Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“Normal?” he says, chuckling darkly. “Normal is boring. So is ordinary or expected. And I am neither of those things. Now, Jo, be a good little tool.” He tilts his head, his eyes glinting manically. “You’ll cooperate, won’t you?”
I swallow the lump in my throat unyielding. “I … I’ll survive this,” I whisper.
He laughs again, this one closer, sharper. “Oh, you’ll survive. For a few days. Long enough for Axel to send me the money. Long enough for me to get my hands on what is rightfully mine. Long enough for me to enjoy watching the high and mighty Axel squirm like a worm. To be honest, I might even enjoy hurting you.”
He is definitely unhinged. He goes from reassuring me that I won’t get hurt if I cooperate, saying that I am just a means to an end, to saying that he’ll enjoy hurting me. The speed at which he flips between the two stances is dizzying. I stare at him, my panic rising, terror slicing through my mind in a cold, precise wave. I’m trapped. Utterly helpless. The air feels thick. My wrists ache against the straps, my stomach knots painfully as a wave of nausea grips me. I swallow it down. The last thing I need to do is end up covered in vomit.
He circles me once more, each step a calculated beat, like a metronome of my impending doom.
“Look at you,” he says softly, almost tenderly. “Your eyes, my father’s eyes, open wide, your pulse racing, your hands tied. So terrified. And yet, no one suspects me. No one would ever suspect me. I’ve been this way all my life. Smooth. Calculated. Invisible until the moment it matters. I mean, you can hardly blame me. All my life, my mother promised me that when the old man died, I would be left with a fair inheritance. I believed her. It never crossed my mind that I wouldn’t get my share of the estate, but then, you came along, the sweet-talking golden girl who’s never even shown her face until there was a pot of gold to claim.” His voice becomes a frightening growl. “And you take what should have been mine. You bitch!”
I close my eyes for a second, trying to force my fear down, to focus on anything other than the bat, the warehouse, the shadows, the knowledge that my life might end in the next few days. He is jumping from point to point and I can’t keep up.
“You have a few days,” he repeats, his voice low and satisfied. “A few days to think about how selfish you have been, to wait. Enjoy it, Jo. Savor the fear. It’s exquisite, isn’t it?”
Sheldon has really lost it. And he terrifies me.
Chapter
Thirty-Eight
AXEL
The vault feels different without her presence lighting it up. I know that is stupid. Irrational. The lighting is the same as always, cool and controlled, reflecting off the glass display cases and steel shelving. The temperature is steady. Nothing has changed. And yet everything has. I step further inside, my footsteps echoing slightly against the polished concrete floor.
“Jo?” I call, not loudly, even though I already know she isn’t here. I would feel her presence if she was. Silence answers me, and I feel the first pang of worry. Small, but it’s there. She should be here. This is where she comes every day. Without fail. When she wants quiet, or control. When the world feels too big, and she needs something precise and measurable. Art is measurable. Pigments. Brush strokes. Varnish age. It all makes sense to her.
Paris did not. And the leftover feelings from that weekend definitely do not. I drag a hand through my hair and glance towards the restoration table she’s been working on. Her tools are laid out neatly. Gloves folded. Magnifier pushed to the side. The microscope lamp is off. She hasn’t been here this morning.
My chest tightens, not with fear. With uncertainty. Maybe she’s avoiding me. I thought we were just like ships in the night, with me having to be at the office from stupidly early until stupidly late and Jo working down here, but what if it’s more than that? The thought lands heavier than I expect it to.
Paris was intense. The agreement that what happens in Paris stays in Paris was her idea. But the sex. My God, the sex. Even so, it was not just the sex. The intimacy. The loving touches, the longing looks. We said we’d leave it all behind like it was something indulgent and reckless. I suppose when we made the pact, it was. But we never counted on our feelings getting involved so quickly.
I was so sure we could continue when we got back here, but when I kissed her that first night back, she’d run from me. She kissed me back, yes, but then she ran. I think maybe I pushed her too hard. But the way she looked, the way she smelled and the way she looked at me, it all just came together. Then, when she didn’t resist my kiss, I thought she felt it too, that we were going to make it work.