Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
“How much time do you have left?” Forrest asked.
“The quarter just started,” I said. “And I’ve only been away two nights. I have twelve days. If whoever locked us in is planning on waiting out the terms of the will, I’m pretty sure we’ll be dead by the time they come back.”
A dark thought, but it occurred to me that I might not be the target. What if this was about Forrest?
“Does anyone want to kill you?” I asked, struggling to imagine it.
“Not until I find my father’s money,” he said in a wry tone. “At the moment, I’m worth a lot more alive. But from that perspective, so are you. I don’t think this is about my father’s money. I think that was just a way to get to you.” He paused. “Whoever did this was living at Heartstone or working there. Any chance one of the maids or Billy Bob is susceptible to a bribe?”
I rolled that idea around in my head. “They could be,” I said, not liking the idea that April or Kitty might have set me up to die. Ditto for Billy Bob, cousins who could fix anything and worked for Savannah.
“Isn’t there a nanny now?” Forrest added.
Paige. No, not Paige. She was quiet and lovely with Stella and the boys. But if it wasn’t one of them, or one of Hawk’s team—inconceivable—that left me with Ford and Brax.
I really didn’t want to think it was Ford. I wanted to pin the blame all on Brax’s smug, snotty face. He’d hated me since we were children, but this—this was beyond sibling rivalry. This was murder. Couldn’t he just tear up my drawings or steal another doll? Did he need to lock me underground and starve me to death in the dark to make his point?
I sighed, not wanting to believe it. Yes, my family was unbelievably fucked up. But underneath that, they were my family. Would one of them really go so far as to try to kill two people for an inheritance?
I’d rather it be Brax than Ford, but the truth was I didn’t know Ford. Not really. He’d betrayed all of us over and over, caused Griffen to lose everything and be exiled from his home, and sold Finn to kidnappers in a business deal. Who knew what else Ford had done that we hadn’t learned about? Since he’d been home, he’d been so withdrawn. I wanted to think I could trust him. But the truth was…I didn’t know. A wave of grief hit me. I was in the cold dark, trying to figure out which of my brothers would murder me and the man I loved. If I’d known how quickly our time would run out, I wouldn’t have wasted so much of it.
“Forrest.” I choked out his name. “I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry… We’re going to die down here, and it’s my fault. I was impatient… I didn’t want to wait, and—”
“Sterling, stop,” he said, stroking his hand down my hair, his fingertips chilled where they grazed my skin. “I’ll try again at the door in a little bit,” he promised. “We aren’t going to give up. We’ll find a way out.”
I let his words sink in, wash over me.
A few minutes later, Forrest nudged me off his lap and turned on the light on his phone, sweeping it over the floor. I could see by his expression he’d had a new idea.
“What are you looking for?” I asked.
“A rock with a sharp edge and some weight to it. Something I can use to chop away at the door. We’re surrounded by stone down here. There should be enough to use as an ax and break through the door. I’ll go at it where the lock is bolted in,” he said, aiming his light at the dark circle of metal on the underside of the door.
The wood was thick, but I wasn’t going to argue. We were out of options. At least Forrest had a plan. Searching in the thin beam of light, I found a sharp-edged, good-sized rock with some heft to it.
“Here,” I said. “Take this one. I’ll hold the phone.”
Aiming the beam of light at the bolt Forrest thought secured the doors, I braced as he swung, the rock skidding off the dense wood, taking a shaving of splinters along with it. Not much, but he’d left a mark. He swung again, angling the rock to cut deeper, gouging the door around the bolt. A third swing, punctuated by a deep, reverberating thump and the rattle of metal on metal.
He had to be getting tired as he swung, over and over, his knuckles scraped and bleeding. “Getting there,” he muttered, taking a moment to breathe and study the shallow groove in the door beside the bolt.
“Do you need another rock?” I asked, wishing I could do something, anything to help. I was half Forrest’s size and had none of his muscle. If he got tired, I would take some swings, but putting me in at this point was a waste.