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Keira
The house smells like the discarded contents of my stomach as I drag my feet inside.
I don’t know what else to do other than reclaim the cleaning products from beneath the kitchen sink and start scrubbing the floor again. I crawl on hands and knees, polishing the tile when what I really need to do is scramble out of this torturous limbo.
I don’t want to believe my father is capable of such destruction. I don’t want to, yet, deep down, I already know the truth.
He’s a monster. Not merely a criminal, but the devil himself.
In contrast, Sebastian has made himself into a vengeful angel. A hopeful savior.
Righteous.
Honorable.
Perfect.
And I betrayed him.
I scrub the floor harder, cleaning the tile like I want to cleanse my soul. My arms burn from the tension. My fingers ache with my tight grip.
Sebastian’s right. I’m guilty. Even if I didn’t participate. Even though I didn’t have a clue. These atrocities were done by my family. My own flesh. There’s no way I can free myself from blame.
I sit back on my haunches, unsure how to right all the wrongs. I can’t fathom the pain I’ve caused with my ignorance.
I should’ve known.
Should’ve fucking known.
I push to my feet and pack away the chemicals. Then I make myself a coffee and sit down at the dining table while I wait for the masked scent of bile to die a slow death.
I sip from my mug, the liquid tasteless as I try to figure out my future when I have no control over the outcome. I’m still Sebastian’s prisoner, and I don’t think he has any plan to change the dynamic anytime soon. I also don’t have the will to run. Or the desire.
What I want is for him to believe me. To finally trust me despite what I’m guilty of. But he doesn’t come back inside to face me. Not even once my coffee has turned cold and the forced solitude makes me hollow. He leaves me to battle my demons on my own, and I can’t help thinking about those that plague him.
He pretended to be Hunter’s friend. His accomplice.
He faked his way into my heart. My body.
I guess I would’ve done the same.
If Layla had been one of the women taken… If Stella…
My lungs clench through torturous inhales. I can’t fall down that mine-filled rabbit hole. All I can concentrate on is knowing I would’ve deceived or destroyed anyone who stood in my way of revenge.
But that doesn’t make me feel any better for being the one Sebastian wants to punish. I don’t like being his enemy. I want to go back to the place where he gave me kindness and protection.
His lust and adoration.
The fake fairytale.
I sigh and push from the table to pour the remaining dregs of coffee down the sink. The pungent scent of bile follows me with each step, smothering my nostrils and taunting my gag reflex.
This house needs fresh air. Lots of fresh air.
I walk from the kitchen and into the hall, finding the first bedroom with its queen size bed and lone bedside table. I increase my pace across the room, thankful for the distraction as I unlock the window and push the glass panel high.
The night breeze rushes through the gauze, filling my lungs with relief. I suck in a deep breath, only to have it rush back out at the sound of a slamming door.
I swing around, on alert as heavy footfalls thunder through the house.
“Keira,” Sebastian bellows.
I hesitate. I’ve waited over an hour for him to come inside and face me. To see me. The real me.
But the fury in his voice is a crystal clear indication he isn’t ready to see anything other than his cemented misconceptions.
“Keira.”
I remain still, tracing the sound of his pounding footsteps from the dining area to the hall. I can’t stand to speak to him like this. Not with raised voices and more drugging adrenaline.
My chest squeezes as he skitters to a stop in the doorway, his eyes blazing, his chest heaving.
He glances from me, to the open window, then back again. Judging. Convicting. “Trying to escape?”
I slump my shoulders while he continues to cast me as the enemy, his narrowed gaze too vicious for me to hold. “I’m trying to get rid of the smell.” I turn my focus to the floor and drag my feet toward him, stopping before the doorway where he blocks my path. “Please move.”
I ask for the one thing I don’t want—space.
What I need is his proximity. I need him to face me. To face this. And, God, more than anything, I need him to believe me.
But he steps to the side, breaking me with his cold dismissal.
I can’t stand his continued hatred. His loathing. I’m not the person he thinks I am and I have to fight from the pull to slap some sense into him.
Bitter resentment coils in my blood making my limbs throb as I squeeze by him and stalk further down the hall, to the next bedroom. I repeat my actions, making a beeline for the window and gripping the pane to thrust it high.
“Quit it.” His menacing steps follow. “Leave them closed.”
For the briefest second, I contemplate obeying him. It’s only a blip in time. A breath of acquiescence before my spine grows rigid and I take hold of my anger.
I inch away from the window, leaving it open, then make toward him at his barricaded position at the door.
This time he doesn’t move out of my way. He blocks my escape, his chest broad, his shoulders wide. “I said leave it closed.”
“And I say we need fresh air.” I hold his dark stare. “Or are you too scared you won’t catch me if I run?”
He takes a predatory step in my direction, those chocolate eyes punishing through menacing slits.
My pulse spikes. A breath hitches through my lips. I backtrack, my pulse pounding in my throat as I retreat from his animosity. The toxicity of his malice coils around me, making my heart fracture.
“I’m not scared of anything,” he grates.
I believe him.
He’s not filled with fear. The emotion overtaking him is in stark contrast.
There’s so much revulsion. A wealth of disgust and hostility. But up this close, there’s more. Pain ebbs off him. I can see it now. There are fissures of misery in those eyes. Tiny glimmers of agony and torment.
Despite trying to hide it, his suffering matches my own.
It’s like an awakening.
Slowly, I come to understand how the sarcasm and humor has hidden the tortured man beneath. He’s pretended to be the joker, when his reality is shadowed by anguish.
“I have no reason to run.” I take another retreating step toward the window.
His jaw ticks as he stalks closer. “If you knew how I felt, you would.”
“Then tell me.” My words fracture through parched lips. “Explain why I should be scared, because I’m not. You would never hurt me. Not physically, despite how you’re trying to emotionally tear me apart.”
He stops, his shoulders stiffening as if my admission has inflicted a bone-deep wound. “You’ve got a short memory. It wasn’t long ago you thought I was going to kill you with a utility knife.”
“That wasn’t you. You were mindless. I never—”
“It was me,” he snaps. “The real me.”
“So who is the man I spent the last forty-eight hours with? Who’s the guy I’ve known for months?”
He releases a derisive scoff. “You mean the schmuck who eagerly lapped up your attention? That guy doesn’t exist.”
He’s lying. I refuse to believe otherwise.
I know fake people. I’ve been surrounded by them all my life. And the man from the safe house wasn’t one of those. He was caring and kind, despite his deceptions.