Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
It’s close to dinner time when I get home. My mom sits on the veranda with a fashion magazine in her hands and a frown on her face.
“Hey,” I say, stopping next to her.
“Hi, honey,” she says, staring with glassy eyes into the distance.
“I’m going to freshen up before dinner.”
She doesn’t reply. I hover another second, wanting to say something that will make her feel better, but the walls have ears. The staff tells Gus everything they see and hear.
Helplessness engulfs me as I make my way inside the house.
I know what’s eating her. It’s eating me too. I considered going back to the house in Triomf and questioning the neighbors, but that will only attract more unwanted attention. We don’t have a choice but to chew our nails while we wait for the guy with the bike to tell us what he wants.
If Gus finds out, I don’t even want to imagine how he’ll kill her. Probably not without torture. In his own way, Gus loves her, but she’ll never return his love. Ironically, that’s both her curse and her salvation. Gus obsesses over her because he doesn’t own her. The day he owns her heart like he owns her body, his fixation with her will come to an end. When that day arrives, he’ll chuck her out like garbage, just like he’d done with his first wife. Her only hope of survival is being caught in a loveless circle of unhappiness. It only makes me feel guiltier.
When I get to my room, I cast a glance at Elliot’s door. It’s closed.
I open mine and freeze in the doorframe. My stepbrother sits in my chair at my desk, dressed in designer slacks and a blue shirt.
“What are you doing in here?” I ask, my voice tight.
“Close the door, Violet. I have something to show you.”
Pointing toward the hallway, I say, “Get out or I’ll call your father.”
“You don’t want to do that.”
Taking an envelope from my desk, he throws it through the air. It lands short of my feet.
Has he discovered my drawings? If he did, he would’ve had to pick the lock on my closet and find my secret hiding place.
I stare at the envelope, my pulse jumping. “What is it?”
He swivels the chair from side to side. “Something that’s not pretty. Pick it up. I’ll only give you this one chance. If not, I’m sure my father will be very grateful for the gift.”
Glowering, I drop my bag on the floor and bend to pick up the envelope. I hold his gaze as I break the seal. He’s watching me with glee. I pull out a stack of glossy postcards. When I look down, I stop breathing. It’s a photo of my mom and the blond guy from yesterday. They’re in bed, naked. My mom is on top. Her blue eyes are wide and her pink lips pulled in an O as she looks straight at the camera.
Fury bursts through my veins. My anger is thick and oily. The color is black like tar. It pours down my throat and suffocates me. My lungs protest, burning from the lack of air.
Breathe.
I force myself to inhale.
Storming over the floor, I aim my fist at his face. “You son of a bitch.”
He grabs my wrist before I have a chance to break his jaw.
“I’ll kill you,” I grit out, dropping the photos as I fight his hold.
The incriminating evidence scatters over the carpet, colorful proof of my mom’s adultery. When he lets me go with a laugh, I kneel to gather them, crumpling them in my fists. I have to destroy them. I have to burn them before flushing the ashes down the toilet.
“It was you,” I say as the horrible truth settles. “You paid that guy to take the photos.” My hands shake with rage. “Did you pay the man to sleep with her too?”
“Come on, Violet.” His look is condescending. “Your mother has been cheating from day one. This unfortunate event was nothing new.”
A nasty insight hits me. “You’re having her followed.”
“In the best interest of my father,” he says with fake sincerity.
Unable to control myself, I tear the photos in my hands into pieces before grappling for the rest of them.
“Those are copies,” he says, resting an ankle on his knee. “The originals are in a safe place. If anything happens to me, they’ll be delivered to my father.”
If he wanted his father to see them, the photos would’ve been in Gus’s hands by now. That can never happen. I have to make sure it doesn’t.
Hatred burns hot in my stomach. “What do you want?”
“Code,” he says with a grin.
The smug look on his face makes me want to grab a pen from my desk and stab it into his throat. “What code?”
“A computer program.”
Is he kidding? “What are you talking about?”