9. Roman
ROMAN
We approach the gates, and a guard appears as if from nowhere, weapon raised.
It’s not the same one we saw when we first arrived at the house, but I assume that first one must have notified others.
He’s young—maybe only a few years older than us—and has the short buzz cut that reminds me of the military. As well as a weapon, he has body armor.
“Halt,” he orders.
I half expect him to say, ‘who goes there,’ like in the books I read as a kid, but he doesn’t. He simply says, “You need to leave, now. I have orders to shoot on sight. You’re on private property, and I’m well within my rights to stand my ground.”
He means he’s well within his rights to shoot us dead, in cold blood.
Cain holds his hands up, palms exposed. “We are here to see Ophelia. We’re friends of hers from college. Please, can you ask her parents if we can speak to them? It’s important. I think they’ll want to hear what we have to say.”
“No. Now fuck off.”
“Please, listen. I believe they need to hear this. You’ll get into trouble if you don’t at least give them the chance to decide whether to speak to us.
Just tell them Cain Lockwood is here. They know me.
They know my family. We’re from the same world, and I used to live just there.
” I point to the distant house on the other side of the stream, shrouded now in the dark, but he’ll know where I mean.
The guard presses a button on the lapel of his collar and speaks. “There’s a crew of kids here at the gate. They want to speak with Mr. Sinclair.”
Kids? He’s not much older than us. I almost punch him for that, but don’t because Ophelia is what matters. I’ve not been a kid for years, though. That was stolen from me.
“Yes, of course, sir.” The guard’s brows raise, but he turns back to us. He stares at us for a beat, as if trying to figure something out. “He says you can go on up, but we need to check for weapons first.”
“Fine,” I say.
We’d expected as much.
The iron gates swing open, and we step through.
A second guard approaches—I assume it’s the one we spotted initially from the road—and uses a scanner on us like the kind you see at airports.
“This is fancier than a pat-down,” Mal jokes.
The second guard shocks the hell out of me when he smacks Malachi up the back of the head.
“I can do it the old school way if you prefer,” he snarls at Mal.
“No need, thanks. Geez. Take your meds, okay?” Mal smirks, but I can see the barely repressed fury simmering in his dark gaze.
Cain shoves Malachi with his shoulder, basically telling him to shut the fuck up.
Thank the ancestors that Malachi does. He presses his lips together in a thin line but doesn’t say a word.
“You can go on up,” the guard says.
As we file past, he sticks his foot out, tripping Mal, who falls to his knees.
I suck in a sharp breath. I know Malachi and his anger well, but it seems he’s got the same locked-down focus as Cain and I.
Save Ophelia, because nothing else matters.
He doesn’t react, simply stands and brushes some gravel chips from his pantlegs.
“Clumsy.” The guard chuckles to himself as we walk by.
When we’re past them, Mal turns to me and Cain. “If I ever get the opportunity, I’m cutting his balls off.”
I roll my eyes but can’t help the smile twitching at my lips. He would, too.
When we reach the door, I raise my hand to ring the bell, but it swings open.
“Mr. Sinclair,” Cain says as he steps forward, moving past me to lead the way. “It’s Cain Lockwood, sir.”
Ophelia’s father is in his fifties and well built.
His blue eyes are the same color as Ophelia’s darkest eye, and his hair is thick and white.
Even at home, during this troubling time, he’s wearing a suit.
Only the way his tie has been loosened and the top button has been undone indicates there’s anything wrong.
He narrows his eyes at Cain, but doesn’t move to invite him in. “Cain Lockwood,” he echoes. “You’ve grown.”
“It’s been a few years since we last saw each other.”
On the drive, Cain filled us in on exactly what happened the last time he met Ophelia’s parents.
They hadn’t parted on the best of terms. Ophelia’s mother had screamed at him for constantly asking about Ophelia, and her father had thrown him off their land and told him not to come back.
I wonder how Cain is feeling now. Does he feel like that young boy again, like he’s been transported back in time?
“Yes, it has, and a lot has happened since then.” Mr. Sinclair’s gaze drifts past Cain to focus on us. “And who have you brought with you?”
“These are my friends from Verona Falls. Roman Johansen and Malachi Knox. Their families are in the same business.”
Mr. Sinclair jerks his chin at me. “The Johansen family from Scandinavia?”
“Yes, sir. At least, our ancestors were. We’ve been living in Winsconsin for a couple of generations now.”
He turns his attention to Malachi. “I’m not familiar with your family.”
“We’re from Montana, sir. Nowhere near these parts. There’s no reason you’d have needed to deal with them, but my family hold a lot of ground in Helena”
Cain clears his throat. “We all got to know Ophelia better while she was at college, and we’re concerned about her. We’d hoped for a few moments of your time.”
Mr. Sinclair hesitates, as though he’s deciding whether to throw us all out or invite us in. I wait, my heart thudding, wondering what we’ll do if he tells us to beat it, but then he steps back.
“I guess you’d better come in, then.” He watches us all closely as we file into his house. “Go through to the living room. It’s the first door on your right, but perhaps you remember that, Cain?”
Cain doesn’t reply but offers him a tight smile. Does Ophelia’s father know Cain had often been in the house during his childhood? That he slipped into Ophelia’s room at night and slept, curled up, on the bedroom floor?
The hallway is elegant, and the house decor has a peaceful style to it, but you can sense the tension simmering in the air. I follow Cain to the door of the living room and pause at the threshold.
A woman, who I assume to be Ophelia’s mother, is perched on an overstuffed occasional chair in the window. She looks terrible. Her face is pale, but her nose and upper cheeks are blotchy with red splatters, and her eyes are swollen. She’s been crying. A lot.
Shit.
“Where’s Ophelia?” I blurt the question out, all our planning out of the window the moment I observe her mother’s distress. Why would she be crying if Ophelia was safe under her roof? My instinct tells me she’s not here, so all of Cain’s planned speeches will be for nothing.
“Safe,” her father replies.
“But not here?” I push.
“No, not here.” He looks me up and down. “Not that it has anything to do with you.”
“Motherfucker,” Malachi mutters.
“What did you say?” Her father turns to him, his blue eyes sharp and full of disdain.
“Sir, we don’t believe Ophelia is safe.” Cain drags her father’s attention from Malachi. “Not here, and not wherever you’ve taken her. She was safe at the college. I totally understand wanting her under your roof … or being guarded by your men somewhere, but she’s safer with us.”
Her father stares at us for a beat then speaks. “First, I’m not sure it has anything to do with you. I know you two were friends when she was younger, but now, you’re nothing to her, or us. Secondly, no, she’s not safer with you. The college grounds are far too large to be patrolled properly.”
Cain ignores the jabs at him and answers calmly and respectfully. I admire him in this moment, because I’m not sure I could be trusted to be so composed.
“Sir, we have security,” Cain lies smoothly.
“The three of us are also very effective with a weapon. We have a place where we live that’s easy to guard and protect.
It’s not part of the main college building, so not a dorm where others are always coming and going.
And it’s safe. We have men, guarding it outside. Dogs,” he adds.
We do? When he speaks next, I bite back a laugh.
“Drones, too.”
He’ll be telling them we have fighter jets next. Or nukes.
But it doesn’t win her father over. “I don’t care if you have a fucking army.
She’s my daughter, and I am the one who should be keeping her safe.
It has fuck-all to do with you. I don’t know why you’re here.
” A cruel smile twists his mouth on one side.
“And I’m not sure how well you’d protect her, given that you used to come here and hide from your own father. ”
I hold my breath. I’d lose it at this point. Cain’s spine straightens, his shoulders stiffening, but he blows out a slow breath and nods.
“Yes, sir, I did, and I thank you for offering me a place then, when I was scared as a child. As you can see, I’m not that skinny kid anymore, and no one messes with me now. Not even my father.”
The words seem to have little effect, as her father only scowls. “I’m still at a loss at the three of you showing up on my doorstep this way. Why do you care so much, Cain?”
“Because I love her, sir.”
The words hang in the room, and no one speaks. I hold my breath. I feel Mal tense next to me, and Cain waits for a response to his declaration.
“You love her?” Her father’s face darkens, and he steps menacingly toward Cain. “Have you touched my daughter?”