He looks at me coldly, and I know he knows. Right then, he sees into the heart of the issue. He can read me. He can see me—all of me. He knows what I’m trying to do.
“No, it’s not,” he says. “Eat.”
“Eat, eat, eat,” I snap. “You think this is how this works, then, right? You think it’s that easy? Kidnap me. Bully me. Treat me like crap, and then I’m supposed toeat? Just do what you say? Fuck you, Aiden.”
Without giving it any thought, I act rashly, picking up the bowl and throwing it at the wall. Soup splatters everywhere. Then I run through the cabin to the front door, but it’s bolted with three big chunky locks.
“You’re not leaving,” he says calmly from behind me, not rising to my level of anger even a little. “If you’re too nervous to eat, go to your room.”
I turn, shaking all over now. “Go to my room? You’re my brother, not my dad.”
“Stop saying that,” he grunts.
I march right up to him, so many emotions flaring through me. I don’t know what I’m feeling, except it’s more intense than anything I’ve ever experienced. Am I right? Could he read me? Could heseeme? All of me?
“Why, brother?Why? Why do you care? Don’t feel good about kidnapping your sister, is that it?”
“Your room’s this way,” he says, turning away from me, his shoulders tensed, the veins in his arms looking like they’re pulsing with rage.
I follow him—the only thing I seem capable of doing—to the rear of the house. Opening the door, I see a double bed covered in dust sheets. Everything is covered. There’s a padlock on the window.
“Is that an alarm?” I say, gesturing to a small plastic attachment on the window.
“Yes,” he replies. “I can help you with the sheets?—”
“I don’t need your help. Just leave me alone.”
He sighs, waits a moment, and then turns away. I close the door behind him. I can’t lock it. Padlocks are only good enough for windows, apparently. I go to the drawers, remove the dust sheet, find the bedsheets, and get to work. I can’t think about how he looked when he told me to eat. It was almost like he pitied me, but I don’t need pity. I never have, and I never will.
CHAPTER 7
AIDEN
“And the boys took care of you?” Dad says over a video call, sitting in his office still wearing his suit, though he’s loosened his collar. He only ever does that at the end of the day. In his late sixties, Dad’s still one of the hardest-working CEOs in America.
“Uncle Sam has always been kind to me, Dad,” I smirk.
Dad laughs gruffly. “Yeah, yeah. Me too.”
“Have you told Molly yet?”
“No. I don’t know how to.” He runs a hand over his gray head of hair. “Maybe I’ll let it be a surprise.”
“Is that a good idea? It might be too much of a shock.”
“She finally told me about her Anna for a reason, Aid.”
“Anna. It’s Ania, isn’t it?”
“Molly wanted to call her Anna, but Konstantin, that piece of filth, said it wasn’t Russian enough. If I could’ve gotten my hands on him when he was alive …”
“He did the world a favor.”
“You’re damn right. Are you good?”
The question catches me off guard. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You seem … different.” He leans forward, steepling his fingers.