Chapter 32 Ivy
IVY
It’s about fucking time. The sun is finally rising so I slide off the windowsill.
“Let’s wait a few more minutes,” Luca tells me and before I can protest, he explains, “Just to be sure. I’d hate to lose over some technicality. And Mercy will try to trip you up over something minor.”
The fact that he actually kept his mouth closed all night was the most astonishing thing of all. “Like what?”
“Don’t know details. I just heard my father telling Micah to always listen carefully to the instructions. There aren’t many rules, but they can be taken out of context if you’re not careful.”
A tip his father told Micah but not Luca? “Anything else?”
“Yeah. Don’t lose.” He stands and stretches as his T-shirt lifts, revealing just enough of the V that trails down into his jeans to make him seem tempting.
I must really be desperate. Or at least sleep deprived.
Yeah, I’ve seen more than enough to know his exterior is appealing.
However, attached to the lickable abdomen is his stupid mouth that will eventually resume its infuriating mission.
We both walk down the corridor, the hospital not as gloomy in the daylight. I almost crave the cover of darkness. Because I could hide. Now, everything is on display again.
As we enter the downstairs lobby area, the floor is covered in inches of sludge and God knows what else.
“Son of a bitch,” Brooke shrieks. “I just bought these fucking shoes.”
“It’s just mud.” Micah trudges through it as he gets near the door, then turns around and waits on her as she attempts to tiptoe through as much as she can, but it’s pointless. Her former white tennis shoes are caked in muck clear up to her ankles.
“Come on, Brooke. I’ll buy you a new pair if we ever get the hell out of here.” Micah waves over at the doors and our escape to freedom.
I’m with him. It’s worth throwing away a pair of shoes to get the hell out of here until we’re summoned for the next dreaded challenge.
This one didn’t seem all that bad compared to the last. After all, there were no bullets flying.
And that makes me wonder what’s to come.
Because from everything I hear, Mercy won’t let us get off easy every time, right?
“Wait, dude. I need a ride home.” Remy calls out behind us as he skids across the floor and falls on his ass.
Luca keeps walking. “You’re not getting in my car with that all over you.”
“I really need a lift. Cain dropped me off.”
When Luca refuses again, I cut him off. “I’ll give you a ride.”
Mission accomplished. Because Luca doesn’t look happy. Remy, however, is grateful as he grips my shoulders with his muddy fingers. “You’re a real one, Walker.”
“Totally,” I retort and plan to get in the shower as soon as I get home.
Once we’re in the parking lot, Luca demands, “Let’s get breakfast.”
Um, what? “Nothing has changed. Mercy is done. We’re not friends. I’m going home.”
“I could eat,” Remy states as Luca ignores him.
“Ivy,” Luca begins, but I don’t want to hear it.
“Not interested, but I’m sure you can find someone to tag along who won’t get your precious car dirty.”
“What the hell was that?” Hannah yells as Matthew chases after her. Apparently, their partnership isn’t going well either, but it looks like all four teams completed the challenge. Yet I feel no closer to the end of Mercy than I did yesterday.
Remy doesn’t live too far out of the way, so I drop him off and get home soon after. I leave my shoes and socks outside, then rinse my feet with the water hose before I enter the house. Even if someone else would clean up the mess, I don’t want to leave one for them.
It’s Anthony who I see when I step into the foyer. He does a quick scan of my appearance before he asks, “Is everything all right, Ms. Walker?”
“No, Anthony, because you still won’t call me Ivy.”
His mouth remains in a hard line as he views me. He has mentioned that he’s not a father, but he has the you’re-pushing-your-luck look down. I’ve never gotten it from my own, but Uncle Shawn would give me and Zachary that when he knew we weren’t telling the truth. So, I add, “Yes sir. All good.”
He still doesn’t look happy with the answer but doesn’t press. “I’ll schedule to have your vehicle detailed also.”
“How’d you know it was dirty?” I ask, confused as he gives me the same expression back.
“I just assumed considering you’re covered in muck that the car interior would be too.”
“Good assumption.” Particularly since Remy got the passenger side caked in mud. “Thanks, Anthony.”
I head upstairs and take the best shower I think I’ve ever had. Stepping out, I feel refreshed and relaxed, the previous night’s hassle washed away.
Then I glance at the mirror on my makeup vanity.
Every fiber in my beings comes to a halt as I stare at the photograph.
Even from a few feet away, I know what the picture is.
Because it’s played out in my nightmares for the last two months—the accident scene.
And it’s not just an image of the crash site.
It’s the actual event. My mom’s smashed up car and a white pickup truck in the background.
My stomach tightens even more with every step I take closer, scared the image is going to pull me inside it.
Slowly, I reach out to take the Polaroid from where it was tucked on side of the mirror.
The longer I stare at the photo, the more I feel the tears forming in my eyes.
I can’t see my mom or myself. But I know we’re there just out of sight of the photographer.
Who would want to take such a horrific photograph and who would leave it here for me to see?
Nothing in my room looks out of place. The bedroom door is still closed, the French doors to the balcony are still locked. None of the windows are open or look disturbed.
Hurrying downstairs, I find Anthony in the kitchen with the chef and as soon as I enter, they both stop talking, “Who was in my room?”
Anthony seems puzzled so I specify, “Just now, who was in my bedroom? There was a photograph on my mirror when I got out of the shower, and it wasn’t there when I got in.”
When Anthony looks to Pattie, she shakes her head then he turns back to me. “No one else is in the house, Ms. Walker. Are you sure it wasn’t there beforehand?”
“Stop calling me that.” I say it more forcefully than intended because it’s the only thing I can latch onto right now. “Where’s the security camera footage? I want to see who was here.”
“This way.” He motions for me to follow as he grabs an iPad off the nearby counter. “You can access them all from here. I put the app on your phone also.”
That’s right. He did say that, but I never had a reason to check. I click around and watch video after video, but there’s nothing there. “Someone messed with the footage. Who else can log in?”
“Your father and brother, but I don’t think either would erase footage. What was the photograph of?”
“Nothing,” I reply automatically as he looks to me, still waiting for the truth. I don’t want to lie again. “The accident scene from my mother’s death.”
There’s a shift in his stance as he tenses.
“The system may have been accessed from an unauthorized user.” He clicks around on the screen and remains silent for a few seconds.
“It shows a device logging in earlier this morning. I’ll get the password changed.
I don’t understand why anyone would do this. ”
“Me either.” Unless it’s purely to torment me.
My attention snaps to the back door. No way.
He wouldn’t. How would he? Luca doesn’t even know.
Or maybe he does, because he followed me to the accident site the other night and I made him mad this morning by taking Remy home and refusing to go eat a damn meal with him.
Could something so trivial really rile up the foulness in him?
Yes, yes, I believe it could because he’s that much of a petty, vile bitch.
Walking out of the house, I make my way along the sidewalk and follow it around to the Montclair residence. By the time I walk up the front door, I’m fuming. I don’t put anything past the asshole, but this is a new low for even him.
Pounding on the door, I wait a few seconds before I lift my fist to knock again as it opens. A lady appears in the doorway with a warm smile. “How may I help you?”
“I need to see Luca now,” I tell her before I hear a deep voice in the background announce, “Let her in.”
As soon as I step through the doorway, I see the source. But it’s not Luca, it’s Micah who greets me with, “Ivy, glad you’re here to see me.”
“Where’s your brother?”
He looks a little shocked as he says, “You know even some of our family members still can’t tell us apart. And you do it so easily. Interesting”
“Yeah. Sure. Where is he?”
“His room.” Micah points behind him. “Up there. Hallway to the right, then third door on the left.”
I head upstairs, following the directions, and hope this isn’t part of some jackass scheme to get me here. But if it is, I’m livid enough to go with it. I don’t need to talk. Taking a swing would satisfy me.
When I open the door, Luca is standing at the window, his phone to his ear.
He turns and sees me and says, “I’ll call you back.
” Then clicks the phone off and tosses it on the bed.
It’s then I realize he’s only got a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair still damp from the shower.
And I want him to drop the towel so I can strangle him with it.
“Did you do it?” I ask as he studies me, looking over my shoulder.
I glance back and see Micah standing there, a grin on his face as he says, “Just enjoying the show.”
Luca walks over, pulling me farther into the bedroom so he can slam the door shut, then turns to me and casually asks, “Did I do what?”
“Don’t play games with me. I’ve had enough of that already with your Mercy minions.”
He steps closer, his patience wavering as he states, “Tell me what you’re talking about, and I’ll tell you the truth.”
“Did you leave the photograph in my room?”
“What photograph?” That’s it. That’s his frustrated response before he looks to my hands then goes to grab it as I pull away.
“You said you’d tell me the truth.”
“No, I didn’t leave a photograph in your room.” His voice returns to a cool tone, but his stance remains rigid as he asks, “What’s it of?”
I can’t tell if he’s lying to me or not. Why do I want to believe him? He’s been a cruel tyrant and thorn in my side since I met him.
“Tell me or I’ll take it from you and see it for myself,” he demands, making me think he’s telling the truth.
But is that his way of throwing me off? Mercy is playing with my mind.
I’m paranoid and questioning my own judgment.
But it wouldn’t surprise me if Luca is the puppet master.
And even if he’s not, he roped me into joining the madness.
“Us at the hospital,” I lie.
And he calls me on it. “What’s it really of?”
“You know that’s not it. How would you know if it wasn’t you that left it?”
He just says, “Because I do.”
“The accident that killed my mother and destroyed everything I thought I knew.” I try to keep my emotions at bay and take a step closer to him. “I swear to God if you’re using her to fuck with me, I will kill you and not think twice about it.”
I expect him to engage in an argument or respond with animosity, but all he does is lift his hand to trail his fingertips along my collarbone as he murmurs, “I destroy everything I touch.”
“Is that a threat?” I ask, because I don’t want to think about how the tender stroke along my skin completely contradicts the harsh asshat I’ve pegged him to be.
I step back, realizing he has the exit blocked.
No problem. I’ll hurl myself out his window.
At least it’d be better than staying in this room with him, and maybe he’ll get in trouble for it.
Doubt it. He’d get away with murder and not have a single freaking consequence as usual.
“No,” he replies.
But all I can do is stare out the nearest window. Moving closer, I watch as my backyard comes into complete view. Everything. The patio, pool, nearly the entire backside of the house.
“You can see everything.” He didn’t have to gawk at me from the balcony, he could hide here in his own bedroom, unseen and discreet, instead of mean mugging Everett and me from the balcony. “You wanted me to see you. You wanted me to know you were watching us.”
I turn back to him, waiting for confirmation, but he doesn’t respond. I know him better than I should. Standing in front of him, I ask, “Why?”
His head shifts to the side; his mouth moves down my neck as his breath floats over my skin. “Would you rather I stayed hidden?”
The warmth spreads to my cheeks as I stand rigid. “I’d rather not know you at all.”
His lips feather over the same spot as he hums against my skin, “Me too.”
Then he backs away, coolly walking towards what I think is a closet.
As soon as I see his hand go for the towel, I head for the bedroom door and don’t look back.
Nothing about him makes sense. The more I learn, the more confused I become.
But what really worries me is that I don’t think he left the picture.
And the reason that concerns me is that means someone else did, and I have no clue who it could be.