He moves back into my personal space. His previous frustration is gone, replaced with a half-smug look.
Is he pleased at my reaction?
“The only person I desire isyou. The only woman I want to have sex with isyou.” Spoken like a true politician. Evading the question and expecting it to suffice.
“You can’t touch me until our wedding night.”
He runs the tip of his finger up and down my arm, making my skin crawl. “We both know that’s not true. Your father already believes we’re fucking.”
“It’s not gonna happen.” I glare at him, and he backs down, stepping away and creating some distance between us. He looks contrite, but I don’t know if it’s genuine or not.
“I apologize for kissing you without your permission, and you know I’d never force you or make you do anything you don’t want.”
“I know nothing, Charlie,” I truthfully reply, sauntering toward the couch and flopping down. I kick off my fuzzy slippers, pulling my legs up into my chest. I rest my head on my knees, looking sideways at him as he sits beside me. “I don’t trust you. Don’t trust anyone except myself.”
“Has something else happened?” He angles his body toward me, arching a brow.
“Just that I’ve found out everyone has lied to me and that no one can be trusted.”
“I know I’ve got to earn your trust again, but I’ll show you I’m sincere.”
I lift my head, examining his handsome face for clues. “If you mean that, you can start by telling me what the fuck is going on downstairs.”
“Do you really want to know?”
I nod. “I can’t un-see it now, and—” I close my eyes, hating the images that burn through my retinas. I blink, rage resurfacing. “It’s disgusting, and so wrong, and I feel ill at the thought that’s been going on in the basement of my house for years while I slept up here, ignorant of the depravity taking place under this very roof.”
“This is the world we exist in,” he replies, displaying little emotion. “And I’ve seen far worse.”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you think we’ve been doing at Parkhurst all these years, Abby?” Slipping off his dress shoes, he pulls his feet up onto the couch, bending his knees and leaning back against the arm, so he’s facing me.
“Training? Learning how to take over the family businesses?” I hear how naïve that sounds now. Truth is, for years, that’s what I thought they were doing every year they went there.
I know better now.
“Weweretraining, but it involves a lot more than just physical defense or learning how to manage a business.”
“Like what?”
“Like how to kill a man. How to fuck a woman. How to control and exert power over those who are less than us.”
“Have you killed someone?” I know he’s skilled with a gun. We all are. And after the shootout in the ballroom, I know how experienced all the guys are.
He nods.
“Did you lose your virginity at Parkhurst?” I ask, because it seems the next logical question.
He nods again.
“How old were you?”
“Thirteen.”
My jaw drops. “But you were only a kid.”
“Within the order, you’re a man at thirteen. Losing your virginity at that age is a rite of passage, and one of the initiation tasks.”
