Page 15 of Fractured Loyalties
Sleep is not fucking possible.Not with Ivy in this house.
I pace the length of my room, my ribs raw and my mind gnawing on itself. The walls in here are twelve-inch stone, soundproofed like a prison, but it doesn’t block the ghosts that crawl up from the woodwork after midnight.
The place is full of fucking secrets. Many of which I don’t even know for sure.
I fight the urge to punch the wall until my knuckles splinter, but it would only rattle the bruises from tonight. My phone glows in the darkness. I have two missed calls from a number I don’t recognize, five more from my father, and none from anyone that might mean a goddamn thing.
I ignore them and toss the phone onto the bed before dragging my fingers through my hair. I raise the hem of my shirt to inspect my ribs. The bruising is already blooming across my skin. It’s going to look even uglier tomorrow.
Fuck you, Robert.He knew what he was sending me into. And if he thought he was proving some kind of point, I didn’t get it.
I let my shirt fall back down, and let my mind wander back to my meeting with innocent little Ivy in the sitting room. I shutmy eyes and replay the look on Ivy’s face when she saw me—her mouth opening and her eyes round with fear and some other emotion I can’t name.
She offered to help me. Why? What’s her angle?
I pace the perimeter of my room again. I can’t focus for shit, not while my chest is caving in and my mind is replaying the exact angle of Ivy’s thighs under that oversized nightshirt. Her skin, even in the shittiest light, looked soft and edible.
Fuck, I can picture her on my bed, my hands wrapped around her throat, and the slow bloom of panic turning to something else in her eyes. I flex my sore hands and feel my dick hardening under my pants. I can’t stand it. I need to see if she’s still awake.
The clock on the wall blinks, 3:09 AM. I open my door slowly and step out into the hall. There’s no movement in the house as I make my way to the main corridor.
By now, my father is probably sedated on Ambien with one of his whores, and my stepmother passed out in a chemical coma of another prescription. The servants won’t get up until six sharp, so I have a few hours before the first security check.
I’m coming for you, Ivy.
My shadow crawls ahead of me, stretching across the walnut panels like a warning. The air in the hall smells like polish and old air, thick with the memory of money and blood.
I stop by the library and listen for the breathing of ghosts. There is nothing but the faint hum of the HVAC and some distant clicks from the ancient pipes or ghosts.
Good.
I stalk on down the hallway, past the locked rooms and their slumbering secrets. The only sound is my own pulse, a drumbeat in my ears. When I reach Ivy’s door, I stop.
Her room is directly across from the north garden, a symmetric relic from the original blueprints. My father wantedher to be far from thefamilywing, but close enough to keep tabs on her.
I rest my hand on the door, my palm sweaty.
I could walk away.I should walk away.
But… I just want to see if she’s sleeping. I want to see if her mouth hangs open when she dreams, whether she sleeps in a ball or star-fished out. I want to see if her thighs look as soft as I remember, or if my brain is just fucking with me.
I twist the knob. It turns easily. She didn’t bother to lock it.
She didn’t listen to me.
I push the door open and step inside, letting the light from the hall bleed across the floor. Her room has a distinct smell that sets it apart from the rest of the house and is unique to her. It’s probably cheap perfume or detergent from her things from home, but it’s intoxicating, nonetheless.
I let the door swing shut behind me and stand perfectly still, letting my eyes rake over her body.
She’s sprawled on the bed as if someone threw her there, dead to the world. Her hair is a halo against the pillow, tangled and bright. Her face is softer, and her lips are parted just enough to see the hint of her pretty white teeth. Her nightshirt, a plain black T, has ridden up on her hip, exposing a bare, pale thigh.
Goddamn, she’s even better than I imagined.
I imagine she probably cried herself to sleep. For some reason, that thought makes my cock throb. Her chest rises and falls, seemingly in slow motion, bringing her peace in a hell she doesn’t even understand.
Slowly, I cross to the bed, moving carefully. Every muscle in my back feels tight. I sit on the edge, just barely, and the mattress gives a fraction of an inch beneath my weight.
She doesn’t stir.
