Page 12 of Twins for the Enemy

"I'm surprised you care about what I have for a view," she says. "I was under the impression that you hoped I'd suffer for the rest of my life."

"I don't care," I say. "But if you're constantly under distress, the twins will be too. Unfortunately, with thenature of human anatomy, my children are inside you. If they weren't, you'd be sleeping in a closet."

"You go to all of the feminist meetings, don't you?" she asks.

"I go to them at the same time as you go to the meetings for mental stability." I nod toward the window. "Check out the river. Tell me the view isn't gorgeous."

She doesn't say anything, but she walks over to the window and peers out. Her shoulders relax as she looks out.

I take a quick step back and close the door. I'd had a lock installed on the outside right before I left to get her, shaped like a compass decal just in case she noticed it. I hear her hurried steps as I turn the needle of the compass, locking it. The doorknob jiggles as she tries to twist and turn it, then shakes as she becomes more frantic.

"Let me out!" she yells. "What are you doing? Let me out! You can't do this. Shit!"

She starts banging on the door. I stare at the lock. Her whining only makes me think of how panicked Ellie must have been during the fire. This is nothing. There is no immediate danger to her. She can't see any black smoke filling the room or feel the heat of a fire getting too hot to deal with. This is child's play compared to what she did to Ellie.

"Please!" she says, panic and sadness creeping into her voice. Even the banging on the door sounds less confident. I take in sharp breaths, almost feeling claustrophobic. I close my eyes. I only want to take care of her because of the twins. I can't let her sway me that easily.

I reach for the lock.

I let my hand drop, pivoting and walking back down the hallway. It's not until I'm partway down the stairs that I stop hearing her. Her voice echoes in my head, as insistent as a desire to breathe.

Chapter five

~FARAH~

I've twisted the doorknob and rammed my shoulder into the door enough times that my hand is cramping and my shoulder aches. I rub deep into my palm, trying to think.

When my father would lock me in my room, the four walls seemed to close in on me. I thought it was because I had a smaller room, but this room is immense, and it feels the same.

I comb my fingers through my hair, feeling the hint of dampness from sweat. The claustrophobia was one of my fears about prison. I can deal with temporarily being in small spaces, but I don't know if I could dealwith it day after day. But here I am, trapped. And for what? For disappearing on Kieran?

I'd deserve it for running from the fire without checking for anyone still inside, but there is no reason for this man to care that deeply about that. If he's willing to blackmail and lock me in a room, morality isn't a huge hurdle for him.

I need to escape. I am not my father’s daughter, crying for salvation and waiting for Neal to intervene to save me. I will never let a man treat me like a criminal while he’s just a different kind of monster.

And if he’s going to treat me like a prisoner, I’m going to act like one.

I strip off the blankets from the bed. As I tie them end to end, I know it won’t be long enough. I take the curtain rods off and add them to the makeshift rope. With the king-size sheets and ten curtains, I’m fairly confident I’ll be able to reach the ground.

Two armchairs sit, angled toward each other, in the corner of the room with two windows behind them.I test the weight of the chair. It’s heavy enough that I can barely lift it off the floor. I pull the rope underneath it, then tie the end to one of the curtain rods. It should be a decent anchor.

I swing the other end of the rope out the window. I watch it flutter down, an unnerving reminder of how far I could fall.

I twist the sheets around my palm, considering keeping it that way. If I slip, it might prevent me from falling. As I look at the white on my palm, the memory of Kieran wrapping up my burned hand slams into my thoughts. He'd been so kind that night. I must have met Dr. Jekyll, and Mr. Hyde is here to remind me that if it seemed too good to be true, then it was.

I step onto the window ledge, slowly turning myself around as I keep a tight grip on the rope. I press the tip of my shoe against the exterior wall. It slips against the granite. The soles of my shoes are nearly flat from overuse; they’ll never be able to grip onto the side of this mansion.

"I'd assumed you'd wait at least a day before trying to throw yourself out the window."

I nearly fall right out, but my tight grip on the sheets stops me from becoming a pregnant pancake. I spin around. Kieran is standing below the window. He gives me a short wave. I scowl down at him.

"You think too highly of your hospitality skills if you couldn't tell that I'd try to escape as quickly as possible."

He shrugs. "And you think too lowly of me to think I wouldn't know what you would try. I'd prefer it if you didn't do it. For the twins' sake."

I glare down at him, but as the ocean in my brain slows down into calmer waters, I know he's right. It isn't worth the risk. I'd listened to my panic instead of reason. I rub my face, angry at myself for not coming up with a better plan. I shouldn't have walked over to the window when he asked me to look at the stream. I'd clung to some idea that he’d still be kind to me like the world's biggest fool.

Isn't that what my father said about me? That I'd filled my head with fairytales when reality kept showing me that it was cruel and unforgiving. My current situation proves that.

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