Page 7 of Wanted

We’d almost made a clean escape when the snoring from the couch turned to a series of coughs and my dad awoke. His eyes narrowed into slits as he sat up. "What the hell do you think you're doing, you little bitch?"

I paled as shame and rage leapt to life inside me. At my side, Leonard went ramrod straight and for a slight man who didn't look inclined to fighting a dude twice his size, he didn't seem the least bit worried or scared.

Curious. And impressive. Leonard instantly rose in my esteem.

"I'm leaving," I told my father.

My dad glanced between me and Leonard, clearly trying to assess the threat.

Leonard nodded politely. "Shall we go, Miss Blackwood?"

"You're not taking my daughter anywhere," my dad slurred.

I snorted at that. "He's not taking me, I'm leaving. And you can't stop me. I'm an adult." Reason never worked with him, and since I didn't want this to lead to an altercation, I followed up with a threat. “If you try to stop me, the cops will be here before you know it."

My dad hesitated, and I knew that was my chance.

I hurried to the door, but Leonard was there first, holding it open. I dashed through and he was close behind. We made it to the car and down the street before my dad left the house. By then, it was too late.

I exhaled deeply as we zoomed down the road.

"I'm sorry about that," I said. The words slipped off my tongue by rote programming. I've spent my entire life apologizing for my father and my family. Apologizing for daring to exist.

"You are not responsible for the actions of others," the butler replied.

His words surprised me, and I gave him a smile then leaned back in the leather seat and closed my eyes. My cheekbone still hurt from the run-in earlier, and I could feel the swelling getting worse. Tomorrow, the puffiness and probably even the bruise would be hard to hide. Still, I didn’t regret it. Not for a second. What would such a blow have done to Jeremy? I shuddered, knowing I'd take any number of beatings for him.

Unwilling to spare another thought on my dad, I forced my thoughts in a different direction and glanced at the butler. "Can I ask you something?"

"You may. I will answer if I can."

"What's the Count like to work for?" And live with. My bedroom had better have a lock on the door—and windows.

There was a long pause. "The Count is a very private person. As long as you follow his rules, you'll be fine."

"And what are those rules?" I asked. "Besides no lying."

"He wishes to tell you himself when we return."

Leonard wasn't exaggerating. The moment we returned the butler ushered me directly into the Count’s office even before taking my bag to my room.

Again, the Count stood in the candlelight, an enigma of fierceness and beauty. "You will clean in the evenings and have the days for rest, is that understood?"

Weird but whatever. I nodded.

"And you will follow the rules I set," he continued.

"And those would be?"

He placed a scroll—an honest to god scroll—in front of me. It was embossed in gold filigree, and written in calligraphy, were three rules:

I swear never to lie.

I swear never to steal.

I swear never to disobey.

There was an X and a line, presumably for my signature.

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