Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
And the instant I feel it, I come to a dead stop in the middle of the lot. Rain soaks through my thin coat, but I ignore it as I turn to look at the one car that doesn’t belong here. That doesn’t fit. A shiny black sedan with tinted windows. Rolls Royce. Their signature vehicle. Old-fashioned. Elegant. And screaming of money and power.
My heart races.
Through the windshield, I can see that no one’s inside, so I walk a few steps closer, and if I had any doubt who it might belong to, it’s wiped out in the next moment because there, embossed on the leather headrest, I see it. Even through the rain-skewed glass, even in this dark night and without the help of the busted streetlamp, I can make out the gold lettering in the familiar font.
I.V.I.
I shudder, cold and sweating at once.
I always knew they could come at any time, didn’t I? That was part of the agreement.
“No.” Shaking my head, I turn to the building’s entrance and walk toward it, no longer hurrying through the rain.
It doesn’t have to be something bad. Maybe my dad’s come for a surprise visit.
Maybe it’s the reason Evangeline hasn’t answered her texts all night.
Once inside the building, I stop and take a deep breath in, then out.
It’s nothing bad. The car could be Dad’s.
Then where is Joseph, his trusted driver?
I climb the stairs to my second-floor apartment, looking around for Joseph or my father. I don’t see either man.
My father has a key, so he’s probably waiting inside my apartment.
But something’s wrong. I’ve felt it all day.
And there’s no avoiding whatever it is. I know that when I walk down the hall to see the door of my apartment is ajar. It’s just slight, not left wide open, and there’s a light on inside. Whoever it is doesn’t want to surprise me.
I push the door open but don’t quite enter. Instead, I stand on my own welcome mat looking into the living room of the small apartment.
The light is coming from my bedroom.
I take a deep breath in and step inside. I don’t close the door behind me. On the counter lies a ring of keys, a pair of worn black leather gloves ominous beside them.
But it’s when I smell the aftershave that my stomach sinks.
Not Dad.
As if he’s been listening to my thoughts, my half brother, Abel, steps through the bedroom door and into the living room. Stopping, he cocks his head to the side and looks me over, his expression that of someone utterly unimpressed.
“Don’t you own an umbrella?” he asks. They’re the first words he’s spoken to me in over a year.
I slide the messenger bag off my shoulder to ease it to the floor, then unbutton my coat as I try to keep calm. Or at least appear so on the outside.
“What are you doing here? How did you get a key?”
He steps into the light and smiles. He hasn’t changed. His smile is little more than a sneer, his eyes disapproving as I take off my soaked coat and drape it over the back of a chair.
“It’s nice to see you, too, sis.” He walks past me into the kitchen and picks up the bottle of whiskey I keep for when Dad comes. He opens it, sniffs, then takes a clean glass out of the drying rack and pours himself some. “Should you be drinking?” he asks, turning to me and leaning against the counter as he sips.
“It’s not for me. It’s Dad’s. What are you doing here?”
“Can’t I come visit my sister?”
I don’t bother to answer that. Abel and I have a hate-hate relationship. He hates me, and I hate him. Have from day one. He’s a jerk.
“Why are you so late?” he asks, tone ugly. Walking over to my desk, I see he’s been through my calendar and my notes from various classes. I wonder what he thought he’d find.
“I had to work. Why are you here, Abel?” I close the calendar. There’s nothing he’d uncover anyway so I’m not worried about it. I know the rules, and I know myself. As much as I’d like to say I don’t care about them or the consequences, I do.
“The library closed an hour ago. You were still working?”
“It’s called clean up. How do you know the library hours anyway? Are you having me followed? I’m here with Dad’s blessing, and you know—”
“I hope you’re not lying, Ivy. I hope you weren’t on a date.”
He swallows the last of his drink, sets his glass in the sink, and walks into the living room.
“Is that why you were going through my calendar?”
He grins. “I have some bad news.” He shrugs his shoulders. “And some good news. Which do you want to hear first?”
That sinking feeling I’ve had all day is back. I put my hand on the back of the chair to steady myself.