Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 67722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Sebastian is cruel, merciless when he punishes me, but there’s something else too. A protectiveness, a possessiveness almost. I’m his. And in a way, as long as I’m his, I’m safe.
No.
I shove the papers off me and get to my feet so quickly, that between the blood rushing and the vodka, I have to hold on to the wall so as not to fall over.
I’m not safe.
And I can’t be fool enough to let myself think I am, not for a second.
I stand taller. I steel my spine and say it out loud. “I am not safe. Not with him. Not with any of them.”
Does he think that by telling me, by isolating me mentally and emotionally as well as physically, that I’ll be a better Willow Girl. A more obedient one?
I go to the window, wrap my sweater around myself because tonight is cooler than it has been, and I think about them, about my family and how they betrayed me. How they’ve been betraying their daughters for generations. And for what? Money. For fucking money.
“Willows never did have much integrity. Even family doesn’t mean anything to them. They sell off their daughters like they do a prize pig.”
His words slam into me but before they can break me, I stalk to the nightstand and open the drawer and take out my pocketknife. I don’t know why he didn’t take it from me. It’s not an oversight. Sebastian doesn’t overlook anything.
Three million dollars. If I survive the three years. That’s the sum of it. Of my worth.
I know our house is important. I know the land is important. But isn’t a daughter more important?
I gather up the papers, not caring that I’m crushing them. I want to rip them to shreds, even if they are copies.
I walk out of my room. I don’t even close the door behind me.
He’s downstairs, in his study. I know because he told me he’d come up for me when he was finished with his work. Needs his nightly fuck, I guess.
Two Willow Girls have died while serving their time, and when my Aunt Helena was the Willow Girl, only two payments were made. Did she run away? Did she manage to stay away for a time? Because there was a clause that should the girl not be available to the Scafoni sons, the Willow family would be penalized, and that penalty would be paid in the form of a forfeiting of funds, or worse.
The words an eye for an eye stand out.
They make me shudder.
I look down at my ring.
Bone for bone?
My mother, when she told us what would happen to us, she didn’t quite tell it like this. Never mentioned money, just a debt, and warned us that whoever was chosen would have to serve the full three years. She told us we’d not be welcome home because the vengeance the Scafoni would take would be catastrophic to the rest of the family.
The house is dark but for the light under the study door. It’s past one in the morning, but Sebastian isn’t alone in there. I hear two male voices.
I don’t bother to knock but push the door open. I guess I push too hard because it slams against the doorstop and vibrates. Sebastian looks up from behind his desk, momentarily surprised. Only momentarily.
I turn from him to the chair across the desk to find Gregory there.
“Helena,” Sebastian says, pushing back from his desk and folding his arms across his chest. “How can I help you?”
Ignoring Gregory, I slam the papers down in front of him.
“Why did you tell me? What’s the point?”
He cocks his head to the side, studies me. “Are you drunk?”
My hands fist so hard that I feel my fingernails digging into my palms. “Why?”
I hear a chuckle.
I turn to Gregory, who stands and looks at me. He doesn’t bother to school his features into something more serious.
He shifts his gaze to Sebastian.
“I’ll say good night, brother. We’ll pick up tomorrow.”
“Good night,” Sebastian says. I don’t think his eyes ever leave mine.
Gregory closes the door behind him. Sebastian gets up and comes to me.
“It’s rude to barge into someone’s office like that, Helena.”
“I don’t much care about rude.”
“No, you don’t. How much did you drink?”
“Not enough. Why? Why did you tell me?”
“You asked, remember? And I warned you that you may not like what you hear.”
“Is it to isolate me even more? Make sure I know I can’t go home?”
“Watch your tone, Helena.”
“Don’t you mean Willow Girl? Watch your tone, Willow Girl?”
He steps closer so the tips of his shoes are touching my bare toes. He tucks a finger beneath my chin, tilts it up and leans in close.
“If that’s how you want it, then watch your tone, Willow Girl.”
The low timbre of his voice is more warning than his words, and it takes all I have not to back off.