Текст книги "Transcending Darkness"

Автор книги: Airicka Phoenix

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 36 страниц)

It was a question Killian had expected the moment he’d seen Molly in the kitchen with Juliette. He had almost been waiting for it.

Molly had been raised by a father who used his fists more than his mouth. Killian had never met the man, but he suspected it had been bad; Molly always got that look in her eyes whenever mentions of abuse came up. It was the look Killian had seen in the mirror every day for three years before he’d put a stop to it. It was something that surpassed fury, conquered rage, and passed that line beyond the haze of red. But unlike him, she had no one to punish. She had no way to make it stop. Her father had drank himself to death in a gutter when she’d been thirteen.

“I’m taking care of it.”

Molly straightened her shoulders. Her chin went up in a defiance he knew all too well.

“Be sure you do. There’s a special place in hell for men who hurt women and children.”

“Aye.” He eased his hands into his pockets to keep from touching her. “And I intend to make sure he gets there sooner rather than later.”

Her shoulders rose with her deep inhale. “Good lad.” She twisted away towards the doors. Her hands were unsteady when she adjusted her purse strap. “Until next week then.”

With a kiss to his cheek, she shuffled away. Killian watched her until she had descended the front steps and made her way to the car Marco brought around for her. He shook his head at the piece of crap Toyota. The thing was older than he was and yet she refused to let him get her anything better. It rumbled and shrieked like a banshee all the way through the front gates.

“Sir? You have a conference call booked in an hour.” Frank appeared seemingly out of nowhere, phone in hand. He stopped at Killian’s shoulder. “Should I reschedule?”

Killian glanced down the sunbathed corridor leading towards the kitchen.

“No.” He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled the sleeves on his dress shirt. “Give me thirty minutes.”

Leaving the man to punch that into his phone, Killian made his way through the strobes of sunlight. His feet clipped on marble with an almost skip to each step.

The excitement he felt coursing through him was an unfamiliar one. He’d never been the cause of another person’s happiness. He’d never been able to give someone something that meant a damn. Telling Juliette she was free of Arlo was practically burning a hole through his chest.

She stood at the sink. The water ran as she scrubbed her bowl and spoon. Killian followed the lines of her back in the soft material of her dress. The light from the French doors shimmered through the silky strands falling around thin shoulders. One foot was arched up on the toes while the other remained flat. He knew the moment she was finished when the foot was settled down next to the other one and she snapped off the faucet. The bowl and spoon were settled inside the dishwasher. She dried her hands and turned.

“Jesus!” One hand jumped to her chest. “I didn’t hear you come back.”

“There’s no need for that,” he said instead, gesturing with a jerk of his chin towards the dishwasher. “I have someone that takes care of those duties every day.”

Still breathing hard enough to make her chest rise and fall rapidly, she moved to the stove and hooked the rag back through the oven handle bar.

“I would feel bad if I left it for someone else.” A smile curled the corners of her mouth as she turned to him. “You sound like her,” she said. “Molly,” she clarified when he raised a brow. “I mean, you already have a deep accent, but when you were talking with her, it was very thick.”

It was a fact his father used to tease him over mercilessly. Unlike his mother and Molly, his father hadn’t been raised in Dublin. His accent had been more refined, audible and understandable by most. Killian had been raised by the three and together, they had given him something in between. While he couldn’t hear it, he’d been told several times that his accent was more pronounced in his anger or when Molly was around.

For Juliette, he snorted. “I haven’t got an accent.”

She chuckled. “Of course not.” She started towards him. Her smile faded and she was eyeing him with those furrowed brows of concern. “Are you okay?”

His hands moved into his pockets. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

One shoulder lifted in an indecisive shrug. “You seemed angry when you left and I—”

“You can’t,” he cut her off with more sharpness then was probably necessary. “You can’t worry. You can’t ask. You can’t know. Those are the rules. You’re not my girlfriend or my wife. There is nothing between us but sex.”

It was cold. Molly would have hit him for less, but it needed to be said. She needed to understand her place. The delusion of women who believed there was more to be had when there wasn’t was a problem. He wanted no problems. Not where Juliette was concerned. She needed to know right from the beginning what he expected. She needed to be aware of just how limited and emotionless their arrangement would be.

But Juliette, if she was hurt or angry, revealed nothing outwardly beyond the tilt of her chin.

“I only worried because if something happens to you before my debt is paid, I’ll be stuck with Arlo forever.”

It was a legit response, whether it was the truth or not made little difference; he would let her keep her secrets as he would keep his. After all, he wasn’t there to trade diaries.

He drifted deeper into the room, moving as close to her as he dared without touching.

“You can stop worrying then,” he said. “Arlo won’t be bothering you anymore. He sure as hell won’t be putting his hands on you again.”

His news didn’t have the affect he’d expected. Instead, her eyes went enormous. All the blood spilled from her face, making the bruises grotesquely bright.

“Oh God…” She stumbled back, away from him, her hands flying to her mouth. “You killed him?”

It was insulting and amusing that that was the first place her mind always seemed to go where Arlo and Killen were concerned.

“And if I did?” He circled around her slowly, taking a sort of pleasure in her panic.

She rounded on him. “Then you gave up a bit of your soul for someone who didn’t deserve it. Yes, Arlo deserves to die. Yes, I imagined doing it myself a million times. But he has no right to taint any part of you with his … his evil.”

That made him pause. His head tilted as he observed the woman standing before him.

“My soul.”

The two words sounded foreign and strange leaving his lips. It reminded him of the time his mother had hired lumpy Mr. Delavan to teach him German. Every syllable had come out gruff and clumsy and ultimately ended with Mr. Delavan throwing his coffee mug at the wall and storming out.

Intrigued by the novelty of him with a soul, Killian moved to the French doors and peered out at the sheen of light glinting off the polished marble. The late afternoon sun hung low and tired in the cloudless sky. The hint of a breeze made the leaves shiver on their branches, but never made it past the glass to touch his skin.

“I’m not entirely certain I possess one of those,” he murmured more to himself than the woman watching him.

“Everyone has a soul,” Juliette said quietly. “Even Arlo, although, I’m sure his is black and shriveled to nothing.”

He glanced back over his shoulder at her. “How do you know mine isn’t?”

“I don’t know you well enough to answer that.”

What had he expected? Had he honestly expected her to tell him he was redeemable? That he could somehow be forgiven for his past crimes? Did he want to be? It had never occurred to him before. What he’d done, he knew he would do again given the chance. He made no apologies for taking those lives. Did that make him evil? Did that make his soul black and shriveled?

His mother used to tell him stories of brave knights who would seek justice for their kingdom, for their king and princess. They were deemed as heroes, as a thing of honesty and integrity.

Killian wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t a white knight in shiny armor riding a white horse. He didn’t save king and country. He also knew the difference between fantasy and reality; only in a fantasy did the hero stalk, torture and murder nine men and expect a parade. Killian expected nothing. He had no illusions. None. His world was black and white and splattered by crimson.

“Killian?” The quiet click of her shoes moving, closing the distance pulled him from his thoughts. “Did you kill him?”

Turning away from the glass, Killian watched her draw ever closer and wondered what she would say if he told her yes. Would she call him a monster? Would she throw the contract back into his face and scream for him to leave her alone?

“No,” he heard himself say before his brain could finish wondering. “He continues to live, unfortunately.”

He saw her shoulders sag with her exhale. A fine crinkle formed between her brows that emphasized the relief and worry in her eyes.

“Okay.” She licked her lips. “Good.” She ran a hand through her hair, exhaled again and started to turn away. But she paused and turned back to him. “What … what did you mean he won’t be bothering me again?”

“I mean that I’ve handled the matter,” he said evenly. “It’s been dealt with. You and your family will be left alone.”

Her breathing grew steadily louder. “It’s done? It’s over?”

He inclined his head. “Aye. You’re free, Juliette.”

There was a distinct tremor in her hands when they lifted and flattened to her chest. Wet eyes darted away from him to focus on something just over his shoulder. He knew she wasn’t seeing anything, but she stood that way, unmoving as the impact of his words finally sunk in.

She finally turned those glossy eyes back to him, glimmering with panic and fear.

“I haven’t signed the contract. I…” She broke off with a strangled gasp. “I have questions and…”

He put his hand up. “That isn’t important right now.”

The smooth column of her throat bobbed rapidly. “I … I don’t … I can’t.” One hand lifted, trembling violently before settling on her brow. “Seven years…” She looked to him, desperation haunting every line of her face. “It’s over?”

“It’s over.”

Killian caught her when she swayed. He almost didn’t. Almost wasn’t fast enough. She gave him no warning. But he had her. His arms were around her, lifting her limp weight into his chest. Hot, ragged breath burned against his throat with her first sob. Her back heaved. Slender fingers curled viciously into the crisp material of his shirt, wrinkling and tearing at the fabric as she clung to him.

She smelled of wildflowers. The scent clung to her hair. It surrounded him, filled his senses. He knew he should be focusing on her, on comforting her, but he was drowning in her instead.

“I never thought I would hear those words,” she choked out. “I thought I would die being his slave. I thought…”

“It’s over now,” he promised. “He won’t ever touch you again.”

With a deep inhale that lifted her back against his stroking palms, she tipped her face up to his. Her eyes were rimmed red. The lashes were sharp, wet spikes. Tendrils of hair clung to her damp cheeks and were hastily wiped away as she peered up at him.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I can never repay you.”

He started to shake his head, started to tell her he wanted no repayment when she moved into his space once more. Her hands went to his shoulders, balancing her weight as she rose up on her toes. Then her mouth was on his in a delicate kiss.

It was soft and filled with a tenderness that scared the shit out of him. Her sweet hesitance rocked him all the way to his toes in a wave. It distracted him from the hand she lifted to the side of his stubbled cheek until she deepened her kiss. The honeyed taste of her mouth, the heady scent of her body swelled up around him in a flood of everything he didn’t want, but could find no sense to stop.

But she did. She stopped. She broke the meeting of their lips and blinked open her eyes. The irises expanded across the gold. But it was the wet and swollen state of her mouth that preoccupied his thoughts.

“I have to go,” she whispered.

The statement automatically tightened his hold on her.

“Why?”

“I have to work in an hour,” she said. “I only came to tell you that I will accept your contract if—”

“You’re still going to work?” he cut in.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you no longer need to if you’re accepting the agreement,” he said. “I will make sure you are paid well above what you are making now with all your jobs.”

She pulled out of his embrace and took a step back. Her arms folded over her midsection.

“That’s very kind, but I haven’t signed the papers yet so I still need to work.”

He started to protest, but decided against it. Instead, he said, “Marco will drive you.”

She shook her head. “I don’t need—”

He silenced her with a look. “Marco will drive you,” he repeated very slowly. “Then we will talk about getting you your own driver.”

Her eyes practically bulged out of her skull. “My own … why on earth would I need my own driver?”

“Because if you insist on working unholy hours, then I’m not letting you walk around in the dark alone.”

“I don’t need my own—”

“Please,” he interjected sharply. “For me.”

Her lips pursed together and he could see the refusal raging behind her eyes, but she nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”

She started towards the doorway.

“Juliette.” She stopped a few feet away and turned. “I will have someone pick you up tomorrow for lunch. We’ll go over your questions.”

She frowned at him. “You don’t have to send…” She broke off when he arched an eyebrow. The corners of her mouth twisted downward. “Fine,” she mumbled grudgingly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Chapter 10

True to Killian’s promise, Marco stood waiting at the bottom of the stairs, next to a sleek, white car. He inclined his head when Juliette made her way to him. His expression stayed blank, even as he took in the side of her face.

It had taken her an hour to apply enough concealer to … well, conceal. In the span of five minutes, Killian had wiped it all away, leaving her exposed for all to see. It annoyed her; she didn’t have time to go home and reapply. Thankfully, she seldom came into contact with people at the hotel that late at night.

“Thank you,” she said to Marco when he yanked open the backdoor.

He bobbed his head once and waited for her to slide in before shutting the door behind her.

Juliette didn’t watch him round the car. Her gaze stayed fixed on the open doorway at the top of the staircase. The one void of Killian. But she could sense him. She could feel his presence filling the space and spilling out into the settling evening.

He’d freed her. He’d done it even before she’d signed his contract. He had done it for her. A voice in her head had argued that he’d most likely done it to strong arm her into submission, but she didn’t believe it. Truthfully, she didn’t care.

Her goal, her dream, her entire mission in life for seven years had been to get away from Arlo, to never again have to see his smug, cruel face. Killian had given her that, all of that, and he’d done so without a moment’s hesitation.

It still nagged at her that she was now indebted to him, that she was quite possibly in no better situation than she had been. But she was. No one and nothing was worse than Arlo. It didn’t seem to matter if Killian used his good deed to shackle her all over again. At least not in that moment. In that moment, all that mattered was that Arlo could never touch her or her sister again.

“Ma’am?”

Juliette blinked and turned her head to Marco, who was politely watching her through the rearview mirror.

“Yes?”

“Where would you like to go?”

Flustered, Juliette shifted. “Oh, right. I’m sorry. Twin Peaks Hotel, please.”

Marco put the car into drive and rolled them away from the estate.

It took less time than she’d anticipated to reach the hotel. Maybe it was because she was used to public transportation taking hours sometimes to reach a certain destination, but arriving without the hassle had a unique sort of thrill to it she partially didn’t appreciate; the last thing she needed was to get comfortable with someone else driving her around.

But she undid her belt and reached for the door handle when Marco pulled to a stop next to the hotel. In the front seat, Marco did the same, but Juliette was already throwing herself out of the car. She stuck her head back inside and peered at the man.

“Thank you for driving me.”

Marco nodded. “You’re welcome, ma’am.”

With a smile, she shut the door and hurried inside.

It was a trick keeping her head down and her hair falling over the side of her face. She wasn’t sure they could actually fire her for having bruises on her face, but the last thing she needed was to get reported. She’d be fine once she was up in the rooms, away from the prying eyes of the staff.

It worked. She grabbed her cart and started her shift on the fourth floor without anyone asking what happened to her face. After that, the night went by smoothly. She finished her rooms, took her cart back down and signed out like she’d done a million times before. She changed back into her regular clothes and left the building.

The air outside was wet, like it had rained at some point. The concrete was wet, black and stained by distorted rainbows. It shimmered beneath the dull light hanging over the backdoor.

It was the only light. The only source of safety and it illuminated the exit, leaving the entire alleyway drenched in shadows. To the right, a light flow of traffic passed by the opening leading onto the street. The left led into the staff parking area around back and sat in absolute darkness. The hotel didn’t much care what happened to its night staff. There were cameras, but none of them worked. The lights were few and far between. Most of the women left at night in packs. But Juliette had no car and thus no reason to go anywhere near the parking area.

She turned right. If she hurried, she could reach the bus stop at the end of the block and be home before four AM.

“Beautiful night for a walk, eh, Juliette?”

The familiar voice snapped through the silence like a whip. It ripped through Juliette. She staggered to a stop and whipped around. Her hand almost instinctively went to her purse, even though it was useless. Her heart scuttled up into her throat while her mind tried to put reasoning to Arlo’s presence at her work.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, struggling to keep her voice calm.

Like a demon from a horror movie, Arlo pulled away from the shadows and descended upon her with slow, even strides. The thump of his boots echoed off the slimy walls, the sound almost deafening.

“I came to see you, Juliette,” he said simply.

“No.” She staggered back a step. “We’re done. You got your money.”

He chuckled and it was cold and brittle. “I got McClary’s money,” he corrected. “But that’s not why I’m here.” He paused when there were three steps between them. His closeness drove against her sanity. “We had so many years together. It wouldn’t have been right if we just parted ways without a proper goodbye, would it, Juliette?”

“What do you want?” she said.

His hands vanished into the pockets of his jeans. The posture was relaxed, unhurried.

“I want to know why you betrayed me. I thought we were friends.”

Anger rode over the rational voice telling her to stay calm. It knotted her in its fiery grip until all she could taste was the need to sink her nails into his face and tear off his skin. She wanted to stab him until he stopped moving. Seven years she fought to get away from him, to never again see that vile face of his and finally … finally she was free and he was still terrorizing her. He was still finding ways to make her feel two inches tall.

“We were never friends!” she hissed. “And you need loyalty and respect in order to betray someone. I have neither for you.” She swallowed past the desert drying up her throat. “We are done. I owe you nothing. My family owes you nothing! So stay the—”

His hand whipped out with the strength, speed and viciousness of a coiled cobra and closed around her throat. It wasn’t hard, but there was enough force behind it to warn her not to struggle. There was enough bite to render her silent. Beneath his fingertips, her pulse quickened.

“Do you think that just because you’re McClary’s whore you no longer belong to me? That I won’t continue to use you in whatever manner I see fit?” His fingers tightened until she cried out. “You’re mine for the rest of your life, Juliette. It doesn’t matter how much he paid for you.”

“You can’t touch me!” she bit out with what little remaining courage she had left. “Killian will—”

“Will what?” His fingertips gouged into her esophagus, cutting new bruises over the old ones. “Kill me?” He snickered. “He can’t, not without starting a war. Most he can do is rat on me to my dad, but what is he going to do? Spank me and send me to my room? You’re nobody, Juliette. I could kill you right now and no one would care. You’re a filthy whore that no one will miss.”

“What do you want?” she asked yet again for the third time. “You got your money.”

Arlo’s blunt fingers loosened and she sucked in a quick breath to sooth the burn in her lungs.

“It wasn’t just the money between us, Juliette,” he said, sounding genuinely hurt. “I thought we had a connection. I know I always thought very highly of you.” He sighed when she said nothing. His hand fell away from her esophagus and he took a step back. “I came to warn you. You made a big mistake taking McClary’s side.”

Rubbing at the fresh bruise staining her throat, Juliette stared at him. “Are you threatening me?”

Arlo rolled his eyes. “I’m warning you. Didn’t I just say that?” He shook his head slowly as though she were stupid. “You have no idea what kind of guy he is.”

“And you’re suddenly all about protecting me?” she shot back. “You gave me to him.”

“That was business!” he retorted. “I never thought you’d be dumb enough to become his full time whore.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I consider us friends and friends don’t let other friends get in bed with the enemy.”

There was so many things fucked up about the whole scenario that Juliette couldn’t think of a single thing to say for a moment. Instead, she stood there and stared at the man who had basically sold her for his own profit, who had beaten and abused her and had threatened her and her family. Just to name a few things. In no shape or form did she believe for a second that he had her best interest at heart. For one, Arlo didn’t have a heart.

“Fine. You’ve warned me. Thank you.”

She started to turn away.

“He’s dangerous,” Arlo called after her. “He’s worse than I am.”

No one is worse than you are, she wanted to say.

“He’s been nothing but kind to me,” she said instead.

“He’s a killer,” Arlo cut in. “He’s not called the Scarlet Wolf because of his sparkling personality.”

The image made her blood run cold. It made her stomach roil and her mouth go dry. But outwardly, she fought hard to remain impassive.

“I don’t believe you.”

Truth was, she wasn’t sure what to believe. She didn’t know Killian. Not really. Arlo could be telling her the truth for all she knew. But for whatever Killian was, for whatever he’d done in the past, he had saved her life. He had done so when he had no reason to. He had given her a future, one free of pain and suffering. He may not have yet earned her respect, but he had her trust and her loyalty, and both went a long way with her.

“Ask him,” Arlo said with a shrug. “Or don’t. I really don’t care. I have cleared my consciences. Have a good life, Juliette.”

With a salute, he spun on his heel and disappeared back the way he’d come. Several minutes later, she heard the slam of a car door, followed by the roar of an engine. She didn’t wait to see him come out. She didn’t wait to see if he would run her over. She turned quickly and ran towards the opening just as piercing headlights exploded behind her as the Bentley turned down the alleyway after her. He didn’t stop or slow down. He hit the street and swerved left. Juliette watched as the car hit a bump and disappeared from sight down the next street.

“He’s a stone cold killer.”

Those five words looped through her mind the whole way home. It wouldn’t stop even when she showered and got ready for bed. The whole time, she kept asking herself what she’d gotten herself into and what was she going to do to get out.

But did she want to get out? Had she not already owed Killian her life, had he not already paid a small fortune for her freedom, would she want to get away from him? It was insane, but the answer was always no. It didn’t seem to matter how much logic and reasoning she threw at herself, how many times she tried to discourage the unwavering force that had become her resolve where Killian was concerned, her answer was always the same.

She didn’t want to go back on her promise to be his for a year. She didn’t want to stop seeing him, maybe even after the year was up. And it wasn’t even because of what he’d done or how good looking he was. Those things were remarkably insignificant compared to the fact that she just wanted to see him.

Maybe she was crazy. Maybe it was some hybrid Stockholm syndrome type thing or she just felt supremely indebted to him, but the truth remained the same—she liked him, which was no doubt ludicrous and dangerous and her death waiting to happen.

Nevertheless, she had every intention of signing his contract, of becoming his for an entire year. But not until she had clarified a few things first.

A man in a green polo t-shirt stood on Juliette’s porch the next morning. He beamed a million watt smile and offered her an inclination of his head when she opened the door. A massive SUV sat on the street behind him, looking oddly in place amongst all the other SUVs and BMWs belonging to her neighbors.

“Hello Ms. Romero. I’m Ted,” he said, continuing to blind her with all those sparkly teeth. “Mr. McClary sent me to retrieve you for your lunch meeting.”

Juliette nodded. “Thank you. I’ll just grab my purse.”

Vi appeared at Juliette’s shoulder, forcing her way into the conversation. Despite being younger, she towered over Juliette by a full two inches thanks to the soft, leather boots strapped on over her tight, black leggings. The dark contrasted with the buttercup yellow dress she wore overtop, adorned by rows of silver chains and a fat, yellow bracelet. Overtop, she wore a midriff baring jacket in faded black. She looked more like she was on her way to some upscale photoshoot and not high school.

“Who’s Mr. McClary?” she demanded, squinting at Ted. “Who are you?”

“Don’t be rude.” Juliette pushed her sister back into the house. “Get your things or you’ll be late getting back to school. Lunch will be over in twenty minutes.”

“Who’s McClary?” Vi pressed, refusing to let the matter drop.

“No one that is any of your business.”

She stalked around the girl towards the kitchen. She paused in the bathroom to double check her face and the heavy weight of makeup concealing Arlo’s handiwork. It was all mostly covered, unless a person got very close and saw the faint shadowing no amount of makeup could conceal. But thankfully, Vi never bothered to pay close attention to anything that didn’t regard her, Mrs. Tompkins was nearsighted, and Killian had already seen them. It was just the rest of the world she hoped to fool.

“Is he rich?” Vi followed her, her heels cracking against hardwood. “Are you sleeping with him?”

“That is none of your business!” Juliette spun away from the mirror to confront her shadow. “And I don’t appreciate you asking me these questions.”

Pushing past her sister, she left the bathroom.

Rolling her eyes, Vi stalked into the kitchen after her and grabbed her backpack off the kitchen table.

“Whatever. He’s probably fat and hairy anyway.”

Saying nothing, Juliette got her own purse off the counter, double checked to make sure she had everything she would need, and then followed Vi to the front door.

The man was still standing there. He ushered Juliette to the SUV as Vi hurried down the block to meet up with her friends, who she refused to let anywhere near their dumpster house, which suited Juliette just fine. Normally, she wouldn’t even come home for lunch, except she had no money and thus couldn’t go out to eat like she wanted to. It was mortifying, Vi always said, because she was the only one of her friends who had to make up excuses as to why she couldn’t go out to eat like everyone else. Juliette wasn’t sure what excuse she gave, and frankly, didn’t care.

“Where are we going?” she asked Ted as he hurried ahead of her and yanked open the backdoor of the SUV for her.

“Ocean and Park,” he told her.

Ocean and Park was a high end country club that catered to celebrities, drug lords, and royalty. The pristine acreage stretched an almost unreal green far out of the city and overlooked the marina. Juliette had once had friends whose fathers had owned fancy boats and yachts and would spent entire summers sunbathing out on the lake. Ocean and Park had been too exclusive though, even for her circle of friends.

The SUV rolled to a gentle stop before a set of gleaming gold gates guarded by ivory stone walls. Ted rolled down his window and a melodious voice spoke through the intercom spearing up from the white gravel.

“Welcome to Ocean and Park, where our only priority is to help you unwind. Please state your name and client ID number for our records.”

Juliette was impressed and oddly intimidated.

“Ted Webster. I have Mr. McClary’s guest, who he is expecting.”

There was several seconds of silence where Juliette assumed Ted’s story was being validated. It must have checked out, because the voice returned.

“Thank you. Please continue and have a wonderful day.”

The gold gates swept open without a sound, revealing miles of lush, green that spanned on forever. In the distance, she could just make out the glimmer of water. Sitting regal and impressive, sat the estate with its stucco walls and enormous bay windows. The winding path cut a white gash all the way to the circular driveway and the marble fountain that bubbled and frothed in the beautiful afternoon sun. Ted pulled the SUV to a stop just beneath a wide set of stairs. A boy of nineteen hurried down them in his crisp black and gold uniform and yanked open her door. He bowed his head once without a word before hopping back to allow her to exit.