“I’ll get you a sweatshirt, Caitlyn. See what happens when you ask for what you want? You get it.” He smirks and walks out.
I step farther into the room. I’ve never been in a place so nice. I’m too afraid to touch anything, because I know if I break it, I really can’t afford to replace it. There’s also the fact that I don’t want to deal with another beating today, and keeping things light—easy—is how I can avoid making Neo angry. I hope.
I open a door and peek inside to find an empty closet. I close it and open the next door. This one leads to a bathroom. It’s all white and gold, and also fancy as hell. There’re toiletries lined up on the counter, as if waiting for someone to use them. Large white towels hang from a towel warmer. Now that’s a luxury I could get on board with. I’m always cold, unless it’s the absolute heat of summer.
A tap on the door has me spinning around. Neo walks into the room. I don’t move. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.
“Here you go. Have a shower if you want. I’ll be downstairs. I’m ordering pizza. What kind do you eat?” he says.
“I’ll eat anything,” I tell him.
“Okay, I’ll wait.” He stands in the middle of the room and stares me down for a second time.
Really? This again?I huff out a breath. “Pepperoni would be great. Please.”
He smiles and my stomach dips. Shit, this man should not smile at me like that.
“Told you it’s not that hard,” he says, then he walks out of the room.
Yeah, it is hard to ask for what I want. Because in the past, that has only ever ended with me bruised and battered. You quickly learn that what you want doesn’t actually matter.
I pick up the sweatshirt he left on the bed and bring it to my face, inhaling the scent that lingers on the soft fabric. It smells woodsy, but I doubt this man spends any time in the woods. He looks way too polished and put together to be outside getting dirty.
I walk into the bedroom and close the door, locking the latch, and then strip off. I shake my head at my reflection. I left to escape this, seeing myself covered in bruises. And here I am, one week into my new life, looking exactly like I used to look back then.
Chapter Seven
An alert on my phone wakes me. It’s the front gate. Someone is either coming or going. Caitlyn. I jump out of bed and open the cameras to see if she’s trying to leave.Not that I’m keeping her here. I’m just not letting her go back to that shitty-ass apartment. There is a difference between the two.
I groan as I watch my mother’s car pull to a stop in front of the house. This is not what I need to deal with right now.
I tug on a pair of sweatpants. Then quietly walk next door, peering into Caitlyn’s room to make sure she’s still asleep. Thankful when I find that she is.
I just need to find out why my mother is here and get her out before Caitlyn wakes up.
Don’t get me wrong. She is definitely the type of girl you take home to meet your mother. I just need her to trust me a little more before I introduce her to the insanity of my family. We talked for hours last night. Well, I talked and Caitlyn answered questions. But towards the end of the night, she was starting to relax a little more.
Whatever the fuck happened to her, it was bad. It’s the fear that’s still haunting me. It used to be my favorite thing to see. The fear in someone’s eyes. Not with her, though.
I make it downstairs. My mother is already in the foyer. “Ma, it’s early.” I hug and kiss her cheek.
“Well, if you stayed living at home, I wouldn’t have to come visit you so early,” she says, walking farther into the house. Fuck.
“Not that I don’t love when you visit, but why are you here so early?” I ask, following her.
“Coffee,” she says as she makes her way into the kitchen. “And to see my favorite child.”
I laugh at that. We both know I’m far from her favorite. I’d be number three at best, and she only has three of us.
“Is Lex around here somewhere?” I pretend to look around my kitchen, as if my little brother is going to just pop out.
“Lex is not the favorite, at least not today he isn’t. And neither is your sister.” My mother busies herself with the coffee machine.
I lean against the counter, folding my arms over my chest. “What’d he do now?”
“He just got kicked out of NYU.” Mom sighs. “I swear that child is trying to make me gray and wrinkled.”
My mother’s blonde hair is styled to perfection. It’s not naturally blonde, but it is blonde. Her face? Also flawless.
