Grasping the broom’s smooth plastic handle, I sighed. At least it wasn’t another spanking. I got to work, carefully sweeping glass from around the cars and underneath them. Manson watched me for a while, his intent gaze flustering me. It was easier once he finally stepped away, taking the stairs to the upper level. The garage was spacious, and the area at the back seemed to be where they did most of their work. There were all kinds of machines I didn’t know the purpose of, toolboxes, stacks of tires, and a grease pit that an old car was parked atop of. Lucas was in the pit, his forehead creased with concentration as he worked.

He hadn’t even looked at me.

Manson was on the phone upstairs, pacing as he spoke. I only caught snippets of the conversation, enough to put together that he was talking to his auto insurance company. I put my head down and swept a little faster.

By the time I was done, I was sweating through my clothes and my head was pounding with the need for a coffee. Lucas was still ignoring me, but once Manson was off the phone, he came downstairs to check my work.

“Not bad,” he said, inspecting the area around the cars. “You got underneath too?”

I nodded, wiping the sweat off my forehead. He watched me do it, his lips parted as if he had something more to say but had completely forgotten. I glanced behind him and caught Lucas’s eye for a split second before he turned his back to me again.

“All right,” Manson said. “Go get your stuff, I’ll drive you to your car.”

The Bronco was particularly bouncy as Manson drove down the road, the massive tires rumbling over every dip and pothole. He had the radio turned up and the AC blasting, but kept the window rolled down so he could hang his arm out in the breeze.

I couldn’t bear to sit there the whole time in silence. The longer I sat, the more I thought about all the perverted things he could do to me now that we were alone and my thighs squeezed together. The long soak I was planning to take in the tub once I got home was going to have to involve my vibrator too.

Surely his “no touching” rule didn’t apply today. I’d been a good girl for him.

I closed my eyes, mentally scolding myself. He didn’t get to tell me what to do. None of them did.

I glanced over at him out of the corner of my eye. He was different than he’d been in high school. He was far more confident now, his measured speech and careful movements showing an obsessive control over how he presented himself.