Chapter 7
7
GIDEON
The stables at Kingsbrook Manor had stood empty for as long as we’d lived here, except for the stray cats that called it home. I begged my father for a horse, assuring him I’d take care of it myself.
“When we have pets, we have something else to care for,” he said for years. “We cannot afford the distraction.”
“It would keep me company while you’re gone.” I begged him to the point of annoyance, and still, he refused. Until all of a sudden, he had a change of heart.
On my fifteenth birthday, he asked me to follow him outside. When we reached the stables, he extended his hand toward the pen. “Look at what I got.”
I stared at the magnificent mare that circled the enclosure, neighing and tossing her head from side to side, her mane cascading down her back. My hands twitched as I imagined the feel of it through my fingers.
She was black as night and powerfully built, the biggest horse I’d ever seen.
“She’s beautiful,” I said. “Where did you get her?”
He turned his face from me and watched her. “She belonged to an acquaintance.”
I knew better than to question him further. He’d given me a gift I longed for, and he could just as easily take it away.
“Can I ride her?”
“I don’t know. Can you?” was his reply.
“Yes.” I jumped over the wooden fence and made my way to her, confident in my determination.
The mare eyed me wearily. She tossed her head up as I approached and began pounding her hooves into the dirt. My step faltered. I’d ridden a horse before, when I was much, much younger. But he was an old gentle steed that had been saddled already.
This girl didn’t have a saddle and there was a wild air about her that made her a completely different animal altogether.
I looked back at my father who was watching expectantly. When I turned back, the mare bucked and began toward me at a run. There was no mistaking the intent in her brown gaze which was locked on me with deadly precision.
Kill. Kill. Kill .
I’ve never moved so fast. I was in the pen one moment, and flying over the fence the next. I landed on my ass in the mud and the mare gave an indignant huff before trotting away.
Father bent over and roared with laughter.
“It’s not funny!” I yelled. The pain on my rear was nothing compared to the humiliation. “Why are you laughing? You knew, didn’t you? That she would do this?”
“Of course I did, son. You don’t know how to ride and… She isn’t yours.”
“But, you just gave her to me.”
He extended his hand to me. “I did not. I put something you wanted within your reach. It’s up to you to make her yours.”
“How?” I took his hand and he easily lifted me to my feet.
“I will teach you.”
“ I t was a ruse,” Scarlet informs me. “Clive was moved.”
“You’re sure?”
“Unless they were hiding him in some closet we didn’t search. Vicky is looking for any electronic trace, but so far, nothing indicates a transfer. Even the staff is perplexed.”
“Fuck!” I slam a fist against my desk. “How did it happen without us knowing?”
“Arran is smart.”
“Or he’s joined the alliance,” I say.
“If he did, our mission will become more difficult.”
I sit back and stare at my father’s painting. His scowl seems so much more pronounced today.
“It might be time for me to call in my favor with Thomas Cameron.” I tap the desk with a finger as I work through exactly what the corrupt judge can do for me.
Thomas Cameron was Arran Maxton’s prime suspect in the murder of his younger sister, Catherine. Everyone in the underworld heard the rumors that he’d been searching for evidence, but had been unable to find anything that would send the good judge to jail.
Arran might not have had proof, but I did. Not of his involvement in the death of the girl, but in his corrupt dealings with criminals that, even by my gray standards, deserved the death penalty. There were deals made and pockets lined.
I made sure some of those deals went wrong. It was easy, really. All I had to do was leak information to the right people. Then I stepped in and offered Thomas, not only to get rid of those individuals, but to set up his daughters should something ever happen to him. For a price, of course. A favor to be called in, whenever and wherever I chose.
He wasn’t a wild card, exactly. There would only ever be two uses for him— to gain access to Arran’s finances, places of business, and most importantly, Clive. Or, kill him and use his daughters. Either will work for me.
“Go back to Bella Vista,” I order. “Leave a message for Arran. I want him to know that I’m getting close.”
“Yes, sir. What do you want me to do about Thomas?”
“Request his presence at the office in Philly on Friday. I’ll give him a chance to prove just how crooked he can be.”
By morning time, I have a photo of Clive’s empty bed at Bella Vista. It’s been burned, the metal frame warped, the mattress melted, and the sheets scorched. Two 2009 pennies, the year he participated in my father’s murder, have been placed on the nightstand so that there is no mistaking that it was me that did this. No one else wants to see Clive Maxton pay for his crimes more than I do.
I. Want. Him. Dead.
But just in case the message doesn’t hit the mark, I send a note to Arran. It’s short, sweet, and to the point.
Turn him in, and I might spare you.
Best regards,
G. Black
For nights, I have watched Sofia from the comfort of my suite through one of the hundreds of near invisible cameras I have throughout the manor. She creeps through the dark house like a wraith staying close to the walls, the black cat a shadow at her feet. At first, I thought she would attempt another escape. Though the men guarding the estate won’t let her get to the tree line again, my muscles tensed, ready to bolt toward her.
It was a mistake letting her get as far as she did the day I brought her. I hadn’t alerted security to the possibility that she might get away from me and reach the woods because I didn’t think it would happen. She’s faster than I thought. Bolder too.
I won’t make that mistake again. My men might be invisible to her, but if she ever enters the forest again, she’ll be scooped up and brought back.
So, I’ve given her a muddled sense of freedom, letting her test the limits of her cage.
Each night she’s gone to the front door and opened it, slipped one foot out and stared into the night. But in the end, she comes back in and shuts the door.
Then, she proceeds to explore the first floor—the dining room, the library, everywhere but the great room with the fire I set just for her.
She heads to the kitchen, ignoring the plates of food, choosing instead to steal something from the pantry she thinks will go unnoticed. Yesterday, it was a protein bar. Tonight, two oranges.
Her journey ends at my study, where she stands for minutes on end, peering through the glass of the French doors as she peels one of her citrus fruits and consumes it.
She’s dying to get inside, I can tell. Her fingers twitch on the lever and she prods the lock with her nails.
It occurred to me yesterday that she might actually know how to pick a lock. Perhaps she might try to use that knife she pilfered on her first venture out.
Part of me wishes she could let herself in and find out how right she is in calling me a monster. All it would take is a peek into any one of the files sitting on my desk for her to confirm what she already believes.
After she’s glanced out every window, she returns to her room where I watch her fret for hours, until she succumbs to her body’s need for sleep.
On the fifth night, however, she does nothing. I pull up the feed from one of the cameras hidden in her room.
She’s curled around the cat, fast asleep.
Rubbing the edge of my mouth with my thumb, I study her. It could just be the shadows cast by the bedpost that are making her cheekbones seem sharp and her eyes hollow. Or it could be that she’s stubbornly surviving on a piece of fruit a day.
Either way, I don’t like it one bit.
I haven’t dared go in since the first night, when she fell asleep against the window at such an awkward angle, it could have resulted in permanent neck damage. I risked exposing the alternate entrance to her room and moved her.
It seems, tonight I’ll have to do it again.
I’ve traveled the world, seen every wonder of it, and never wanted to return to it as much as I’ve crave watching Sofia sleep again.
Beautiful. Little. Bird.
With the blaze of her cobalt eyes hidden behind her lids, her face changes entirely. While she’s awake, the intensity of her gaze is enough to mesmerize even a strong man like myself. Like a siren, it hypnotizes and forces attention on them.
In sleep, the draw is still there, but it’s different. It’s a time to trace the delicate lines of her face, the contours of her brows and curve of her jaw. Time to count the freckles that dust her nose and the soft breaths coming from her parted lips.
I’ve memorized her features, able to look away and still see her etched in my mind. And yet, I can’t bring myself to look at anything but her. I haven’t wanted to since the day her photograph was sent to me.
If I haven’t returned to her room, it was for fear of giving away my advantage. Something that seems ridiculous now, given the fact that she sleeps like the dead.
Perhaps it’s because of how malnourished she is now. Her body is tired and it shows. Even in the dim light of the lamp she left on, the dark circles under her eyes are a stark contrast to the paleness of her skin. Her hair shines from several days of going unwashed, and she’s still wearing that damned Columbia hoodie she refuses to part with.
Standing, I pull the covers over her shoulder, disturbing the cat in the process. It lifts its head and gives me a blue-eyed glare.
“You’re lucky I don’t send you back to the stables,” I tell it.
It doesn’t take my threat seriously, as none of them ever do. Curling its tail around itself, it goes back to sleep.
Maybe I should have bought her jeans and sweatpants, I think as I rummage through the drawers and go to the closet to glance at all of the expensive clothes hanging. I had them all brought in hours before Sofia arrived. Because it wasn’t until she was being moved that I had a clear shot at her. It was instinct. Something I wanted was going to be taken out of reach, and I couldn’t allow that.
I toss the last log into the dying embers in the hearth, stoking the fire back to life. Almost immediately, the room warms several degrees. I’ll have to bring in more wood tomorrow. Having her starve and freeze isn’t what I intended.
Glancing back at Sofia, I open the hidden wall panel located across the bed. One more day. I’ll give her one more day to come to me.
Enough is enough. I’ve been a patient man, but have reached my limit. Sofia will eat today.
I wait outside her room. Right on time, there’s the sound of the chair being moved and the lock released. The door opens slowly and she peeks out.
Her blue eyes lock onto mine almost instantly.
“Shit!” she yells and attempts to slam the door shut.
Before she can, I stick a foot in and force my way in. “About to go on one of your excursions, Little Bird?”
She takes several steps back as I approach her. “Get out!”
“I don’t think so.” I take in her greasy hair and the paleness of her face. “You’re coming down to have a proper dinner.
“I don’t need your food,” she hisses.
Going to her rubbish bin, I scoop out several orange peels and arch a brow. “Apparently, you do. Unless you think someone else is stocking the pantry for your midnight snacks, you had to know you were eating my food.”
Her teeth grind so hard I can hear them even from a distance. “You have cameras, then?”
“Some,” I admit, glancing toward the one hidden in the light fixture above.
“I thought so,” she seethes. “Pervert.”
“Is that why you haven’t bothered to shower? Because you think I have them in the bathroom? Rest assured, I don’t have any in there.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care what you believe. You will come down to eat and when you’re done, you will shower and get into something clean.”
“Keep your fucking clothes. I’m not getting out of these.”
Grabbing her by the Columbia hoodie that could stand on its own by now, I drag her toward me. She slams against my chest, her eyes wide with shock. “I’ll cut the damn thing off you if I have to, but you will shower and get into something clean.”
“Fuck you!” She swings her arm toward me.
Keeping my eyes locked on hers, I catch her wrist before she can jab the paring knife into my neck. “A little knife for a little bird.” A gentle squeeze of my hand and she releases the weapon. It clanks somewhere away. I lean over her more, forcing her to tilt her head up to see me. “It will take something much greater than that to bring me down.”
“I’ll find something big enough,” she vows, the promise of retribution heavy in her tone. “I have a lot of time on my hands to plot your death. I’ll think of something.”
“You do that,” I chuckle and let her go. She catches herself against the bedpost, her breaths coming in small pants. “In the meantime, I have things to discuss with you. Things you would be smart to hear. If only for that, come eat.”
She drops her gaze to her cat, who is currently weaving in and out between my feet. Her hands fist at her sides. Fury rolls off her in waves, the kind that comes from the drive to fight against something even when the odds are stacked against you.
My heart thrums in my chest as I watch the fire in her eyes as she wars with herself. She doesn’t want to give in, it goes against her very nature. And that makes the nod of compliance she gives me a true show of strength.
Beautiful.