Page 67 of Newton

I lost count long ago of the number of houses Nathan owned. I used to wonder if he had a house that we could move around every day of the year and still have a new place to go to the next day.

It's no surprise that the goon of the week urges me out of the back seat of the car in front of one I've never seen before.

When we go inside, I'm not surprised either to see the house fully furnished.

What did surprise me was the house Xan took me to back in Farmington, but I imagine that place was only where we were meeting. Nathan would never spend any real length of time in a place like that. He's a fan of luxury and high-end living.

"Your room is over there," the scarred man growls, pointing to the door on the far wall.

The house isn't big, but I know from history that it will have at least three bedrooms. I swallow, thinking of Xan. If this house was acquired in the last several weeks, it may only have two.

"Go," the guy insists when I stand in the middle of the tidy living room.

My feet carry me across the room, but my mind is a million miles away in a place where I'm safe, a place where my mom never met Nathan Adair.

I know the butterfly effect of that fantasy would've left me never meeting Beck, but the pain I've been through in my life tells me that we should both be okay with it. My heart clenches as I open the door. It tries to tell me that destiny would've had us meeting in a different way, that fate wouldn't be so cruel to keep us apart, but I know better. Cruel is all I know, other than the time I spent with him.

It's eerie how familiar the room is even though I've never been here before.

The bed is covered in expensive white bedding. Nathan was always a fan of being able to easily see my blood when he hurt me. I know before I even get to the window that it will either be sealed shut or...

"Motherfucker," I growl when I pull back the curtains and see the bars.

I noticed them outside, and I knew the one window that was covered with them had to be mine.

The bathroom is interior so it will have no windows. The only way out of the house is through the two pieces of shit that brought me here.

The dresser has an old-fashioned perfume spray bottle on it, and I don't have to pick it up and sniff it to know that it's the scent of roses. I still have no idea where his obsession with it came from, but I've always suspected that it has something to do with his mother, which is creepy all on its own.

I shudder as a wave of goose pimples covers my body.

I know it's unlikely that the men in the living room will bother me, but I close the bedroom door anyway.

I want to be brave. I want to be able to face Nathan with my head held high, but I know I'll cower and beg like I always do. I know it'll take some time before he's here, but he'll get here eventually. There isn't a court or jail cell that can hold him.

I pull off my heavy coat, the warmth in the room making sweat bead between my shoulder blades, and hang it in the closet, cringing at the clothes hanging on the rack inside.

Nathan will be more than a little upset with the weight I've gained while in New Mexico, most of it during this last month. He always wanted me to be lithe. We have an image to keep after all.

It's very possible that the goon squad will report back to him how I look and how I act. It wouldn't surprise me that Nathan made accommodations just for this situation, and already has an exercise program and diet prepared so I'm in fighting form when he returns.

"You're not going to fucking believe this," I hear through the door.

"What's that?"

I can tell by the voice, that the man talking is the one who threatened the lives of the people in the parking garage. I can picture his scarred face as I press my cheek to the door in order to hear them better.

"Bossman got released," the other guy says, making my blood run cold.

"You're fucking kidding me," the scarred man growls, and I can't tell if it's excitement in his tone or if he's honestly shocked.

I shouldn't be shocked. Nothing ever holds Nathan for very long. What should be shocking is him remaining in custody in New Mexico for as long as he did.

"What about the case in New Mexico?" This is once again the scarred man.

"Who fucking cares. Do you think he'll let us fuck her?"

I hate the sinister chuckle I hear, and I'm unable to determine from which of the guys it came.

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