Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 157308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
My grip squeezed to break my pencil. Flashes of the drunken kiss and moment in Adonis’s office tormented me, pissing me off more. “Who exactly is it that you don’t trust, Wilson? Me or your own brother? He wouldn’t have anything to do with me even if I was interested. Which I’m not. Wake up. This is not the nonstop sex, booze, and spending cruise you’ve been on your whole life. In the real world, there are consequences. I stay on the right side of the line.”
He wasn’t moved. “You wake up, honey pie. That’s my ring on your finger—the all-access pass to the sex, spending, booze cruise. You’re one of us now, and I’ve been checking my back for the knife ever since you slipped that on your finger.”
I STOPPED ON THE SIDEWALK, gazing up at the house. I was sure I was in the right place, though I wouldn’t call it a gallery.
Behind Grayson Hall, Rafael said. The only building behind Grayson Hall was a single three-story structure that appeared as if it were plucked from Greek Row and dropped on the lawn. It was the only building back here, tucked away like a secret.
It was nondescript for a secret. Three levels of brick, windows covered with blackout curtains, a heavy wooden door, and a metal box under the doorbell.
Walking up, I hitched my bag up higher and knocked on the wood.
“Who is it?” Wilder poured out of the intercom, making me jump. “What do you want?”
I pressed the button to speak. “You know who it is. You told me to come here.”
“Look into the camera.”
I whipped around. “What camera?”
“It’s Sinclair,” I heard him say. “She’s alone. Come in.”
A buzz cut through the afternoon. Swinging the door in, I stepped inside a short hallway with not much to say for itself other than a shoe organizer with nine cubbies.
“Take off your shoes. Remove your listening and recording devices.”
Where is his voice coming from now?
“Do you mean my phone?”
“Yes. Unless you’re packing something else.”
I put my hands up for the unseen camera. “Not packing anything. Off my shoes go.” I toed them off, stuck them in a cubby, and put my phone in after it. That done, I continued down the hall, coming out—
A nozzle stuck in my face.
Psssssstt!
A harsh, astringent smell overpowered my nose, and face, and chest, and legs, and back. Wilder sprayed me all over, uncaring of my shrieks.
“What are you doing?! Stop!”
He dropped the can. “Disinfectant.”
“More like acid!” I wheezed, coughing and hacking the cloying stuff out of my lungs. “What was that for?”
“The SB3A virus was developed in government labs three years ago and made to mimic the common cold. If contracted, you die a slow death, bleeding through all orifices. SB3A was stolen and unleashed two years ago.”
Psst!
“For all we know, it’s spreading through campus as we speak.”
Psst!
“Stop that!” I made a swipe for the can. It was swiftly lifted out of my reach.
Wilder held out both hands. “Now, you may hug me for a duration of five seconds. Your hands are not to move lower or higher than my forearms. If you wrap them around my neck, I will perceive this as an attack and respond accordingly.”
I gaped at him. Five seconds. That’s how long it took me to regret this.
“Wilder, my friend, what are you doing to the lovely Luna?” Lucien came out from behind him, dressed in different, but equally ridiculous, Victorian clothes. “Forgive us for the welcome. You can see why the Gallery doesn’t get many visitors.”
Grasping my fingers, Lucien trapped my gaze as he brushed his lips over my knuckles. A ripple raised the hairs on my arms. “Come with me, my dear.” He threaded my arm through his, leading me away. “I’ll give you the grand tour.”
“Uh, okay.” I’d let him take me away if it meant my disinfectant bath was over. “Rogues’ Gallery. I get it. Cute.”
“Cato thought so. He’s got a unique sense of humor.”
“Wow,” I breathed as the hallway opened up, letting us out into the living room. “And you all have a unique sense of style.”
The entire room was a bachelor pad paradise. Black covered the walls, which should’ve made it dark and depressing—if not for the neon-green lamps and the backlights scattered about the room—behind the big-screen television, and shining from the ceiling. A row of guitars lined both sides of the TV. Placed in front of it were two green and black gamer chairs, and a black leather sectional. It was as though I stepped into the world’s first nightclub/movie theater.
“This is the living room.”
“Yeah, it is,” I cried. My socked feet sank into the plush carpet. “This is sweet. What do you have to do to get a place like this on campus?”
“My descendants own and operate a string of hospitals across the country. What it takes is a sizable endowment.”