Page 104 of Cruel Riches

“So I can clean myself up?”

“Okay,” he said tersely. He pushed me back down the path, toward the front of the mansion.

“Anyone here?” he called out as we stepped through the main entrance. “Colette?”

I looked around the lavishly-decorated grand foyer as we waited for a response. A shiver ran down my spine as my gaze fell on a gilded portrait of George Lockwood, the first Lockwood to live on the island.

He looked a lot like Nate with his square jaw and high cheekbones. His eyes were a cold shade of gray-blue, captured so perfectly by the artist that they looked like they were staring right at the viewer. A signet ring was visible on one of the hands folded across his lap, and it carried the same motif as the Lockwood family crest—an arrow with a line through it on a shield. That same family crest was inlaid in gold on the marble floor.

“I don’t think anyone’s here, but you need to stay quiet anyway,” Nate said, shooting me a warning look.

I nodded. I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth by screaming my head off and trying to attract someone else’s attention when I was being allowed the luxury of a shower.

Nate led me up the double staircase to the third floor and directed me down a series of hallways in the eastern wing. “Here,” he said, flinging open a door to reveal a large bathroom with light marble tiles and polished silver fixtures.

I stepped inside, pointedly avoiding the large mirror in front of me. I knew I’d be horrified by what I saw in the bright light if I looked in it. What I saw in the compact mirror earlier was bad enough.

Nate locked the door behind us and turned on the shower. “You can have ten minutes,” he said, glancing at his watch.

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to give me any privacy?” I asked as I removed my jacket.

He sneered and folded his arms over his chest. “Not a fucking chance.”

With a sigh, I removed the rest of my clothes, wincing as I pulled the jeans down over my injured leg.

“Let me check that before you get in,” Nate said, stooping to look at the huge bandage on my thigh. He carefully peeled it off and frowned as he gently ran a finger over the cuts. Over the last few days, they’d scabbed over.

“Looks fine,” he muttered. “Just don’t let it get too wet in there.”

He waved a dismissive hand. I turned away and stepped into the shower, letting out a long sigh of pleasure as the hot water tumbled over my head and shoulders. I couldn’t believe how good it felt to do something as simple as bathing.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I massaged my head, lathering my hair with shampoo as I imagined all the other simple yet wonderful things I’d never experience again. Cotton candy melting on my tongue at a fairground… cool water lapping at my feet at the beach… fresh air blowing through my hair… my sister’s perfume wafting through the air…

I’d never taste, feel, or smell any of those things again. I’d taken it all for granted.

I even took time for granted, always assuming there would be enough for everything I wanted to do. Now there was a clock on my life, and it was ticking down fast.

I washed my body twice, desperate to rid myself of the slimy, filthy feeling that my imprisonment in the tunnel had left on my skin. I could see Nate staring at me out of the corner of my eye, but I avoided his piercing gaze, trying to pretend he wasn’t there. As long as I was in the shower, luxuriating in the sweet-scented steam, I felt like I was safe from him. As soon as I turned it off and stepped out, that sense of security would vanish, and I’d be back in the jaws of the beast.

“One more minute,” Nate called out, tapping on his wrist.

Shoulders slumping, I washed the suds from my body, visualizing my life slipping down the drain with them.

“That’s enough.” Nate reached in and turned off the water, leaving me shivering on the tiles.

I had no idea what was in store for me now, but I knew it would be bad. After all, I tried to kill him yesterday. He was bound to make me pay in a terrible way.

He tossed a white towel to me and watched as I dried myself. Then he made me lift my leg up so he could put a clean bandage on the cuts.

“I’m sorry,” I said, voice barely above a whisper.

Never had those two words tasted so poisonous. I had to say them, though, or else my upcoming punishment would probably be even worse than I could possibly imagine.

Nate patted the bandage to make sure it was on firmly. Then he rose to his feet. “What are you sorry for?” he asked. His eyes were cold but somehow searing at the same time. “For sticking the knife in my chest, or failing to kill me?”

I nervously licked my dry lips. “For hurting you,” I said in a small voice. “I was just trying to protect myself. You can understand that, can’t you?”

“Yes, I can.” A ghost of a smile played on his cruel lips as he stared down at me. “And now you can understand why I’ve been doing all of this. I’m trying to protect the world from you.”

---