Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Her childhood bedroom. Why? Why is this thing still here when the rest of the house is empty and in the middle of renovation?
I get up and study the hundreds of photographs that cover at least a dozen corkboards.
Clover. Every stage of her life is on display up here, from a little baby being cradled in her mother’s arms, to a very alluring teenager wearing a bathing suit and standing in front of a river with another, equally attractive, friend.
Lowyn McBride, I realize.
I bet Collin Creed would try to kill me ten different ways if he knew I was gawking at the teenage version of his sexy girlfriend.
Snickering at that thought, I start back at the baby pictures and follow Clover’s life as she grows up—birthdays, ponies, swimming and, of course, hundreds of pictures of her in Revival costumes. In many of them, she’s on stage, singing in a children’s choir. There are framed certificates and awards on the walls. Even her college degree.
But the one picture I get fixated on looks recent. Maybe a couple years old. She’s standing in front of the house holding a piece of paper. I squint and lean in, wishing this picture was digital, so I could zoom. But I decide it’s the deed to the house. It’s a big day for her and she is all smiles wearing a pastel spring dress.
She’s very pretty. I’ve only gotten small glimpses of her whole face up until now, but there’s no way to deny it. Clover Bradley is hot. And even though my offers have been mostly a joke, I actually would like to take a shower with her.
I pluck that picture off the wall and stuff it into one of my pockets.
Then I go back downstairs to the library and open up the trapdoor. “You still in there?”
For a moment, there’s no answer and my heart skips a beat thinking that she escaped while I was sleeping soundly in her soft, comfortable bed on the fourth floor.
But then I hear a small, “I’m still here,” and the panic recedes. “Is today the last day?”
“No. It’s day two. I told you last night, it’s only been one day.”
“Well, that’s just fucking great. Close the door and go away.”
“You’re not even gonna ask for a bathroom break?”
“Unless you’re gonna free me, close the door and go away.”
“Fine. Like I give a fuck if you wet yourself.” And I slam the trapdoor back down with a booming bang.
I’m gonna have to kill this woman. I can feel it. She’s too stubborn. Obstinate. Proud is probably the better word. She’s too proud to be able to trust her not to talk. If she’s alive when I leave here, the first thing she’ll do is run to her best friend, Lowyn. Which means she’ll actually be running straight to Collin Creed.
And then he’ll come for me.
I already know they have access to the tunnels from that compound of theirs. For Edge Security, it’s a huge asset. They don’t lead straight to the ones below Blackberry Hill, but they might as well. One way or another, every tunnel is connected. All you need is a map.
When my father pulled me out of prison for this job, there was an air of panic in the room. So while I cannot be sure how much advantage Collin and his fellow townies gained by finding those tunnels, it must be considerable—and highly classified—for my father to pull me out early and have me do a job up here.
There’s a part of me that wants to believe it’s about trust. He’s testing me, maybe.
Or he gave me this job because he doesn’t care if I get caught. I don’t know anything. Collin Creed could torture me to the point of death and I wouldn’t be able to give him a single bit of intel because I’ve spent the last six years in the literal dark.
Sending me here to deal with Collin and his crew was an easy decision that required minimal effort.
But for me, this is my way back. This is my chance to prove my loyalty so I’ll never have to spend another day in the dark again.
I’d do anything to make this happen.
Which means… I need to take care of Clover Bradley.
It’s late afternoon by the time I check on her again. But this time, I’m doing it for a specific reason.
“Sorry,” I tell her. “I was caught up in the job. I’m gonna leave you a case of water.”
“Well, I’m failing to see how that’s helpful since my hands are bound behind my back.”
“I was gonna untie you too, smartass.” I throw her a disdainful glare. “You know, you’re not very good at this prisoner thing. You’d get a lot farther if you’d just be agreeable.”
“I thought you didn’t want me to be polite? I thought it was fake? ‘I don’t like fake people and everyone in this town is fake.’” She makes her voice go whiney and childlike as she quotes my words back to me.