Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
I stare at him.
He stares back.
Neither of us moves.
Fine. Fucking fine.
Torture won’t earn back his trust, so I fly off the bed, cross the room, and grab my phone when I pass. There are exactly two things I know how to do when people shut doors in my face. I find the key. Or I shoot the fucking hinges off.
As soon as his bedroom is at my back, I stand there for a second, phone in my hand, waiting. Listening. For footsteps. For the low sound of his voice calling my name through the stone, or the handle turning, or any of the hundred small surrenders I’ve watched people make when they realize the other person left and they need to chase them.
None of it happens, because this isn’t a fairytale. Asher is the villain the princess fantasizes about while having polite sex with her prince.
Back in my room, I peel off the shirt and toss it to the floor. The shower’s hot when I step in, and I scrub hard, fast. Maybe it’ll give me a minute to change my mind about what I’m about to do.
Or maybe it’ll give me a minute to fix the plan...
Stepping out, I dry off and pull on the first pants I find. Leggings. Doc Martens. An oversized jean jacket.
The hall is quiet when I leave, and I fix on where I’m headed. There’s a door on the other side I haven’t seen anyone use, so I walk that way, keeping it casual. If someone sees me, I won’t look like I’m about to do something I shouldn’t.
I put my hand on the handle. It opens easier than I expect, and I slip inside, finding a switch on the wall. The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, then settle on a line of expensive cars.
“Huh.”
Keys hang off hooks on the wall. I curl my finger beneath the one with the Aston Martin badge, press the unlock button, and head straight for it.
Leather wraps around me the second I drop into the seat, and I drag my palms over the steering wheel as if greeting an old friend. Well, a similar one anyway.
The engine purrs to life with a purr. Damn. I sure hope he wasn’t expecting me home for dinner…
I hit the garage button, and the doors roll open, spilling daylight across concrete. Shifting into drive, I ease forward but lose patience and floor it. The Aston surges, tires biting at ice-covered concrete as the curve of the driveway comes fast.
I take it at speed, hook the steering wheel until the back eases into a drift, then correct onto the road that joins the driveway.
Through the rearview, I watch the house shrink every few seconds. I really didn’t think I’d make it out that easy, but I don’t let it go to my head. With Asher, it only ever means one of two things. He knows and he’ll deal with you later, or he’ll deal with you later.
The road narrows fast, snowbanks crowding both sides as pines close in overhead, and then everything smooths into nothing. Which isn’t ideal, because now there’s nothing to distract me from my straying thoughts.
Why isn’t Emeric answering my calls or texts?
I hit the music button and an old rock song fills the void. The road climbs through dense bushland, and then finally, I drive through a break that opens to white peaks. The familiar small township sprawls across the slopes, tucked into mountains.
Easing off the gas, the Aston rolls quietly through town as my fingers tap the wheel. Memories threaten to surface, and before they can piss me off, I crank the wheel and swing back onto the main road.
Trust Le Boucher.
Why would she think I wouldn’t? I know Emeric. I know what he built. I know what he pulled me from and what he made of all the broken parts.
I press the gas harder, and the road opens onto familiar territory as I guide the car down Veilarath Lane. Toward Mount Grim.
The tightness finally releases from my muscles when I pull up in front of wired gates. “Home.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY
IVY
I roll to a stop outside 888 Veilarath Lane. I haven’t been back here since it happened. Couldn’t bring myself to do it, even though it’s the only place I’ve ever felt at home in, Désamour aside.
My phone vibrates in the center console, and I scroll through the texts.
Luce: You’re there, aren’t you?
Punk: Where? I can’t access shit from this tower! Don’t do anything stupid…
I am. I stole his car.
Punk: LOL
Cold air hits my lungs as I shove the car door shut and stare up at the house. I remember standing right here years ago, that deed heavy in both hands. I found it intimidating to take in at first, what with all its towering spires and baroque flourishes. 888 Veilarath Lane was built to remind everyone exactly where they belong. Beneath it.