Tossing it aside with no care whatsoever, he snaps his fingers at me like a dog and motions for me to follow. “Come.”
“But your laundry—”
“Later. I have something else for you.”
He doesn’t wait. He walks out of the room, expecting me to obey. And what else can I really do? If I don’t, I’ll end up in the closet again, chained to that machine…
But would that really be that bad?
“Shush!” I hiss under my breath, scolding myself for having such wicked thoughts.
He leads me into the lavish living room that looks like something out of an old British mansion. The furniture probably cost more than Momma’s old house.
“Here,” he says simply, pointing to an elegant chess set sitting on an ornate coffee table.
“You…want me to clean them?” I ask.
“Dust them.Carefully. And once you’re finished, arrange them perfectly. I want equal distance between each piece. Understand?”
Is he kidding? That sounds impossible. But what am I supposed to do? Argue with my enormous, six-foot-plus step-brother who has a contract to run my life?
“I’ll do my best.”
“No,” he snaps. “You’ll do as I say. You know what happens if you fail, Joan.”
Before I can speak, he exits the room.
I realize I’m trembling. Not because I’m afraid of being punished but because I’m afraid of disappointing him.
I start right away, dusting each piece with my cloth and placing it back where it was. I don’t have a clue how to play chess, so that’s the only way I can do it without messing up the board.
Amon wants equal distance between the pieces, so I search the room for a ruler, only to come up empty.
“Fudge,” I say, still feeling slightly guilty for uttering something close to a swear.
Then a brilliant idea hits me. My cloth! It may not have numbers on it, but it’s patterned with blue and green squares.
Laying it beside the board, I’m able to use it like a grid to situate the pieces so they’re almost perfectly spaced.
Almost…
Thishasto be good enough. Amon must know what he asked is basically impossible without tools.
I’m on my last piece—I think it’s a castle—when Amon comes back into the room. My heart is ready to pound out of my chest as he approaches the board.
“I did my best,” I start to explain. “But without a ruler—”
He silences me by simply holding up his hand. I close my mouth and step aside, letting him pass.
His familiar scent enters my nostrils. My eyes close automatically as a hurricane of emotions threaten to overwhelm me.
I want to stand still—appear obedient—but as my head starts swimming, I have to step back, or I might just faint.
I’m actually shaking as I watch as he leans over the board, circling it, inspecting it like a government official. His body language reveals nothing.
I want to scream at him.
What are you thinking!?
