As if he can see right through me, he grits his teeth, but doesn’t say a word. Merging back into traffic, we finish the last leg of the journey in strained silence.
The properties become increasingly lavish, and the space between them grows with the massive lawns and trees, ensuring privacy and space. Turning down a narrow path camouflaged to blend into its surroundings, we follow the curve of the insanely long drive away from all other neighbors until at least a mile separates us from the nearest soul. The woods may as well be a portal to a different dimension, because by the time we’re pulling to a stop in front of the house, it feels like we’re hidden away in a pocket from the rest of the world.
I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a mansion, but it’s certainly large enough that everyone that works for him and their families could likely live here. All of this space for him to live in alone, just to be able to say it’s his. It can’t even be to lord it over people to inflate his ego, not out here hidden from view and barely letting anyone inside.
Whatever happens, I’m not stepping foot in the basement of this place.
With a deep breath, I grab the handle to open my door. “Thanks for the ride.”
His hand snakes out to clamp around my wrist before I can push my door open, and I pivot back to see him looking even more livid than usual. “Here.” He slips a pocket knife in my hand and curls my fingers around it, holding my fist closed.
The weight is a comfort, though I can’t imagine I’ll be able to do enough damage with it to actually make a difference. “Want me to slit his throat in his sleep?”
His grip tightens on my wrist and his face contorts with a snarl. “Don’t go saying shit like that carelessly. You blow this chance, he’ll kill you on the spot, consequences be damned.”
“Then why give me a weapon at all?” I demand, feeling hopeless and lashing out because it’s better than caving into the feeling. “I kill him, you all go down, right? So he’s got some blackmail on a flash drive that gets released upon his death, or whatever? You can’t want me to actually take a stab at him, so why bother giving me a knife when you’re encouraging me to throw myself into his bed?”
Consciously releasing one finger at a time, he drops my arm, eyes locked on the bright red handprint left behind and cursing himself. “There’s a difference between trying to spin shit into your favor and making the best of it, and not defending yourself. Remember what we taught you.”
Holding his gaze, I dip my head in acknowledgement and slip the knife into my bra rather than my pocket. With a deep breath to steady myself, I climb out of the car, letting the rush of cool air calm my nerves.
The door opens before I can even knock as I approach, so I force myself not to look back. If I were to see the concern on Maverick’s face, the fear he shrouds in hatred, I don’t think I’d be able to force the smile on my face that I need to.
Julian stands in the doorway, more relaxed in dress pants and a pale blue button up shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “You’re late.”
I shrug, subtly shaking my sleeve down to cover my wrist. “I didn’t drive, so not sure why you’re blaming me.”
Though his lips press into a flat line, there’s a spark of humor in his eyes. It’s a dangerous game, testing the boundaries of a man that thrives on being obeyed, to turn my resistance into something appealing rather than defiant. But it’s a game that I plan to win, one way or another. I’m not willing to give up the small bits of genuine happiness I’ve managed to find in my pathetic excuse of a life, and I’m not prepared to spend the rest of it being hunted down.
So I need to forge a new path between the options laid out before me.
“Though the meeting is likely to stay in the living room, we should be prepared for them to try and trip you up to catch you in a lie. Familiarize yourself with the layout quickly, act as if you’ve been here for months.” He turns on his heel, expecting me to follow him in, and I close the door behind us.
Only then do I lock eyes with Maverick, still sitting in the driveway. And I pretend, if only for my sanity, that the fear on his face isn’t there. Everett, I’d expect it, and Grave, it’s understandable. But Maverick is clear in his disdain, doesn’t bother pretending that everything is okay for the sake of getting through the day like the rest of us do. So if even he’s scared?
I’m not sure I’ll see any of them again.
* * *
“Bathroom, library,” Julian continues to rattle off on our quick tour of the house, and I frantically commit the layout to memory. I need to appear like I’m familiar with the space, comfortable.
Just the furniture in this place must cost as much as a house, antique and hand crafted. The appliances are modern though, everything in the place meant for show despite the lack of company. We’ve passed no less than five bedrooms already, all empty, yet furnished as if ready to accommodate a spontaneous guest at a moment’s notice.
It seems like such a waste of space when you could use the rooms for something else, like a game room, or larger library. I doubt I’ll ever understand the sort of people that reserve a spot for someone that doesn’t even live there on the off chance that a relative might drop in unannounced.
Who the fuck would want to encourage something like that?
We get to the massive room we’re supposedly sharing, and I note which closet is mine, though the clothes are all far nicer than anything I’m used to. The four posts on the bed rise high up to support the sheer, white canopy, currently tied to the posts.
The impending meeting has him more stressed than usual, and it’s clear in his clipped speech. “Get changed and meet me back in the living room, they should be here in about fifteen minutes,” he commands, leaving the door open behind him.
Leafing through the closet, I settle on leggings and a casual sapphire, long-sleeved sweater dress, swiftly changing and pulling my hair from my ponytail so that it can hang loose. I need to look casual. Happy. Taking a deep breath, I shake out my hands, pumping myself up.
As I start to leave, I pause at the foot of the bed, running my finger along the ridges of one of the posts. Worn, faded rings distort the color of the wood, ruining the perfection. Carefully, I untie the canopy, attempting to retie it over the mark, but the strings don’t line up right.
Okay, so the guy’s kinky. Not a crime.
Unease pooling in my gut, I put things back the way that I found them, wiping my sweaty palms on my dress and heading back downstairs. By the time I’m walking into the room, there’s pounding at the door and my heart skips a beat. Julian simply gestures for me to take a seat on the couch as he goes to answer the door and I mentally chastise myself to pull it together.
