Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 105921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
He folded his arms across his chest, raking me with a look that attempted to strip off my clothes. "You can drop the act," he said. "I know what you're up to. The way I see it, you have two choices. Either you cut me in or keep working alone and I get you thrown out of the house."
All I had for Bryce was a blank stare. Cut him in? My nerves were already cranked to the breaking point. I didn't have anything left to play games with this jerk.
"I honestly don't know what you're talking about," I said. "What exactly is it that you think you know?"
Bryce's smug expression sent a chill of fear down my spine. "I know that you broke into a cottage at the Inn. And I know you're here searching for something. I'm betting your plan is to rob us blind. The truth is, I don't care. I hate every single person in this house except for my mother."
"The cottage thing is pretty much common knowledge at this point," I argued.
"But the rest isn't. I know you're looking for something, and I've overheard enough to know that you're the best person in this house to tell me what I can sell for a nice load of cash. Fucking Prentice left us with nothing."
"I thought he left you and your mother with room and board? That's far from nothing." I shouldn't be poking at the asshole, but I couldn't seem to help myself.
Bryce's sneer deepened, twisting his face, his eyes dark with anger. "Room and board is bullshit. Prentice had billions. He couldn't slide some of that our way? I'm going to get mine one way or another. Either you help me, or I get you thrown out of this house."
He stepped closer, almost in arm’s reach. I hadn't realized how much taller than me he was. My thumb grazed the curve of the panic button. I didn't want to press it. Not yet. Not unless I really had to.
Instead of hitting the button, I tried reason. "You can't have me kicked out. Tenn and Griffen want me here. The police chief told me to stay here. What makes you think they'll listen to you?"
The sneer dropped from Bryce's face, his mouth transforming into a wide, satisfied smile that lit his blue eyes with malice. "They will when I tell them about the goodies you have stashed in your duffel bag."
It took a minute for me to understand. I didn't have anything stashed in my duffel bag other than a toiletries case and my dwindling collection of clean clothes. Then, the light came on. There wasn't anything I'd put in my duffel bag. Shit.
"You snuck into Tenn's room and put things in my bag, didn't you? You're a real bastard."
Bryce just grinned wider. "Not a bastard. My parents were married, though you'd hardly know that given how fast my father took off. And you can think of what's in your duffel as insurance. Or incentive. Yours to keep as long as you help me find more."
I opened my mouth to tell him to go to hell. I didn't want whatever he'd stolen and there was no way I'd help him steal more. A heartbeat later, common sense caught up to my temper. Tenn hated Bryce. That meant there was a good chance he'd believe me over his cousin. But Tenn had already caught me committing one crime. It wouldn't be a stretch to believe I'd commit another.
Bryce was right. I only had two choices. He was also wrong because my choices weren't what he thought they were. Getting thrown out of Heartstone Manor couldn't happen. Not until I found Vitellius and Thatcher. Which left me with this: come clean to Tenn or throw my lot in with Bryce.
I didn't have to think for very long. My heart racing so fast I struggled for breath, I forced out, "What do you want me to do?"
"For starters, I want a good faith offer. Think of it as a down payment on my silence. If you were going to smuggle something out of here, what would you take?"
"Hawk isn't going to let you walk out of this house with the family's art."
"No, Hawk isn't going to let you walk out of this house with their art. You don't have to worry about me. I have my ways, and when it's time for you to leave, I'll help you if you help me."
"Fine." I swallowed hard. "There's a small oil painting on an easel, guest wing, right side of the hall, third bedroom down. On the dresser by the window. It needs to be cleaned, but it's fairly valuable."
"Show me in your file." Bryce nodded at the tablet clutched in my hand.
I pulled up the painting in question, a beautiful example of impressionism by an artist who was well-known but not particularly famous. Bryce scanned my entry in the catalog.