Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 79749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
I hate that if I concentrate hard enough, I can feel her skin under my fingertips, and all it takes is one deep inhale and I can smell her skin.
I type it all out, my mouse hovering over the send button when I'm done, the email looking angry and aggressive, all the red lines rotating the errors fitting for my mood. They're like all the tiny cuts her memory has made on my body, both the email and I bleeding red.
I hit send, but then the memo pops up on the bottom, asking if I want to unsend. Like the fool I am, I click yes, sending the email to draft rather than to the woman whom it's directed to.
I roar with frustration, standing so quickly from the desk that the office chair rolls backward, crashing into my bed frame.
I head to the door, thinking a walk in the woods might clear my fucking head, or maybe I'll find a fucking bear willing to put me out of my misery.
Chapter 4
Aspen
My heart is racing before I can even make it to the office.
Living in the same home I grew up in has its perks, despite Damien's insistence that we move into my father's old part of the house. He demanded the house staff to move out and burn all of my father's things and then move our stuff into his bedroom. That's how I found out that my father was never coming home.
When his body was discovered last week, Damien insisted on a small service. The same day his body was released from the coroner's office, he had him cremated, something my father was very vocal about not wanting. I imagine it had more to do with getting rid of evidence the authorities might've missed than anything else, although sticking it to my dad one last time could've been Damien's goal as well.
I pull the key I've had for nearly fifteen years from my bra and insert it into the locking mechanism. I swear I'm on the verge of a stroke with how loud my pulse is in my ears, but it doesn't stop me from stepping into the office.
I haven't been inside this room very often in the last ten years, but this is the place where my father conducted most of his business. Damien likes to leave the house, and I have no doubt he spends a lot of his time at the strip club the organization uses as a front. Dad wanted to be close to home. I think he felt the safest here and was able to have more control over what was happening in his life if he wasn't always on the go. Dad didn't feel the need to be a showman the way Damien does. Honestly, I don't think Dad even liked people very much, and chose to be in solitude as much as the business allowed.
The room smells different from what I remember. The cloying scent of cigars is gone, and I can only imagine the level of cleaning the staff had to do in here to make it go away. The carpet is different, but Damien having it replaced after he took over wouldn't be the first time it had to have been done. I refuse to think of the stain left behind all those years ago. Guilt threatens to take over, and there's nothing I can do about eight-year-old mistakes. I have to look to the future, to find a way out of this mess, but I can't do that until I get all the information I need.
I rush to the desk, pulling open the first drawer on the right. I shuffle through the paperwork but find nothing of importance. Slamming the drawer closed in frustration, I open the next one. This one has hanging files, and I begin searching through each one. There's nothing that will give me the evidence I need to take Damien down nor information about where my son is.
A rush of urgency threatens to take over, making my hands tremble. I have such a small window of time to go through the things in here. Before long, the house staff will make it to this side of the house, and they'd betray me just to stay in his good graces. I can't trust a single soul in my house, but it's just the very sobering reality of my life. It was like this long before Damien took over. The people who are here are loyal to the man of the house, the one who signs their paychecks, the one keeping them from meeting an untimely end.
Betraying Damien doesn't mean they lose their job and retirement plan. It's more likely they'll lose their lives. Although I've never witnessed someone die at his hands, I know that he has killed before. I shove down memories of what he's capable of because fear isn't going to help me right now.