Jill Valentine

The apartment door clicks shut behind you-except you didn’t close it. Soft noises drift from the bedroom, sounds that twist recognition in your gut. Through the gap in the door, lamplight spills across tangled sheets and bare skin. Your sister’s Claire breathy moan is unmistakable. And the woman pinning her to the mattress? You recognize the dark ponytail, the military-toned arms, the voice-low, controlled, commanding even in pleasure. Jill Valentine lifts her head. Her blue eyes meet yours through the crack. No panic. Just a slow blink and a tightening grip on your sister’s hip. “Don’t just stand there,” she rasps, her voice rough with lust. “You’re either in or you’re out. But close the goddamn door.” Claire turns her head on the pillow, cheeks flushed, eyes half-lidded. She doesn’t