Page 125 of Shattered Souls
35
RILEY
“There’s my girls,” Bertram greets with that creepy as fuck smile in place when we walk into the dining room that night, dressed in the outfits he picked out and left outside the bedroom door for us. I’ve never felt more uncomfortable, like we’re dolls he’s dressed up for his amusement.
He stayed true to his word and left us alone last night. At first, I was able to ignore our situation as I focused on reassuring Aurora and coaxing her to sleep. But once she was out, I was on alert. I lay awake, lying between her and the door the entire night, listening...
To every creak.
Every squeak of a floorboard.
The whistle of wind at the window.
Thetapof the tree branch against the glass pane.
All of it served to startle me awake every time my heavy lids dared to close.
Except, not once did he come.
And all day today, he was absent—even when I crept from the room down to the kitchen to grab food for Aurora. I’d checked the front and back doors and various windows, findingthem all locked and the keys conspicuously absent—just like he’d said—before trying the old house line, which was still where I remembered. Of course, the line had been disconnected, leaving us trapped in this house without a means of contacting the outside world.
It was only when I was starting to think we might actually be alone in the house that the clothing showed up, along with a note asking us to be in the dining room at 7 p.m. sharp.
Honestly, I’m not sure what’s worse. The frantic stress of not knowing where he is and when he will just appear like an apparition, or having to endure his presence. To feel the brush of his gaze scraping like claws of possession over my skin.
It’s all one big psychological game.
A mind fuck of epic proportions.
I’m just waiting for the actual games to begin because everything thus far has been about the waiting, the anticipation, and building up the tension.
Only it’s not like the build-up when Grayson tells me torun. There’s nothing fun about this. It’s not excitement that has my heart thumping against my chest. The anticipation isn’t what has me twitchy.
It’s fear.
Blinding terror.
It seizes my muscles and clenches my stomach. It has taken control of my every action and plagues my every thought. Prevents me from acting rationally. Thinking logically.
Makes it sohow the hell do I get us out of here?is the only question circling on repeat in my head.
And the answer: I have no fucking idea.
Aurora’s hand is clutched tightly in mine. I gave her firm instructions to behave tonight. Not to say anything to him and to respond when he talks to her, even if it’s just a smile. All I want is to make it through this dinner unscathed. I’m clinging to thehope that Bertram won’t try anything too daring with her here, and after dinner… well, I’ll worry about that later.
“Sit.” He gestures toward the table where three place settings are laid out, food already waiting for us. “Dinner is served.”
My stomach flips, and it’s not due to hunger.
“This all looks lovely,” I say politely, forcing a smile as I settle Aurora into her chair before sliding into the one next to her. Unfortunately, that places me within touching distance of Bertram, but better me than her.
He immediately clasps his hand over mine. Anyone peering in the windows would think it was a sweet family dinner. They wouldn’t notice how I wince as his tight grip crushes my bones. They wouldn’t see the tension fizzling in the air. Smell the fear that permeates the room.
With a fork in hand, I push my food around my plate. I can’t bring myself to attempt a single bite. I have zero appetite. Unsurprisingly. How can I, when I’m sitting at a table opposite the last man on earth I want to be sharing a meal with, in the house that haunts my nightmares, with my daughter's safety on the line?
“Do you like your new room, Aurora?” Bertram asks. I immediately tense, my fingers tightening around the fork in my hand.
“Y-yes, Sir.” Aurora’s voice is small, and Ihatethis. The entire fucked up situation.
