Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 62679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
“In our building, the one where you met Joseph Gallo, the prick.” His face hardens a little at the mention of the attorney’s name and it makes me curious.
“But I was there. It’s beautiful.”
“Above ground, yes. The room where she kept you has been flooded too many times and can’t even be used for storage anymore. You’re lucky, actually.”
“Lucky? I don’t think I’m lucky.”
“When it rains heavily, that room becomes a swimming pool.”
I meet his eyes, which are serious. “She knew that?”
“Of course she did.”
“Could I have drowned?” I shudder at the thought of being trapped as the water fills up.
“It’s only flooded that badly twice.”
Still. Once is all I’d need.
“I don’t understand your relationships. I mean, she’s your mother.”
He looks off in the distance momentarily. When he turns back to me, he’s still unreadable.
“Motherhood wasn’t ever anything but an obligation to Lucinda. She gave my father sons, as was required of her. That’s all.”
“But Ethan, she loves him.”
“Don’t mistake control with love,” he says, looking at me again. “Ethan is easily manipulated.”
“What happened to him?”
“That’s a story for Sebastian to tell.”
I remember how afraid of Sebastian Ethan was. How he wouldn’t touch me even at the risk of his mother’s wrath.
“Did Sebastian hurt him?” I ask.
Gregory studies me. “You’re a curious thing, Willow Girl,” he says, rising to his feet.
“Did he?” I rise too. “Or is this some game, Gregory?”
He stops, and I realize it’s the first time I’ve ever said his name.
“A manipulation?” I add.
He turns back to me, takes a step toward me. I lean away, look down, work on wrapping the towel around me.
“A manipulation?” he asks.
When I finally shift my gaze back to his, his head is cocked to the side, eyes narrowed infinitesimally.
I shrug a shoulder, clear my throat and step around him, but when I do, he captures my arm.
“Answer me, Willow Girl.”
“I’m not your Willow Girl. I don’t have to do as you say.”
I wonder if that burns.
I want to hurt him. I don’t know why, but I do.
He squeezes.
I guess he wants to hurt me too. I try to hide the fact that he does, but he sees it and smirks.
“Answer me, Willow Girl.”
“You’re your mother’s son.”
“I am that,” he says casually. “But you don’t know me. And you don’t know my brother. Not like you think.”
He releases me then and it’s not me who walks away but him while a cold chill runs along my spine.
* * *
Gregory stays out of sight for the rest of the afternoon. I have a shower and get dressed, make my way downstairs—because I refuse to hide in my room—and walk around the island, keeping to the parts I’m allowed, until I get hungry.
I go to the kitchen to find some food and again, find it empty. For the first time since I’ve been here, I make my own sandwich, and eat at the small table in the kitchen. When I’m finished, I wash my dish and am going up to my room when I notice Sebastian’s study door is ajar.
I smile, relieved not to have to be here alone with his brother any longer, and head to it, but when I push it open, it’s empty.
Was he here? Is he back? He would have looked for me, I’m sure of it. Besides, Gregory said he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. Even if I don’t like him, he has no reason to lie about that.
I go inside and close the door behind me. I can smell Sebastian in here, his aftershave just lingering on the leather and wood.
There isn’t a phone on top of his desk and I wonder if there’s a land line here at all or if they only use their cell phones. His desk is cleaned off apart from a laptop and a stack of papers held in place by a creepy, skull-shaped paperweight on the corner.
After glancing at the door, I open the lid of the laptop. I know it’s stupid, I’m sure I’ll need a password to access it, and I do. I don’t bother trying to guess it, but close it instead, leaning back in the seat, stretching my legs, trying not to look at the hollowed-out eyes of the skull that seem to watch me.
My knee bumps against something rough and I pull it back. I reach under the desk, leaning down to see what it is.
Although it’s dark, I can see a makeshift shelf. There’s something on it and I reach in, my fingers touching cool, smooth metal. It takes me a minute to realize what it is, takes me until my hand is wrapped around the barrel of it to know.
With a gasp, I pull away, rolling the seat backward a little. I look up at the door again, take a calming breath in.
Why does he have a gun? Why does he need a gun?