Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 80689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“I’m not your staff.”
I feign confusion. “I meant Jonas, Morgan, and Forrest.”
“It’s Forsyth.”
Of course I fucking know his name, you fucking idiot.
“You know what I meant. I wanted to make sure Morgan and Forsyth are getting along.”
He winces, and this time there’s knowing there, not a question. I can’t help but smirk because he doesn’t really know what bit of gossip I spread around town to turn them against each other.
“I figured you might have had something to do with that,” he reveals.
“Do with what? Are they having issues?”
“You know what happened.”
Of course I do.
“And I know you’re behind it. They’re humans, not pawns for you to play with because you have too much free time on your hands.”
“I’m not a mind reader, Ryan, but if something’s going on, you should feel comfortable sharing it with me. I just want your work to run as smoothly as possible. You must know this.”
“Then hire me some more hands.”
I sigh overdramatically. “It’s so hard to find people we can trust to manage the property. Look at the two hands we did find from town. Both with criminal records. And they’re the exception—at least they’re not sex offenders or drug addicts. This is what happens in a country that doesn’t give a fuck about distribution of wealth. That’s why I had to bring Jonas in all the way from Chicago. Why else would I have brought him here?”
Now I’m just having fun.
And it is so much fun seeing Ryan’s jaw clench, his hands ball into fists.
“If you’re going to be in a mood today, then I’ll just let you get back to your work,” I say. “I actually figured you’d be in a good mood this morning.”
His neck tenses, but he doesn’t spit out his usual, Stop watching me! or I’ll tear my room apart and find every goddamn new camera you put in there.
“Good chat,” he says, starting for the door.
I take his hand gently. As he turns to me, I offer another peck on his cheek, which turns into a lick. When he pulls back, I can see the morning light reflected on the wet part of his flesh. I run my tongue across the roof of my mouth, enjoying his taste before I release his hand and he heads on his way.
Back to his work. Back into my maze.
Some of that fury has dulled, replaced with excitement. It’s too soon to execute my plan, but patience, Simon. It won’t be meaningful if I jump the gun.
No, like a black racer beneath a pile of leaves, I wait as this blue jay grazes on seeds around me, knowing I must strike at the right time or run the risk of him taking flight and escaping my reach.
20
JONAS
“This one he’ll be in for sure,” Ryan says as he pulls another photo album from a shelf.
We stand by the desk in a little office-like area set up in the library.
After our chat about his past, Ryan and I agreed upon a script to go over in the bedroom to make sure Simon believed it was the first time we’d openly discussed their brother.
“Take two,” he says as he passes me the album. He hasn’t been willing to look himself; it must be too painful.
I’m wildly curious, but it’d be funny if he handed it to me and I didn’t see any similarity other than dark hair and maybe the shape of our heads.
The previous album was mostly photos from when Simon and Ryan were babies and toddlers. This one is of them much older, around high school age. I stop a few pages in, my gaze zeroing in on that face—my face. It’s as if I weren’t looking at the photo of someone else, but one taken of me when I was younger. Kieran, Ryan, and Simon stand in front of the pool in their bathing suits. Kieran must have been in his late teens when it was taken, and Ryan and Simon must’ve been fourteen or fifteen. Ryan appears distracted in the photo, while Simon and Kieran are picture-ready, flashing ear-to-ear grins.
“I guess I don’t have to ask if you see it too,” Ryan says, probably because my jaw is hanging open.
“It’s uncanny,” I admit. I pull out my phone.
“What are you doing?”
“I wanted to show you pics from when I was younger.” I pull up my Facebook app. “I think I have some photos from when I was around this age. Just want to compare.”
I pull up my account and scroll through my photo albums, finding the ones from high school. I click on a photo my aunt took of Charity and me when we went to Six Flags—one of the happier times in our lives because Charity was doing really well—and I show it to Ryan.
His eyes widen, and he takes my phone. He purses his lips, then takes a deep breath before coming around me to see his family’s album.