3. Kaylor
3
KAYLOR
I ’d hoped Kenny or Carson would be able to pick me up at the hospital. A few hours of normalcy before my life went to shit, was that too much to ask? I had to pack my bags and say goodbye to the home I’d grown up in.
My parents bought the house on Shady Court when I was eight. I barely remembered the small place we lived in before. The thought of never spending another night in my bedroom made me want to run away. More than anything, besides bringing my parents back, I wanted to go home. But home wasn’t just walls and furniture. It was the memories. The reminders of my old life were everywhere: the photo booth strips from summer carnivals and the little memory box stuffed in the back of my closet.
I sat stiffly on the edge of my hospital bed, my arms crossed tightly over my chest, as the door creaked open, and in stepped a man with an imposing presence, shaking my already shattered world.
Donovan Corvo.
He was tall with sharp, angular features that looked carved from stone. His dark suit was immaculate, his posture commanding. But his eyes stood out—piercing light green, scanning the room with a calculated intensity.
“Kaylor,” he said, his voice low and measured, like the hum of distant thunder. He had a to-go cup of coffee in his hand. A gold band with what looked like a bird engraved on it encircled his ring finger. “I assume you know who I am.” His eyes glanced over my injured shoulder, giving it nothing more than a passing thought as if what happened meant little to him.
That horrible feeling I’d had since yesterday compounded in my gut. “Supposedly, you’re my godfather.”
“I understand your hesitancy. You probably don’t remember me, but I remember you. Believe it or not, I was there when you were born.”
Bullshit.
The word sat on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it. I didn’t trust this man. Every instinct in me screamed danger. “My parents never mentioned you,” I said flatly.
“It’s a travesty, what happened. I’ve been in contact with the detective assigned to your parents’ case. I won’t rest until their killer is found and brought to justice. You have my word.”
My chin lifted as I swallowed hard, my instinctive anger and fear bubbling up in equal measure. “At least we have one thing in common.”
“I’m told you’re being released. It’s time for us to go.”
“I didn’t ask for this, to go live with a stranger,” I said, meeting his gaze.
Donovan didn’t flinch. “Neither did I. But your father trusted me with your care, and I intend to honor his wishes.”
I wanted to snap back, to scream at him. I only glared. “Even if it isn’t what I want? Doesn’t my happiness matter at all? I have friends I could stay with. An aunt who would be glad to take me in. I doubt you even want a kid to take care of.”
“I have four boys. One more mouth to feed won’t be any trouble, but most importantly, it’s what your parents wanted,” he replied evenly. “Doesn’t that mean anything to you ?”
The subtle slap stung. How dare he throw that in my face. Especially when their loss was still so raw and fresh. Hurt burned behind my eyes, but I fucking refused to cry in front of this man. “You don’t know anything about my family.”
“I guess we have the time for you to tell me.” He lifted his coffee to his lips, taking a sip. “I’ve made arrangements. My staff gathered what you’ll need from your room—clothes, personal items, anything they thought was important. If something is missing, you can let me know.”
“You went through my stuff?” I asked, indignation rising in my voice. I got this image of him going through my underwear drawer, and now I couldn’t erase it from my mind. It was a new level of violation, and I didn’t like it. Not one bit. Even if it was his staff, someone had gone through my things.
Hell no.
Donovan’s expression didn’t waver. “I thought it would be easier for you to avoid going home. You’ve been through something traumatic, and I can’t imagine how you’re feeling, losing your parents at such a young age. It’s going to take time to heal.”
I desperately wanted to go home, not avoid it. I fumed silently as he continued.
“I also handled the arrangements for your parents. In their will, they requested to be cremated. I’ll let you decide what you would like to do with their ashes.”
The cold, matter-of-fact tone twisted my stomach. I hadn’t even thought about the details and decisions surrounding death. He was right about one thing. I didn’t want to deal with it. I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t even close to ready. Denial was a stage I wasn’t prepared to move past just yet.
Glancing at the open door, I chewed on my lower lip, contemplating my chance of escape. If I ran through that door and kept running, would he come after me? Would someone at the hospital try and stop me?
“I know that look,” Donovan said, interrupting the image of my escape. “I’ve had it myself, but running won’t bring them back. And…I would hate to get the police involved when they have better things to do than look for a runaway teen…like tracking down the men who shot your parents.” He lifted a dark brow. “Wouldn’t you agree, Kaylor?”
The way he said my name gave me chills. Not in a creepy, sexual predator way but more in a way that warned me I needed to be cautious about what I said and did around my godfather not to upset him. He struck me as someone who wasn’t afraid of using his fists. God knew he exuded brute strength.
I met his stare. If he wanted to intimidate me, I refused to let it show despite what might be happening inside me. I wouldn’t cower in front of him. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps running now would be stupid or reckless, but there would come a time when he couldn’t stop me. I just had to make it a few months until my eighteenth birthday.
I could do this.
Taking a breath, I straightened my spine and lifted my chin. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Donovan stepped back and gestured toward the door with his coffee. “Then I guess it’s time to go. The car is waiting.”
I swore I could hear the bells of impending doom ringing in my head.
Dun. Dun. Dunnnn.
The drive to Donovan’s home was silent. The car, sleek and expensive, glided through the snow-slicked streets. It had started spitting fat white flakes last night and hadn’t stopped. Muscles tense, I stared out the window, my pale reflection blending with the passing city lights. My unease, anger, and sorrow mimicked the storm outside.
I was a fucking mess of emotions.
It was like my body couldn’t decide what to feel. Or I was feeling too much.
Either way, I didn’t like it. I didn’t know how to deal with them…or my situation.
I caught Donovan’s driver peeking at me occasionally in the rearview mirror, but it was difficult to judge the man’s stony expression. What had Donovan told his staff about me? His family, for that matter? He’d mention he had sons. How old?
Cradling my arm, Donovan sat relaxed in the back seat beside me, his phone pressed to his ear. Almost immediately after entering the car, his phone had gone off. I listened for a minute, but my thoughts strayed to what sounded like boring business.
A distinct scent clung to the interior—cigar smoke. Hints of leather, spice, and tobacco lingered, but I couldn’t pinpoint whether it came from the driver or Donovan himself. Not that it mattered. The who wouldn’t change the pressure squeezing my chest. The familiar smell brought too many memories I didn’t want to have in front of Donovan.
My dad had often indulged in cigars. One of his guilty pleasures and one my mom had often gotten after him about.
I closed my eyes, and the image of my dad in his office, sitting in his favorite recliner at night, the glow of the fireplace hitting his scruffy face, conjured easily. I used to curl up in the adjacent chair, content to sit there or read a book. The memory was one I treasured. It was fucking impossible to believe I would never see his face again. I would never hear my mom laugh. I would never see them together—see the love they shared.
When we arrived at the Willows, the house loomed large and foreboding. I’d seen it online, but the photos hadn’t done it justice. It had more windows than I was used to, the light from inside giving off a warm glow to the dreary, gray winter sky. It had a masculinity about it and an aura of ruggedness. A man’s home, and it made me curious. Had Donovan remarried? I hadn’t seen anything online about a new wife, but then again, he had children. Were they his late wife’s children? Or perhaps another woman’s? Was there a new Mrs. Corvo living inside behind those walls?
Would she be more welcoming and friendly than her husband?
Somehow, the idea of him having a wife gave me a fragment of comfort. Knowing I wouldn’t be the only girl in a house full of boys seemed more appealing than the alternative.
A uniformed staff member waited at the front door, offering a polite nod as I stepped reluctantly from the car, which the driver had opened. I glanced around the grounds at the tunnel of willows and the towering, dense evergreens surrounding the property, making it feel more secluded than it was. The woods cut off the house from the rest of the neighborhood, and I would bet it was precisely what Donovan intended when he bought the home. The guy looked like someone who valued privacy.
Taking off in the middle of the night could be challenging. Trekking back to the main road would take me to civilization, but it was also quite the hike on foot, and the trees at the rear of the house could go on for miles. I had no way of knowing, and I was kicking myself for not coming up with an escape plan last night with my friends.
It was always good to have a backup strategy. I wasn’t thrilled about my life being upended, and I wasn’t sure about Donovan, but I figured I should give it a shot before I went AWOL.
I pulled my gaze back to the house, sliding a sidelong gaze to the driver who was watching me like he expected me to bolt at any second. Either I was giving off frightened little girl vibes, or he’d been warned.
Lifting my chin, I focused on the house and putting one foot in front of the other. My father hadn’t raised a weak little girl regardless of my small, five-foot-two frame.
“This will be your home now. I’m sure you want a moment to settle in. We’ll go over the house rules later,” my guardian said, leading me inside.
More like my prison.
Did he say house rules?
I’d never had rules to follow. I hadn’t even had a curfew.
I doubted Donovan would very much like to hear my thoughts. Clenching my teeth, I stepped through the front door. It was like strolling straight into hell.
If a woman other than the staff lived here, it wasn’t visible in the decor.
The interior had an evident manliness to every touch. From the deep, rich floors to the moody color of the walls. The furnishings boasted dark colors and buttery tan leathers. They were oversized and plush, the kind of furniture necessary for big men, not little boys. The ceilings were high and impressive, beams of wood running along the seams. That same spicy smokiness lingered in the air. Not unpleasant but definitely male .
Everything was such a stark contrast to my very white, neutral home.
A woman in a crisp black uniform approached, her demeanor professional but warm as she smiled at me with warm eyes. “This way, Miss Kaylor,” she said, gesturing for me to follow.
I hesitated in the foyer, glancing back at Donovan who still had his damn phone pressed to his ear, but he caught my gaze and gave me a curt nod before turning away, walking down the hall with purposeful strides.
My house might have been slightly larger, but my parents hadn’t employed staff other than a once-a-week cleaning service. Mom hadn’t wanted any other help. She loved to cook. The kitchen had been her domain. She’d been a stay-at-home mom while I’d been little, and once I’d been old enough to require less of her attention, she’d found other things to occupy her time, but she never worked.
Having so many people afoot would take some getting used to.
The woman led me upstairs to a spacious bedroom. It was elegantly furnished with a four-poster bed, a large desk, and a window overlooking the sprawling view of the woods. I was surprised to see the walls weren’t a shade of gray; however, there might be an overabundance of pastels. Fresh paint clung to the air.
“This will be your room,” the woman said. “If you need anything, just press the intercom by the door. I’m Amelia, by the way.”
“It’s not mine. I won’t be here long enough to call anything in this house mine,” I muttered, running a finger along the softest blanket tossed on the foot of the bed.
“Well, it’s yours until Mr. Corvo says otherwise.”
I nodded mutely as Amelia excused herself, leaving me alone in the room that felt like a hotel, foreign yet luxurious. Perhaps it would help to think of it like a hotel I was crashing at until I turned eighteen. The door clicked shut behind her, and I had this brief moment of panic where I thought she might have locked me in.
That was ridiculous, but my brain couldn’t quiet my flight response.
I stood frozen, staring at the unfamiliar room, unsure of what I was supposed to do with myself now. My chest tightened as the reality of my new life crashed into me. Somehow, being in the hospital had been safe, like I was sheltered from the world.
Now I was on my own.
My parents were gone. My home was gone. Everything I’d ever known was slipping through my fingers, and I felt so unsure…so damn lost.
I’d grown up in a loving home. I’d been lucky and was just now fully appreciating the advantages I’d taken for granted.
A second door caught my eye, and I padded over, pushing it fully open with curiosity. Relief had my tense shoulders loosening.
Thank fucking God.
My own bathroom.
I wouldn’t have to venture into the hallway or share one with a bunch of stinky, sticky boys.
The bathroom hadn’t gotten the remodel the bedroom had. Sleek black tiles covered the shower walls. A big soaking tub sat in front of a huge picture window that would make me feel like I was taking a bath with nature. I ran a finger over the marble counter and gasped as I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror.
Who the fuck was this girl?
She sure as hell didn’t look like the spunky, foul-mouthed girl I was known at the academy to be. If my classmates could see me now.
Maybe it was better that they couldn’t see me. I sure as hell wasn’t ready to see them. I didn’t want the looks of pity. The “I’m so sorry for your loss” comments. Or the meaningless hugs.
Perhaps being hidden away on the other side of town was a blessing and exactly where I needed to be for the time being. No one would come looking for me here, that was for sure.
It wasn’t even the wrapped shoulder throwing me off. Had my cheeks always been that hollow? I desperately needed a shower and a brush. My silvery-blonde hair shone dully in my reflection, lacking its usual luster and shine. As did my light-blue eyes. They were darker, troubled, and stormy.
I hadn’t had a proper shower since the incident, and now the thought of a long, hot bath wouldn’t get out of my head. Especially since I was dying to shed these hospital clothes and into something of mine.
Speaking of mine… Where was my stuff?
Leaving the bathroom, I went in search of some clothes, throwing open the closet doors. I gasped. Not in excitement. In horror. Nothing hanging in the closet was mine. I scanned the jeans, sweaters, shirts, and other items inside, thumbing through some frantically.
No. No. No.
Nothing. Not a single item was mine. Most still had tags on them.
A section of my wardrobe at home was made of items for my school uniform. Variations of skirts, pants, sweaters, tops, cardigans, and button-ups all the same shade of blue, white, and black. I never thought I’d miss a uniform so much as I did at this moment.
A wave of anger surged inside me, and before I knew it, my feet were marching across the room, my hand twisting the handle, and the bedroom door flew open, but I halted over the threshold, staring into the hallway. My chest heaved from the fury pumping through my veins. I wanted to stomp downstairs and demand my godfather tell me where my things were, demand he take me home to get them, but I wasn’t alone. At the top of the stairs stood a man in all black. His eyes quickly swept to mine the second I’d opened the door, alert and intense. He had an earpiece hooked around his lobe. I’d seen his type before. Security.
Had Donovan put detail on me? Was this guy here to watch me? To keep me from running? Or to protect me? Was my guardian afraid someone might hurt me?
Staring wordlessly at the stranger, I would bet my left ovary he was assigned to keep me from leaving. What would happen if I tried to walk down the stairs and out the front door? I didn’t know why, but some rebellious part of me had to find out.
It was a split-second decision. Leaving the door open behind me, I walked into the hallway, toward the stairs, my eyes never leaving the security guard’s. As expected, he stepped in front of my path, blocking the exit. “Mr. Corvo would like you to remain in your room for the time being.”
My gaze narrowed as I glanced up, my neck craning back from his height. He had flawless caramel skin. “I need to speak with him.”
The guard didn’t so much as flinch. “He isn’t available, but I will let him know you wish to see him.” It was impossible to ignore his dismissive tone.
However, the problem was that I was far from done with this conversation. We were just getting started. “How long do I have to stay in my room?”
His huge chest was aligned with my nose. “Until I’m told otherwise.” He had a deeper timbre to his voice that I found pleasant and reassuring or would have if he weren’t currently acting like a boulder in my path.
“So, I’m a prisoner.”
He said nothing, just continued his rigid pose.
“What’s your name?” I demanded, cradling my arm.
“Evan.”
“Well, Evan, is there anything else I can do? Or would it be easier to ask what I can’t do?” I snapped.
I swore the corner of Evan’s mouth twitched. He had a handsome face, and if I were a few years older, I’d attempt a completely different tactic on him, and honestly, if I ran out of options, I was willing to play dirty.
“I’m here to keep you safe,” he stated flatly.
This was going nowhere. “Do you know where my stuff is? Mr. Corvo ”—I dramatically emphasized his employer’s name — “said he had someone pick them up.”
“I don’t know anything about your possessions, Miss Steele.”
“Call me Kaylor. I have a feeling we’re going to be spending a lot of time together, Evan .”
Donovan might not have locked me in my bedroom, but I was a prisoner in this house no less. I just had a bigger cell.
I stormed back to my room, letting the door slam shut behind me. The echoing clap only gave me marginal satisfaction. It would take about a million more door slams to even come close to releasing the frustrations building within me.
Running a hand through my hair, I noticed something tucked into the back of the closet. It looked eerily like my schoolbag. A burst of joy, too much joy for something like a backpack.
I dug it out of the closet and plopped it on the bed, tearing at the zipper. My lips curled. My first genuine smile since… I couldn’t say it. Not yet.
I rummaged through the bag, pulling everything out. My laptop, a notebook, my essential makeup bag, a hairbrush, a case full of pens, my headphones, my keys, and one of my uniform cardigans were stuffed at the bottom.
I lifted the sweater to my nose and inhaled. A bolt of disappointment lanced through me. Someone had washed my sweater. It no longer smelled like the soap my mom used. It no longer smelled like home. Like me.
It was bad enough they’d gone through my bag, but to have the audacity to erase what little I had left of my previous life… My fingers curled the material into a ball. Fuckers .
What the hell else were they going to take from me?
My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the bed, my injured shoulder screaming in protest as I landed awkwardly. The pain tore through me, but it was nothing compared to the ache in my heart.
Hot tears spilled down my cheeks as I clutched the sweater, my sobs muffled against the fabric, the overwhelming weight of the unknown pressing down on me.
Donovan Corvo can get fucked.
I couldn’t stay here. I had to leave. There was nothing for me here. I didn’t belong. Not with him. Not in this house. Not under his care.
I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I remembered, I was being jolted awake. After I bolted upright, pitch-blackness greeted my eyes, the silence of the night broken by a faint, irregular thumping noise from the hallway outside my door. I froze, my body stiff with the first stirrings of fear as I listened.
Someone was stumbling around outside my bedroom.