Page 2 of Let Me
I pull away from him, and reluctantly, he lets me go. I take him in: The wide shoulders, trim waist, the hair that’s not so different from his oldest son’s.Onlyson, I have to remind myself. And that reminderhurts.
Caden thinks I played his brother. Thinks I’m responsible for his death. And while that’s a heavy burden to put on any eighteen-year-old, Ididplay him, and I played Caden too. I played them both, and they still don’t know the half of it. They don’t know the real lie.
But I regret it, and even though Rolland’s eyes are boring into mine, as if reminding me of ourdeal, as if warning me that I best act like I’m enjoying my time here, I hate him for it. I hate him for the brothers he made me tear apart.
His own sons.
How he lives with his own guilt, I don’t understand. I’m barely breathing in mine. Being here was never part of the plan. I wanted to stay in the States. I wanted to never set foot in Ontario ever again. But when Rolland calls, I answer.
When the glass shatters, Rolland glances upstairs, as if he can see all the way down the hall. He turns back to me and shrugs.
“He’ll be okay,” he says, and I know he doesn’t really believe it. I think he’s hurting for his son, too, but not enough. But I’m here, and even though I haven’tbeenwith Rolland—he stopped being ‘Mr. Virani’ to me a long time ago—in those three years, I’ve been subject to his every beck and call. Even when I moved to the States, even though I’m in a university in North Carolina. Even though I moved my mom into my shitty little apartment, too, because I wouldn’t dare let Rolland taunt me like that. And he tried. God, he tried to control every aspect of my life.
I fought back as hard as I could to keep myself disentangled from him.
But even through that, I’m still here. Because at the end of the day, he’s pulling the strings when it comes right down to it.
“I can’t stay long,” I say breezily, as if Rolland will be okay with that. Even though he won’t. It’s been two months since I was last here. Two months I’ve gotten out of this. As I make to step around him, to head to the back of the house, to the patio around the in-ground pool and the smell of hotdogs and hamburgers and the sound of music thudding outside, he grabs my wrist.
“You’ll stay as long as I need you to, right, darling?”
I swallow, nod, force a smile on my face. “Sure,” I answer him, and then I leave him standing there as I yank my wrist from him. I don’t dare look in the sitting room as I pass it on my way out.
Music greets me from the back patio, although calling it apatioreally undersells the property. The Virani house is easily worth ten million, maybe more, and the patio is triple the size of my shithole apartment in North Carolina. Here, there are men in suits, even in this heat, and women in dresses, which at least matches the weather. I’m, of course, in pants, because I’ve never really liked dresses, and the less of me there is exposed to Rolland Virani, the better. He’s a sick fuck, but he’s stayed off of me, physically, for the past three years, so I suppose there’s something to be said for that.
Not much.
But something.
“Wow, Riley, I didn’t expect to see you here.”
I still, my heart skipping a beat in my chest. The way in which Benji says my name, I know he didn’twantto see me here. I feel something tighten in my gut, the gleaming wood of the patio tilting beneath my heels as I turn to face him.
It’s better than facing Caden.
Where Caden is dark blonde hair and ice blue eyes, Benji is pure darkness. Dark hair, dark hazel eyes, and that wicked look on his face like he wouldn’t mind throwing me in the pool and holding my head under until I stopped squirming. Even then, I’m not so sure he’d be done with me. But it’s still better than facing Caden. Benji never liked me.
I swallow, take a glass of something pink—a color I hate—from a passing waiter (because Rolland, of course, spares no expense), and gulp the contents down before I say a single word to Benji.
“I didn’t expect to be here,” I finally say, the sweet liquor like honey on my tongue.
Benji smiles, glances at the empty glass and offers to take it. I hesitate. Benji isnota gentleman. I didn’t know much of him or Caden’s other friends, but I know that much. I know he’s been to prison, shortly after Jack died. I know he’ll probably go back, if the world is lucky.
But he keeps his hand outstretched and because I feel as if everyone’s eyes are on me, even though they probably aren’t—since the video, I’ve been overly paranoid—I hand him the glass.
Right when I let go, he lowers his hand, and the glass shatters at my feet.
I step back but stifle the scream that threatens to spill out of my mouth.
There’s complete silence around us.
Someone has even turned the music down.
I’m wearing caged sandals that I didn’t pay for, silver, and I see a shard of glass on one of the leather straps.
I meet Benji’s eyes, my face heating.
Then I hear a voice behind me, and that blush spills down through my body, spooling in my core.
