Страница 106 из 349
He must have spent a fortune, and the debt doesn’t sit well with me for numerous reasons.
For starters, he still confuses me. I can’t pin him down, not his thoughts or his actions. He’s too kind. Too protective. Too…
He’s just too much for me to believe at the moment.
I walk into the laundry and check the cupboards for detergent, finding what I need stashed in an almost bare cupboard beside an unopened bottle of fabric softener. I shove my clothes into the washing machine, not really paying attention as I become distracted by dreamy thoughts that have no place in my life.
Sebastian isn’t real.
He’s another illusion.
A flawless actor.
But what if he wasn’t?
I put the washing machine to work and can’t help going in search of his resting place. The least I can do is wash his clothes. Well, that’s the reason I give myself for tiptoeing down the hall in search of him.
I find him in the furthest room, in the same position he had on the sofa last night, his arm covering his face, his chest on display. I can’t help wondering what lies beneath the cream sheet draped over his hips. Boxers? Briefs? Full-frontal nudity?
I creep forward, becoming hypnotized by the allure of the tattoos etched across muscled skin. The woman on his bicep tracks my movements, her tear-streaked cheeks squeezing at my chest.
The designs speak of damage. Heartache and pain. Brutality and beauty.
I step closer, to the side of the bed, and listen to his breathing. Deep in. Heavy out. Rhythmic. Calm. Controlled.
Even in sleep, he’s fascinating. Despite the rumors and speculation, contrary to the secrets I know he keeps and the danger of the fake, fake, fake, his intrigue still holds me captive.
I tilt my head, taking in every inch of visible flesh. There are no defensive marks on his body. No wounds or scars. His skin is i
It kills me not knowing.
He grunts, and I hold my breath. Freeze.
I wait for him to wake, but thankfully he doesn’t stir.
Slowly, I inch back, lifting his clothes from the floor—the suit pants, shirt, and socks. I leave his jacket where it is, unwilling to test my novice washing skills on something that should probably be dry cleaned. Then I make my way back to the laundry and place his clothes with mine.
It seems intimate—his socks tangling with my underwear and dresses. It also seems wrong. Like I’ve taken this a step too far. And no, it’s not just about the mingled clothing.
I’m faltering.
Sometimes this friendly, flirty act hasn’t been an act at all.
It’s real. There’s truth in this charade.
I close the lid on the washing machine harder than I should and promise myself to leave the bitter taste of romance behind.
I change my focus to something safer—scavenging through each room of the house. I find new toothbrushes and paste in the main bathroom, and put them to use immediately. There’s toilet paper, soap, deodorant, and tissues. Blankets are in the hallway cupboard. Fresh sheets and additional pillows, too.
I eat half a sandwich for lunch, but it’s not because I’m hungry. I’m delaying the inevitable stroll through my father’s office, which I can’t put off any longer.
I drag my feet down the hall, toward the memories that are far from fond, and stop in the entry to rest my shoulder against the frame.
This room is the only part of the house untouched by renovations. No doubt it was from my father’s demands. He wouldn’t have wanted anyone in his personal space. He never did.
Even though he hasn’t been here for a long time, his presence lingers close, grazing my skin with its rough texture. He used to sit behind that large oak desk, his frown tight, his a
His tightly guarded love and affection only dissipated once my mother died. It’s as if she took it with her—all his softness, all the care. But then again, he was never truly caring to begin with.
I suck in a deep breath and walk inside, taking in the stocked bookshelves, ru
I ignore the threat looming ahead and keep my gaze trained on the furniture, letting the memories creep into my mind as I approach the desk.
Cole was the only child welcomed in here. When he was little, I’m told he would sit and play in the corner while my father worked. He was always a part of the family business, even before he could contemplate what all the conversations meant.
He didn’t need to become desensitized to the brutality because he grew up on the severity. It was always his world.
In contrast, Layla and I were drip fed. We didn’t understand a lot of it until later. Much, much later when we had no choice but to come to terms with reality and make it work in our favor.
I reach the desk and place my hands on the shiny wood, needing the support before I raise my gaze to stare at the looming portrait of my mother.
My heart climbs into my throat as she peers down at me.
She’s ethereal up there. Heavenly with her gentle smile and loving eyes. I’d do anything to get her back. Maybe then the family I was always sworn to honor wouldn’t be riddled with lies and betrayal.
She could’ve kept us whole.
She could’ve protected me and my siblings.
“I miss you, Mom.” I walk toward her, struggling to remain composed as I grab the heavy frame encasing her and take it off the wall. “I wish you were here.”
I place her on the desk, her gaze tracking my every move as I turn and face the safe I’ve revealed. The dark gray metal looms before me, the keypad cold to the touch as I enter the family pin code.
The door releases, and I pull it wide to expose a stack of cash and a gun. But the item making my pulse pound is the phone laying almost camouflaged against the black velvet interior.
“Thank God.”
I snatch at the device, sweet relief rushing through me as I turn it on and wait for the software to load. When the screen brightens, it shows a depleted battery with less than forty percent charge. But that’s okay. I can make this work.
I pat my hand around the bottom of the safe, searching for a power cord that isn’t there.
Damn it.
I’m determined to remain positive, even though forty percent won’t get me far when I have to search to find the numbers I need. I keep scouring the office, checking my father’s desk drawers and the empty filing cabinets. I even rush to the kitchen to scour there, too.
Nothing.
There’s no way to charge the cell, which means my time is limited.
Shit.
I open an internet app and type in familiar businesses and contact names. I work frantically, jotting down notes and people of interest until the battery life is dwindled by half. I’m about to co
Fucking hell.
I stare at the device in my palm, wanting and needing to use it, but I’m not willing to get caught making the necessary calls. I can’t risk being overheard.
With a huff of frustration, I turn off the cell and place it back in the safe. It will have to stay there until later. Then I tiptoe down the hall toward Sebastian’s room, the sound of his sleep-roughened voice tickling the hair at the back of my neck as I approach.
“What’s up, Hunt?”
I stop before I reach his opened door and plaster myself against the wall, listening to the one-sided conversation.