I walk across the room and touch the glass, feeling it cool and smooth against my fingertips. Tears streak down my cheeks, but I pay no attention to them.
If you’re going to do it, do it now.
The urge rises, and I feed it, trying to raise the courage to open the window and climb through, then race west as fast as I can.
They’ll catch me…Father’s goons will come after me. I know exactly what Bruce wants to do to me. I’d rather get killed in one of the traps Father talked about.
I stand there in a state of pure conflict for a few seconds more, until a loud bang and a flurry of voices sounds from the other end of the house. I freeze in place, listening intently.
It’s Father and Melanie!
There is no mistaking their loud, obnoxious voices. I stay still, listening for a bit more, but not making out any of their words. I hear Shawn talking to them, and he sounds relaxed and happy in their company.
How can I believe anything he says when he obviously gets along so well with Father?
I step away from the window, drying my tears and taking a look in the mirror. Even though my heart is sinking like a stone, I know what I have to do.
I don’t have the courage to leave. So, I have no choice but to keep doing this.
Once I’m sure I look presentable, I go to the bedroom door and take a deep breath, composing my face into a smile I hope is believable.
Doesn’t even matter if Father knows I’m faking it. So long as I keep Shawn happy, that’s all that matters.
I hurry down the hall as if I can’t wait to join them, smiling as I come through the door.
“Father! Melanie! How nice of you to drop in on us.”
“My pleasure,” Father says with his totally fake, smooth smile. “We brought around some groceries for you, all donated by the good families of the pack.”
“How nice,” I say, going up to the table. “This looks wonderful. Let me make dinner for all of you.”
“How kind,” Father says, nodding to me. “You’re a good daughter.”
“I try,” I mutter, grabbing the box and turning my back on him before my temper can get the better of me.
Chapter 11 - Shawn
The room feels like the aftermath of a cyclone in Sara’s wake. I can sense so much emotion in her, grief and loss, and underneath it, a river of fear so deep it threatens to burst free and consume her.
What is she so afraid of?
As if in answer to my question, there’s a sharp knock on the door, and I know it’s the old man.
Obviously, she’s scared of him, and she has every right to be. This asshole sold her to me, and it’s obvious he’s been abusing her for years.
“Come in!” I call, and two sets of footsteps shuffle through the door and up the hall. Even though I’m pissed about the intrusion, I know this is a great opportunity to ask more questions. The old man might relax a bit if I get him drunk and full of good food.
So far, he’s fallen for my idiot act, and all I need is for him to slip up once.
“Jackson!” I say in an easy tone. The old man enters the room and smiles, hurrying over to drop a box of goodies on the table and shake my hand.
“Shawn,” he answers. “I’ve got that produce for you, just as you asked. Hope you don’t mind me barging in.”
“Not at all,” I say, shaking his hand enthusiastically. “It’s good to see you. Stick around for a while and have a drink.”
“Happy to,” he answers, reaching for the brandy.
“Hello, Shawn,” Melanie purrs, crossing the room to lean down and press her cheek to mine. “I missed you!”
