At His Command (Sterling House #1)

Chapter 1

Amelia

Ilook at the canvas in front of me. It’s my face, but distorted, fractured in a way my paintings rarely are. The brush moves over the surface, and I lean my head to one side, wondering where this version of me came from. She’s troubled. Broken. A total stranger.

Is this really how I see myself?

There’s a crash from downstairs, a long clattering bang that sets my heart fluttering wildly. Grabbing the painting, I stash it in the gap in my closet. It’ll likely be smudged by the time I take it out, but that’s preferable to my dad finding it.

Sprinting along the short hallway on the upper floor of our house, I run down the stairs, expecting to see my sister’s body lying on the floor.

Instead, she’s near the tiny kitchen in the corner of our living room, attempting to lower herself to her knees. Pills are scattered around her feet in a halo of white specs. She glances up, a genuine look of fear flashing through her eyes until she sees it’s me.

“Sorry,” she mutters, her delicate fingers scrambling to pick up the pills. “I slipped, and the lid was off. I’m sorry.”

I slow my pace, letting my thundering heart rate return to normal and cross the room, kneeling beside her.

I put my hand on hers to stop her frantic, fumbling movements, scooping up the pills. I’d love to throw them out now that they’ve touched the filthy floor, but I know we’ll just have to put them back in the bottle. I don’t want her to get sicker than she already is, but we can’t afford to buy more.

I collect the remaining tablets as quickly as I can before helping my sister to her feet.

Her pale green eyes are wide and worried as she glances up at me.

I would give anything to erase that look.

Years of living in fear in this goddamn house have made her meek as a mouse, and her eyes dart toward the hallway behind me as I grab the overturned bottle and start placing the pills back inside.

My sister’s hand floats sideways, searching for her cane. She clutches at it with a jerky, desperate movement that breaks my heart as she leans her whole weight against it. After a short pause, she shuffles back and manages to rise to her full height.

Annabelle is nineteen, but she looks much younger; her long, red hair, once luscious and falling in cascading waves down her back, is now thin, straggly, and limp.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, biting her lip and pulling herself onto the shitty barstool my dad stole from work. “I wasn’t concentrating.”

“Seriously, Annie, you’ve really screwed up this time,” I say lightly. “That’s gotta be, what, ten pills that fell on the floor? I’m taking it out of your paycheck.”

Annabelle rolls her eyes, giving me a lopsided smile.

“I mean it. Bread and water for the rest of the day,” I say with mock fury.

Slowly, the spark returns to her eyes, and she leans her cane against her chair, crossing her arms over her chest.

“If you don’t make me breakfast, then you don’t get breakfast either. And you can’t survive without food for the whole morning. I know you too well.”

As if on cue, my stomach rumbles, and she laughs. I move to place the bottle back on the counter, attempting to find a spot that isn’t covered in crumbs or puddles of liquor. In the end, I settle for the surface of a magazine.

Jesus Christ, this place is a dump.

I hide my displeasure from Annabelle, like I always do.

The mess and squalor that our parents have forced us to live in all our lives doesn’t bother her as much as it does me.

The living room is strewn with beer bottles from Mom getting in late.

There are bags of chips on the side table, and cigarette butts littering the floor.

My stomach flips as I wonder whether they were all fully stubbed out before they hit the carpet. With the way my dad has been carrying on lately, the floor is probably ninety percent alcohol at this point. One spark, and Annabelle and I would be burned to death in our sleep.

“I’ll help clean up,” Annabelle says, about to hop off her chair. I grab her arm quickly.

“Don’t even think about it. You need to eat, hydrate, and then take your pills. You look exhausted. I can manage it.”

“You’re always managing it, Mia. I can’t just keep sitting here on my ass all day. I’m sure I can do a bit of light cleaning.”

But I can see how pale her skin is in the morning light. Her lips are dry and chapped, the bags beneath her eyes deep and dark these days.

“When’s your doctor’s appointment?” I ask, even though I already know.

“Three o’clock. But you shouldn’t be taking me today, don’t you have to leave before then?”

I grab the eggs from the refrigerator with a little shake of my head. “Hope knows I’m gonna be late today, and I’m spending the whole weekend with her. I’ll drive you to the appointment, it’s no trouble.”

And that way, I get to hear if these new pills are working.

The leukemia ravaging my sister’s body has been kept at bay for eighteen months, but the last five have shown a marked shift in her general health. She’s fatigued, weak, and nauseous a lot of the time. I’m worried, but do my best to hide my fears.

Still, despite the harsh reality of her situation, I’m unable to quash the faint optimism I feel about the future.

There’s a new drug—a miracle drug—that for Annabelle’s disease has seen incredible results, even cured some sufferers completely.

“We could ask Dr. Armitage about the LUMA treatment again,” I say as Annabelle’s shoulders slump forward and she sighs.

“There’s no point, Mia, you know that’s a pipe dream for sick rich kids. We could never afford it.”

I crack the eggs into a bowl harder than I mean to.

The yolk spurts out, almost spilling over the side.

Annabelle’s attitude lately has been totally defeatist, as if she has already given up.

I can’t even conceive losing her, and if I have to sell a kidney to pay for the treatment, I would do it in a heartbeat.

“Annie, you need to stop with this negativity,” I say, injecting as much enthusiasm into my voice as I can. “We’re gonna win a million bucks on the lottery soon, and if you don’t get on board, I’m keeping it all for myself and buying a Ferrari.”

Annabelle shakes her head with a fond smile. “You’re an idiot, Mia. But I’m just being realistic—this isn’t—”

“Stop.”

Annabelle looks up, her eyes wide at my harsh tone. I don’t talk to her like this often, but watching her wasting away in front of me is making my chest ache.

I have to save her. I’m going to save her. Whatever it takes.

“We’re not ruling it out,” I say sternly. “If there’s a way we can do it, we will. It might save your life.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Annabelle’s head snaps around at our father’s voice. We’re both so used to his angry mood swings that we barely flinch, but my sister instantly stops talking. I watch as her movements become exaggerated and slow, making sure she doesn’t make a sound that might anger him further.

My jaw clenches as I walk to the sink and deliberately drop the bowl in with a loud clatter. I’m not walking on eggshells all day because he has a hangover. Besides, if he gets pissed at me, he won’t scream at my sister like he did two nights ago, sending her to bed in floods of tears.

I start the scrambled eggs, making double what I normally do.

Usually, I’m upbeat compared to my sister’s quiet pessimism, but I’m struggling today. She’s been sick for a long time, but this feels different, like she’s really getting worse, and the terror I feel at losing her is all-consuming.

My dream is to get us out of this house, away from our parents, and for her to be healthy again. Nothing else matters. Nothing.

I dish up the food, handing a huge pile of eggs to Annabelle. She eyes it uncertainly but takes it without comment. We both know she won’t be able to finish it, but I have to try to get food into her.

“What time will you need to go this afternoon?” she asks, as she picks at her food like a bird.

“Around five. I’ll drop you back here first and then head out.”

“What’s the plan for the bachelorette party?” Annabelle asks with a happy smile. “Hope sounded so excited on the phone.”

“Yeah, she’s basically bouncing off the walls. The group chat went nuts this morning. I think the girls are bringing about eighty bottles of champagne.”

My nerves rise as I think about seeing Hope’s college friends again. As big groups of women go, they’ve been pretty awesome to hang out with in the past. The problem is they’re all loaded, confident, and completely different from me.

I shovel down my eggs and toast, trying to quell the rising panic at the thought of all the conversations I won’t be able to participate in this weekend.

It’s just us girls in a house in the middle of nowhere, and last time I was with them, there was so much talk about men and sex that I felt totally out of place.

Hope’s the only one who knows I’m still a virgin.

With Annabelle’s illness and working three jobs, I have no time for men. Even if I did, it isn’t exactly like I could bring them home to meet the parents anyway.

My eyes skim over the house again, resolved to tidy up before I leave so Annabelle isn’t living in a pigsty the whole weekend.

“It’ll be really good for you to get out of this place,” Annabelle states as if reading my mind, forking up a big mouthful of eggs. She gives me a wry grin as she shoves it all in her mouth.

I chuckle at her, but I’m still worried about this weekend.

“You’ll call me if you get sick, right? Or if you need anything. I’ll come home in a heartbeat.”

“It’s two days, Mia. You need a rest. I’ll be totally fine here, and Dad’ll have his shift at the construction site on Saturday. I can read my book and watch TV. It’ll be nice not having you underfoot all day, forcing me to drink water every five minutes.”

“Fine, I’ll text you every hour to remind you, instead.”

She laughs, flicking food at me as there is a pounding on the wall from my dad’s room. I glower at it as we both fall silent, eating the rest of our breakfast without speaking.

I’m going to get us out of here and make my sister well again. Whatever it takes.