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)
I fire off a text instead.
SOS call back NOW it’s life or death please please please Ros this is beyond serious
As soon as I hit Send, I try calling her again.
While the phone rings dumbly in my ear, Grant comes tearing down the stairs again and thrusts a crumpled piece of paper written in screaming red colored pencil at me.
“We’ve got another problem,” he grinds out.
The sound of Ros’ voicemail trills at me in the distance as I read Nell’s loopy handwriting.
And my heart has a new reason to plummet.
Gone To Find Miss Ros: Dont Try To Find Me
“Oh, no,” I breathe, dropping my phone.
When I look up, there’s a direct mirror of my confusion, my pain, my disbelief in his face.
Grant’s eyes darken like never before, swirling with worry and a cold determination I wish I had.
We run through the house.
We search high and low.
We pray silently—even if I can only hear it in his footsteps and loud, lonely calls for her—because this shit cannot be happening right now.
Oh, but it is.
No sign of Mr. Pickle.
Nell’s backpack isn’t in her room or anywhere in the house.
She’s not answering the little kiddie phone Grant uses to keep up with her, and the tracker signal on it doesn’t show. It’s like the battery’s dead.
My house is locked up tight, the little play area where Nell ran away before untouched. Empty.
She’s truly gone.
I want to blame myself, falling asleep and losing track of her, but there’s no time for that right now.
Grant’s truck roars wildly as we pile in and floor it, heading for the Arrendell house.
The engine churns, fighting the steep incline of the hill.
I try Nell’s phone over and over and over again, but she’s not picking up.
“Grant,” I whisper, and he clenches his jaw, staring ahead at the house with a hard gaze.
“We’ll find out where they are, and then we’ll find Nell. We’ll put a stop to this bullshit.” There’s a dark certainty in his voice, something I shouldn’t find so reassuring.
But I do.
Grant Faircross doesn’t let any horror slow him down.
He doesn’t think. He doesn’t grieve. He doesn’t curse his atrocious luck.
He just springs into action, becoming courage incarnate, and right now I wish that were me.
Listen to him. It’s going to happen, I try to tell myself. No matter what he has to do, he’s going to bring her home.
And you’re going to get Ros away from that smiling freak before it’s too late.
Soon, we’re roaring through the gates.
The tires screech as Grant swerves into the roundabout at the foot of the stairs of that big white mansion. The engine barely has a chance to die before Grant leaps out of the truck, slamming the door hard enough to shake it.
I launch out after him without thinking, racing up the steps right behind him, but as we get to the door, I balk.
We’re about to go into the lion’s den, and if he’s there...
I’m part of this.
My God.
Part of this tainted legacy that’s poisoned Redhaven. But I shouldn’t think about anything but Nell’s safety right now.
Later, I’ll start to process my feelings, everything that comes with finding out you’re part monster.
For now, Grant is my shield, the wall between me and the valet who opens the door, lifting his chin haughtily.
“Sir, you cannot simply show up without a prior—”
“Unless you want to spend the night in county lockup, stand aside,” Grant snaps, flashing his badge. “Official police business. Missing child. Get the fucking Lord and Lady of the manor right now. Do not waste my time.”
There’s a stunned, offended sniff. Then the valet jerks his head and pulls himself back inside. “Follow me, please.”
We exchange tense looks and I follow him into Hades.
I feel so small here, even in Grant’s shadow.
This massive house always looms over the town like a giant fist of judgment.
Today, it feels like its shadow is meant for me personally.
I just stay close to him as the valet leads us through red-draped halls that make me think too much of blood.
Blood bond.
Blood relatives.
Blood—
I have to stop.
Imagine how much better this gets if I panic myself into passing out here.
The butler brings us to the big central hall with its massive chandelier and curving staircases.
Intimidating, but Grant stands tall and strong like nothing unnerves him.
His fists are clenched, his shoulders squared like he’s gearing up for a real brawl.
The valet leaves us alone.
I curl my hand against Grant’s arm. The muscle feels like stone under my palm.
I don’t dare say anything when it feels like the high ceilings would pick my voice up and carry it through the entire house.
My heart beats like a frightened, caged bird in the silence.
Still not as hard as it jolts when the double doors at the far end of the hall snap open.
Lucia and Montero Arrendell glide in like they’re making a grand red carpet entrance they’ve rehearsed a thousand times.