows, I look like I don’t have any, because they’re too pale. And in the summer? I turn as red as a lobster after an hour in the sun.”

Her eyes widen. “A lobster?”

Children are so literal. “Maybe more like a piglet. Oink, oink,” I add, squishing my nose.

She laughs so hard I think she’s going to stop breathing.

Suddenly aware that we’ve been chatting for a while, I turn my head. “Are you here with your family?”

The little girl looks around, and I see her face switch from laughter to panic when she realizes there’s no one around us except the sales clerk staring at us with amusement. “Da! Da was right here. Da!” she screams.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find him,” I assure her. “What’s your name, sweetie?”

“Octavia.”

“I’m just going to speak to the man here, okay, Octavia? I won’t be a minute.” I keep an eye on her as I step towards the clerk. “Excuse me, is there a way to call security? I think she lost her dad,” I say quickly.

The man makes the call, and in no time, there’s a voice calling Octavia’s dad to get his ass back to the stationery shop—though in a more polite tone than the one I would have used. How the hell did he lose her?

Octavia tries very hard not to sniffle. Feeling awkward as hell, I pat her shoulder, hoping to comfort her.

Octavia presses her little body against my leg, hugging it. Poor thing.

“I’m sure he’ll be here in no time. Where was he when you last saw him?” I rub her back.

“We were…in front of the store. I told him about the notebook and then I came to see it from up close.”

I don’t think I saw a man close to us at all. She must have dashed in the store while he was distracted.

It doesn’t take long. He comes at a jog, though his patent leather loafers certainly don’t seem designed for it.

“Vivi!” he calls, clear panic in his blue eyes, until he spots her, still attached to my leg.

I feel awkward as hell. Am I supposed to touch her back and let her cling to me like this? People can be, rightfully, rather strict about strangers interacting with young kids. But no, I did nothing wrong. He didn’t monitor his kid; I just provided a little warmth while she was scared, and about to cry.

No wonder she’s this pretty. She got very nice genes from her dad. The man looks so much like her. Blond, with a hairstyle a little longer than what’s fashionable, and ocean-blue eyes rather than her golden amber, he’s dressed in chinos and a light blue shirt under a blazer. The picture of propriety. Tall, and clearly athletic under the preppy clothes, he makes me think about a Ralph Lauren ad. Come to think of it, Octavia could also be on the cover.

“Da!” she says, all sadness gone, just like that. “I found the notebook. It’s so pretty. Can I have it, please, please, please?”

He runs his hand through his golden hair with a clearly relieved sigh. “Dammit, Octavia. I’m on the phone for two minutes and you just walk away? That’s definitely not okay. Your mom’s gonna kill me.”

He notices me then, frowning. Probably because his kid’s still hooked around my leg.

“Oh. I’m Claire.” I make myself smile. “I kept Octavia company.”

There’s something of a challenge in my tone. Go on, tell me I had no business chatting with your daughter, so I can shout at you for being so busy on the phone you freaking let her get away.

“Is that right?”

“Claire goes red like a piglet in the summer! And her hair explodes!”

He shakes his head, chuckling. “Naturally.”

“Oink, oink,” I repeat, dryly.

“I’m not surprised. You’re as pale as a ghost. Sunscreen must be your best friend, huh?”

I guess he’s not giving me a hard time. “And big, ridiculous hats.”

“All right, terror,” he tells Octavia. “Let’s get your notebook, then we can stop for some ice cream before I drop you off. But you have to promise not to run off like that. You’re lucky you found Claire. There are a lot of people who aren’t nearly as nice in the world.”

“I promise,” she says readily.

Far too readily.

He sighs deeply.

“I’ve seen some kids with a leash,” I offer helpfully. “It ties to their backpacks. Sounds like you might need one of those.”

“More like ten.” He smiles, and bloody hell, it’s quite unfair how gorgeous this guy is. He must be a model. “Thanks for watching over her, Claire.”

“No problem. Your daughter is a lot of fun.”

The guy snorts. “Claire’s my niece. Hell, do I look old enough to have a six-year-old?”

Oh. He seems to be in his early twenties. He could have a six-year-old.

“Sorry. My parents were sixteen when they had me, so I don’t like to assume. And she said she was with Da, so…”

“I see.” He extends his hand. “Darius. Darius Keller.”

Ah. That makes sense; that name’s probably a little too hard for a kid to say. Or maybe she just likes calling her uncle by a diminutive.

“Did you need anything else, terror?” he asks Octavia, taking her purchase.

Keller doesn’t even check the price. I’m not surprised. Everything he and Octavia wear looks like it costs more than what I earn in a week.

It occurs to me that while she’s no longer stuck to me, she’s still holding the hem of my dress. “Just my notebook!”

“You have excellent taste in notebooks,” I tell her.

“Did you want the same one, Claire? Then we can match!” she offers.

“Oh, I wish, but my wallet says no. I’m just here for these,” I say, pointing to the cheap row of folders I didn’t even get to, distracted as I was, first by the cute notebook, then by the equally adorable kid.

“How about you let Claire get on with her shopping, yeah?” Darius nudges gently.

She looks at her own hand, still firmly fisting the pale pink fabric of my skater dress. Noticing she’s holding on to it, she lets go, and bounces to her uncle’s side.

“You have all the crayons and pencils you need at Grandma’s?” I hear him ask as I make my way to the folders.

“I want glitter pens! And shiny gold ones.”

I’m a little sad to part ways with little Octavia, to tell the truth.

I try to focus on the selection of folders. Rather than flying with cumbersome luggage, I only brought my clothes, intending to shop for my stationery in person, but Christ, why is everything so damn expensive in Thorn Falls? They don’t look any different than the basic folders I would have gotten back home, but they’re ten times the price. Maybe I should shop online. I have a little over a week before school starts; that should be enough time to wait for a delivery.

Not wanting to leave the store completely empty-handed, I select a few pens, pencils, and highlighters, and head to the counter.

I’m right behind Octavia and her uncle. His bill comes to two hundred and fifty bucks, so I take it they must have raided the glitter and shiny gold pens.

I smile as they walk past me, waving at the striking pair, before buying my ten bucks’ worth of pens.

It sucks to have to watch my spending, but I’m used to it.

My grandmother raised me. I’ve never been hungry or worried about having a roof over my head, but she’s only had her tiny retirement plan for the last ten years. There was never much money to go around for extras. Through school, I worked part-time to afford any hobby, and whatever I needed beyond the basics.

I always knew the only way I ever could go to college was on a scholarship, so I’ve always worked my ass off, never missing a day of school, even sick. I got a fair few offers, and the one from Rothford was by far the best: a full ride, plus a grant for extra expenses, which will kick in next week. It covers all my books, my food, plus a bit of extra, but I’ll still need to work to be comfortable.

I have about a thousand bucks to spare now, after paying all my bills and buying my plane ticket here, and I have to make it last, at least until I find a job.

What do I need now? Food for this week, as the dining hall opens next Monday, the folders I’ll order online, and what else?

I’m mentally calculating my expenses when I spot Octavia again, in front of the stationery store. She’s beaming at me, a wrapped box in her hand. She holds it up to me. “Thank you for taking care of me, Claire!”

I stare at her in disbelief, then up to her uncle.

He’s on the phone again, a few steps away, though his eyes aren’t leaving Octavia this time.

“Oh, you didn’t have to, sweetie. It was my pleasure.”

“But you wanted the notebook,” Octavia said. “I could tell. Now you can have it, and we match! Open it! Open it!”

Oh, fuck, I’m a little teary for some reason.

It’s stupid, really. But the thing is, I’m not used to presents.

I get one on my birthday and Christmas every year, of course. But as I said, my grandma isn’t rich. Even she wouldn’t have dropped that much money on a notebook for me.

I unwrap it, and am completely speechless when I see a gift card on top of the notebook.

My gaze returns to Darius.

His blue eyes don’t look away, though he’s still taking on the phone—about finances, by the sound of it. I hear words like market, investment, trend, and stock.

“Octavia,” I say, because I can’t actually thank the person who did purchase all that. “This is too much. It was my absolute pleasure to chat with you for a few minutes; you really didn’t have to get me anything. But I’m very, very grateful.”

“It was my pleasure too! I like you, Claire.”

“I like you right back.”

She wraps her arms around my legs again, squeezes, and runs back to her uncle. He has the sense to take her hand as they walk away.

I stare at the gift card in my hand, and go back in the store for my folders.

2. Keller

2

KELLER

"So, who's the chick?"

I'm not surprised my sister asks the moment her daughter is out of earshot. Octavia's been home for an hour and in that time, she has simply not shut up about Claire. Claire this, Claire that. Does Claire like cake? Would Claire like to ice skate? Do I think she looks more like Sleeping Beauty or Elsa from Frozen? Fucking hell. Not that I can blame her. That girl is the whole package, from the ribbon in her hair to the tips of her pink ballerina shoes.

Honestly, she's ridiculous. The very idea of any woman waking up some day and deciding to look that sweet is insane. Is she prepping for a Barbie commercial or what?

If you'd asked me yesterday, I absolutely would have said, without hesitation, that I don't do sweet. But fuck, I'd do Claire. She looks like I could break her in two, and I can't help it. I want to. I want to see the pretty, glossy pink lips parted as she chokes on my cock, those gray eyes wide.

No one's ever gotten such a strong reaction from me at first glance without even trying. She didn't flirt. She didn't look at me in any way to suggest she liked what she saw. She was more concerned about my niece than me. Hell, I could tell she was annoyed with me at first, for letting the little terror slip through my fingers. Which I relate to. I certainly was annoyed at myself.

I took Octavia this morning because my sister's dealing with her abusive ex; the divorce is getting nastier by the day, and she needs time. But technically, I work on my investment portfolio on Saturday mornings. I cancelled most of my appointments, but there were some time-sensitive decisions I needed to make. So yeah, I took a couple of calls. And yeah, Vivi is the kind of high-energy, mischievous, spoiled brat we can't leave alone for a second. I say that lovingly, and fully aware that I am the first to spoil her. We should have stayed in the house, really. It would have been safer. But I can't regret my niece's little adventure when it ended so well.

"First time I saw her," I reply, accepting the beer Lisa slides across the counter, taking a swig. "She seems nice."

"My daughter certainly thinks so," my sister muses, shaking her head in disbelief. "And she hates everyone."

I roll my eyes. "She doesn't hate everyone. She loves me, doesn't she?"

Lisa snorts.

She's thirty-three, eight years my senior. Our mother had her when she was in her early twenties, and penniless. I can't imagine what it must have been like to grow up with Laura Prince as a single mother—particularly a poor one.

I was raised by my father, an ex-model, part owner of a multi-million-dollar fashion brand, and honestly, I had it easy. He might not have been present much, but I had my cousin, and the Goltzes—the sons of dad's business partners—not to mention their parents, as an extended family. My understanding is, Lisa didn't have anyone other than our pretty, flighty mom.

Laura flew in and out of my life, mostly showing up when she needed something. Lisa might be my half-sister, but I only saw her a couple of times until a little over six years ago.

Arlo, my father, always told her she could reach out if he could ever help her, like he would to any extended family, and she smiled, nodded, and never asked for anything. But one day, she showed up at our door, heavily pregnant, needing "a place to crash for a bit." One look at her bruises, and we had her safe inside, with a security team around her twenty-four seven. She's been at the main house since. I can't imagine her anywhere else now.

I was there from the moment Octavia was born. I even picked her name. She might go by Prince, but she's a Keller to us. She even calls my father Dada, at his insistence. We want Lisa's ex nowhere near the two of them—something the lawyers are working through at the moment—so he's her father figure. Frankly, he's doing a better job at it than he did with me, likely because he's now old enough to understand kids.

Being a Keller means having it all. The house, the cars, the clothes. Especially the clothes. We might not be the richest family in Thorn Falls, but that's only because this town is full of billionaires. And through my father's company, we're connected to the Goltzes, anyway.

Octavia's struggled to open up outside of our immediate family. Half of her nannies just wanted a chance at my dad, or even me. We don't really know many kids her age—all my cousins are in their twenties, so most of us don't have children. She's starting school in a couple of weeks, and I know she’s struggling with the idea.

Octavia's brilliant, adorable, outspoken, downright rude at times, but she does not trust people easily. Especially women. So finding her clinging to a complete stranger was seriously unusual, until I spoke to Claire.

Oink, oink.

She's not only strikingly beautiful, but she's also warm, self-depreciative, and down-to-earth, not unlike Lisa. Claire must have sensed that the woman had no ulterior motives.

My instincts are rarely wrong, but I checked anyway. It was easy enough.

New in town. Twenty-ish. Blonde. Claire.

I had two folders in my inbox within an hour of asking my PI. Claire Fairmont, nineteen, arrived two days ago, currently residing at the Rothford dorm, recipient of an academic scholarship and a grant. I have all the basics: financials—she wasn't kidding about her wallet not stretching far enough to accommodate unnecessary stationery, Christ—academic record, her latest texts and messages, her search history.

Nothing suggests she knew who I was. She's the real deal. An ingenue. I smile to myself.

"You think she's be interested in babysitting? I'd like to go full-time after Vivi starts school, but she finishes at three, so I need someone from three to six. God knows the girls the agency usually send do not make my daughter gush."

"What makes you think I know what a complete stranger might like to do?" I ask.

"Please." Lisa sends me that look. The one that makes her look like our cunning mother. "My kid isn't the only one with a little crush. A present and a hundred-and-fifty-dollar gift card for chatting with Octavia for two minutes?"

If I'd seen the state of her finances before loading that gift card, I would have added all the bills in my money clip.

I shrug. No point denying I noticed her. "So what? I like a pretty damsel in distress. Who doesn't? Doesn't mean I can tell you whether she'd like to work for you."

"I suppose not. But whatever casual stalking you've been up to likely gives you an idea whether she'd be open to it."

I lower my beer, staring at my sister. She only looks back at me, an eyebrow raised.

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