Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
He slowly lifts his head, looking at me with haggard eyes.
“We found letters,” he says slowly, wetting his lips. “They were buried at the scene where Mason Law showed you the body. He hid them there.” Grant’s eyes are almost pleading. “They’re from Angela, Philia. Addressed to Montero Arrendell.”
“...what?”
I am so, so confused the world goes fuzzy.
My phone drops into my lap as I brace myself against the back of the sofa. What else isn’t he telling me?
Grant looks at me miserably and shakes his head. He’s wearing the same face I imagine he uses as an officer when he has to show up to someone’s doorstep with the very worst news.
“I don’t understand. What... what are you saying?”
Deep down, I’m scared that I know.
At least, I have an inkling.
I can guess what he’s implying, but my mind won’t wrap around the words. The very idea feels like a foreign language, something I can’t understand taunting me.
Ice knifes through my heart as it all comes flooding back.
The questions about the past Mom always dodged.
How secretive she was about our little family.
About our dad.
What Janelle Bowden said about my mother and the flipping Arrendells.
“He’s your father,” Grant clips, reaching for my shoulder, the only point of warmth grounding me to a reality that’s just flipped upside down. “You always wondered. Montero Arrendell is your old man—and Ros’. That means—”
“No! Oh my God...” If it wasn’t for his steady hand, I’d throw up right here. I clap both hands over my mouth, staring at my knees, wretched bile climbing up my throat. “Aleksander, he’s—”
My throat clamps shut.
I can’t even say it, to speak aloud the full insanity lodged in my throat.
“If it’s any comfort, Lucia said they haven’t—y’know. Not yet.” Grant clears his throat.
“Holy shit. Holy balls. Are you sure? Grant, you’re sure she’s been holding out?”
That’s definitely the Ros I know, a sweet, old-fashioned, shameless romantic at heart.
But with the way she is now and that leering creep all over her, I figured there was no way he hadn’t lured her into his bed.
“Yeah,” Grant agrees grimly. “We have to find her before that twisted prick does something she can’t take back. Before he makes this worse than it already is. You understand?”
Sickeningly, I do.
And I don’t blame him one bit for dancing around saying it.
My sister and Aleksander Arrendell. Engaged when they’re half siblings.
I rake my nails over my thighs, grounding myself with the stinging sensation.
“God.” It’s the only thing I can say coherently, but after a moment something clicks. I lift my head, staring at him. “You think he knew? He knew and... but why?”
“Considering his own fucking brother said he liked murdering women because being rich was boring before he died, tricking his half sister into sleeping with him is probably a parlor game. That whole family is completely fucked in the head—” Grant stops and stares at me. “The ones who know what they are, I mean.” His voice drips with disgust as he sighs. “Are you okay?”
“No. No, I’m not, but—oh God, it’s too much.” But I can have a breakdown later.
Montero, Montero, why would my mother ever...?
Why is he my father?
Why can’t my dad be any other man on Earth?
But if I think about it, I can see it.
Terrible little hints of him in my face, in Ros’, in our striking green eyes.
When I swallow, it’s like sandpaper, and I shake myself loose from my circling thoughts.
Ros has to come first while there’s still time to help her.
I shoot to my feet, legs wobbling.
“We have to find her. I’ll call, you go get Nell. I left her doing her homework in her bedroom,” I tell him.
Grant nods sharply, standing as well.
There’s a fraught moment when he starts to reach for me, and I’d have fallen into his arms in a second, desperately needing comfort, damn the complications.
But then he stops, hesitates, pulls back.
There’s one last forlorn look between us before he pivots and thunders upstairs, his voice echoing back as he calls, “Nelly-girl?”
Meanwhile, I stab at my phone, lift it to my ear, and listen to the ringtone shrilling horribly. It’s too much like horror-movie violins ramping up my nerves with every scraping sound.
Three rings.
Four.
Five.
Then a lonely click—
“Ros?”
—before her voicemail message chirps at me cheerfully. “This is Ros! You know what to do, I’ll call you back when I can.”
Crap.
Crap crap crap.
“Ros, it’s me. Call me back as soon as you get this. Please. Make sure you’re alone when you do.”
I hang up, staring at my phone.
Endless horrible images rush my brain, starting with the slimy way Aleksander touched her, looked at her, kissed her right there in front of me, his eyes swirling with so much hunger—
No, we’re not going there. But if I think about my sister alone with him for even another second, I really will puke.