Page 11 of Wanted

The Count would survive what I was about to do to him.

And it wasn’t like I had a choice. Me and my brother would lose everything if I didn't follow through.

People like to imagine that therearealways choices in life. That one can always choose the moral course. That oneshouldalways choose the moral superior.

But here's what I’d tell those people… until you've walked a mile in my shoes, you don't get to judge.

Because at the end of the day, there's no argument, moral or otherwise, that would convince me a bunch of rich people shit and piles of money are worth more than my brother's life.

And that's what's at stake here.

So those people can shove their moral high horse up their ass.

I'm going to save my brother, even if I have to betray the Count and lose everything else in the process.

The Count gave me three rules.

And I'm about to break them all.

3

Ifell in love with my bedroom the moment I stepped through the door. And then I felt guilty, thinking of my brother and what he'd have to do to survive while I was here living like a queen.

The room was huge with a sitting area by a grand fireplace, a balcony with a hammock, a four-poster, canopied bed entwined with ivy, and an old-fashioned antique wardrobe inexplicably stocked with beautiful clothing all my size. Designer shit. All of it. I made a mental note to ask Leonard about the clothes.

But first things first, I took off my 'borrowed' dress and folded it carefully, prepping it for its return to the store. Then, I threw on a ripped Black-Eyed Peas band t-shirt and sweatpants before tossing myself onto the most comfortable bed I'd ever experienced. It felt like floating on a cloud.

Already, I could tell I’d regret leaving this place, once that time came.

After a half hour, I climbed out of the feathery goodness and stretched. Work didn’t start until tomorrow, so I had the night to myself.

But what to do? I didn't feel like going out. Yeah, I should start creating a plan for my mission, but not now. Not yet. Maybe I could have just one night to myself? To not think of all the shit I'm sinking in? To pretend like my life might work out okay?

I sighed and decided it was best to use my newfound time to adjust to my new schedule. I've always been a night owl, so it wouldn’t be too hard. And to be honest, I don't sleep well, day or night.

I padded over to the well-stocked bookshelf and pulled a book down. And in minutes, I was curled up under a soft, cozy blanket, reading in front of the fire like it could actually be my life. It made me feel warm and good inside, even if I was only pretending for an evening.

I don’t know how much later it was when my grumbling stomach interrupted my story to remind me it had been awhile since I’d actually eaten. I set the book aside and rose, giving the base of my spine a good rub before heading out to find the kitchen.

I found the kitchen, after a few detours—there were so many freaking doors—and once there, it took me a bit to discover where everything was. The place was gourmet, through and through, and everything looked brand new as if it had never been used. Was it all a front? Did they even have any food in here? Geez, was that why Leonard was so thin?

Finally, I did find the fridge—the kind that’s hidden inside the wall of cabinetry camouflaged to look just like another cupboard—and while not brimming with food, there was enough real fruit, vegetables, and lunchmeat to at least make a decent sandwich.

The cupboard next to the fridge proved to be a mini bar filled with hard liquor. A bottle of whisky with a white bow and a card with the word ‘welcome’ stood apart from the rest.

My hand shook as I reached for the whiskey and ran a fingertip over the golden label. Then, I caught myself and pulled back, as if bitten.

It was so hard, so difficult to ignore the powerful, seductive lure of alcohol. I closed my eyes, reliving the burn in my throat, taking away my pain and making me forget, for just a little while, the awfulness of my life…

No. I wouldnotgive in. Not today. Not right now.

Instead, I yanked open the door of the fridge, grabbed the bread, some meat, cheese, lettuce, tomato, and mayo and put together a turkey sandwich. Sandwich in hand, I continued my exploration of the cupboards.

I was halfway through my meal and nearly done with the cupboard contents when a voice startled me from behind.

"If you make a list of your food preferences, Leonard will ensure they are stocked," the Count’s deep baritone rumbled from the doorway. He leaned against the frame, arms loosely crossed over his broad chest, his dark eyes orbs of mystery against his pale, smooth skin.

"Thank you," I said, surprised he wasn't making me—the housekeeper—do the grocery shopping. "Um. I don't drink.” I waved in the direction of the whisky with the bow. “Just… If that was meant for me, I don't need it."

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