He’s right about that. As furious, aching, and humiliated as I am, I owe him my life. He protected me when it mattered. When I had no one else, I had my brother.
That memory, more than my mom’s words, is what keeps me loyal.
Shackled.
“I’m going to bed.” Defeated, I get up, then turn to leave. “Goodnight.”
I make it to the door when Barclay says, “Hold it.”
My shoulders tense. I take a deep breath, returning to face him. “What?”
“What’s going on?” His eyebrows lower, creases forming on his forehead. “You’re different. It’s like you’re… Are you hiding something from me?”
“I’m not hiding anything.” But dammit, my cheeks, they’re hot.
“Come here.”
Fear clutches my lungs. I shake my head.
He growls. “I said, come. Here.”
“Okay, okay. You’re right.” I wring my hands, staying at a safe distance. “I’m hiding something.”
His nostrils flare, though his eyelids grow heavier by the second. “What’s that, exactly?”
“This.” With a clammy palm, I reach inside my bag. For some reason, the feel of the thick paper infuses courage into me. “I was going to tell you tomorrow. But since you asked, I got an invitation.”
“An invitation?” He tilts his head. “What the fuck for?”
I bite my tongue before I tell him I’m really sick of being demeaned all the time.
“Yes, an invitation,” I clip. “From The Restorer. For an art commission.”
Barclay’s quiet. Could it be he’s considering this?
If he is, he might say yes.
Warmth spreads through me. I start bouncing on my toes.
“He’s going to compensate me for this, Barc.” A smile tugs at my lips. If my brother is on board, everything will be so much easier. “Ten million dollars.”
He swallows. Sits up straighter against the headboard.
Glowers.
“What?” Against my own advice, I edge closer. I can’t help it. The fear that his pain is so bad that he might need another pill tonight weakens my resolve. “Are you okay? I—like I said, we can talk about it tomorrow.”
“Ten million dollars? From a man?” Ruthlessly, he rips the envelope from my hand, snatching the note out.
“Not just any man. You heard about him.” My voice is nothing but a whisper. I sound like I’m begging, so I clear my throat. “He’s famous. It’s safe.”
“Yeah, I did hear about the fancy freak in a mask.” His eyes snap up, burning into mine. Why does he keep clinging to all that hate? “A wealthy motherfucker who apparently wants to make a whore of my sister. Screw you and send you back to me, broken and used. Then who would marry The Restorer’s sloppy seconds? Hmm? You ever think about that?”
I want to tell him that offering me up for money and status makes him no better than the thing he’s accusing The Restorer of.
One day, I’ll be bold enough to say it out loud.
Just not today.
