Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 94457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Aspen Mather.
The thought of her name makes me clench my fists, and in the back of my mind, a memory sprouts.
All eyes are on us as we enter the large banquet hall. As always, when my father enters a crowd, people move out of the way, making room for us to walk through without anyone being too close. He’s like a king to all these people.
Like a flock of birds, my sister and I trail a step behind him on either side and behind us are two more guards. I glance over at Adela, who is walking with her head slightly bowed, her eyes on the ground, just like she is supposed to do when we’re in public.
Very few people know that my sisters have my father wrapped around their little fingers, and when we are in the safety of our home, they are anything but meek and obedient. This is for show and nothing more.
As the head of the Rossi empire, my father has a certain image to uphold, one that shows no mercy. He is known to be ruthless and cruel—which he is with his enemies—but never with his wife and children. Showing in public that he has a soft spot for his daughters would be seen by many as a weakness because, in our world, women are still only seen as a means to an end.
Maybe that will change in our generation, but in my father’s reign, we have to play by the rules of the kingdom.
“Xander, it’s good to see you, old friend.” A man I don’t know steps up to greet us.
“Clyde, it’s been a few years.” My father stops to shake the man’s hand, and I take my place right next to him, my sister on the other side. Someday, this will be us, shaking hands, making deals, and spilling blood.
“You remember my son, Quinton,” he introduces me, but not Adela.
“Of course, yes.” He gives me a nod, swallowing as he looks at me. I’m only sixteen, but I’m already taller than most people here. “I brought my daughter as well. Aspen, say hello to my friend, Xander.”
A small figure pops out from behind the man. She’s so tiny. I didn’t even see her standing behind her father until she stepped around.
“Hi,” she greets my father so quietly, I almost don’t hear her at all. A shy, almost scared smile appears on her glossy lips.
Then her gaze falls onto me. Her hazel eyes narrow as she studies me with interest. It’s nothing I’m not used to. The gawking and licking of their lips, wanting to be the next queen of the kingdom. They all know that in a few years, my father’s legacy—the money and enemies—will become mine. The allure of danger and the idea that I might protect them from it have them fawning over me.
This meek little mouse doesn’t look at me like that, though. She’s interested but unsure. I let my eyes roam down the length of her body.
She’s wearing a baby-blue dress that hugs her barely-there curves. My eyes linger on her breasts a little too long, wondering if she is wearing a push-up bra or if that’s her real size. When I snap out of my boob-induced trance, I look up to find her glaring daggers at me like she is about to deliver a swift kick to my balls.
Surprisingly, when I glance at her dad, he looks pleased.
How odd. Normally, I would get the opposite reaction.
Girls like it when I look at them, and their dads don’t.
I snap out of the memory, my jaw tightening to the point of pain. I should’ve known then that something was off about them. I was just too young and stupid to realize it at the time. Funny, even then, Aspen was a snake slithering through the grass, and if she is smart, she will stay the hell out of my way, especially since there is no one here to protect her from me.
4
ASPEN
I groan into the quiet room and roll over on the mattress to face the brick wall. The bed frame squeaks with the movement. It’s all I’ve heard all night as I tossed and turned on this antique bed, trying to find a comfortable position. I wonder if anyone else’s bed is as horrible as this one. Something tells me no, but how would I know? It’s not like I had a very welcoming greeting. Not with the word RAT written across my door for the entire dorm to see.
Even though we’re who knows how many feet underground, it’s like I can feel the cold Alaskan air seeping into the brick. I tighten my hold on the thin sheet I’ve cocooned myself in, wondering if I’ll ever get warm again.
Every single aspect of this place makes me want to scream. I hate it here.