Page 8 of A Twisted Gift

A price that will never be paid.

Wind whips around me as I creep across the stone wall circling the Montgomery estate. It’s slippery, covered in slush since it’s not quite cold enough to freeze, but that could never stop me.

Since I moved back home, I can’t go more than a day without seeing my Rose. I’m too worried that she’ll slip from my grasp again, and that I’ll find myself back where I was. Holding a wilted rose, wondering if it was actually given to me or if I made up a childish story to explain away the fact that I stole from my neighbor’s garden.

The wall encircles quite a bit of the Montgomery’s property, so I have to climb down the inside and sneak across the yard to the tree next to the house. I have to time all this carefully to avoid the men who walk the perimeter so I don’t get caught. I’m just grateful it’s been a warm winter so I don’t have to worry about covering my tracks in the snow.

I climb the tree with ease. There’s a sunroom on the first floor that juts out from the house, the roof sloping upward at a slight incline. It’s a risky jump, but I’ve made it every night for the past two weeks.

This time, I pause, making sure I’m ready. The roof is slick with slush, and if I fall, my chances of getting caught by the two men guarding the perimeter will skyrocket.

It’s worth it, though. It always is.

So, after steadying myself, I make the leap. My feet start sliding, but I lurch forward, grabbing onto the sill of one of the second-floor windows. One ofherwindows.

Carefully, I pull myself up, not letting go of the rough brick until I’ve found my footing. Once I’m safely balanced, I peer inside. The lights are off, as usual, and I can just make out a familiar form in the bed.

My hands move to the window, pushing it open. It’s an old house, so I have to go slowly so it doesn’t creak. Over the past two weeks, I’ve crept into Rose’s room every night, and the window has never been locked. And why would she bother, with a fifteen-foot wall surrounding the house and guards protecting her? She probably keeps it open during the spring and fall and never even thinks about the safety concern.

Once the window is open, I slip inside. Her window seat is obviously well-used, with a stack of books on one side. I almost knocked them over the first night I came in here. It tickled me, realizing she’s a bookworm and wondering how often we were reading at the same time. Connected in some way, even if we were miles and miles apart.

I close the window to keep the cold air out and turn to face the bed. Rose is asleep, but instead of the peaceful expression she normally wears, her brows are furrowed. Tear tracks stain her cheeks, and her eyes are all puffy.

A familiar rage fills me, one I first experienced as a young boy when I watched her father slap her across the face.

Whoever made her cry will pay.

Careful not to disturb her, I lower myself onto her bed. I’ve done this the past couple nights—sitting here, silently watching her, soaking her in. My brain hasn’t caught up with the fact that she’s really here—that Charles has been hiding her here for somewhere near twenty years.

I want to touch her, but instead, I raise my hand to feel the scar that runs across my right cheek. It used to be my biggest insecurity. Children can be cruel, especially when they’re made to feel like they have to compete with each other socially. But as I got older, I learned to use it to my advantage. It helped me create an intimidating persona, one that helped me rebuild my family’s empire so quickly after I graduated college.

But I don’t want to intimidate my Rose. I want her to see me for who I am—the same boy she met all those years ago. A man who’s built a life around dreams of her.

There was a part of me that attempted to escape her when I was younger. I tried to convince myself she was a figment, not a memory, and threw myself into moving on. School, sports, women, men—I tried it all. But I always found myself crawling back to my Rose. She haunted my dreams, took my mind captive, and I was helpless to the draw of her.

And now the time to fulfill my promise is almost here. I vowed to myself that I’d save her, that I’d take her far away from the man who hurt her. I just hope she remembers me, and that she can come to forgive me for leaving her here for so long.

After a few minutes, I stand. I never stay for long, even on the nights I went through her things to learn about who she’s become. The risk is too high, and I have work to do at home. It’s almost ready for her, but I need everything to be perfect.

I gaze down at her, taking comfort that this is the last time I’ll visit her like this. But the tears on her cheeks grate against my nerves.

“I’m sorry I can’t save you yet,” I whisper, stroking her hair.

My other hand curls into a fist. This is the part I hate the most—leaving her here with that vile man she calls a father. I’d take her now, but the only way out like this is over the wall. If she fights me, she could fall and get hurt, or we could both get caught.

No, it has to be tomorrow. Charles will welcome me into his home with open arms, and I’ll snatch his daughter away before he even realizes what he’s done.

Rose moans and cracks open her eyes. “Marissa?” she murmurs sleepily, reaching out toward me.

I stay perfectly still. Like this, my face is shrouded in darkness. She may be able to see my silhouette, but not any other defining features.

“Mar?” she asks. “Are you all right?”

“Sleep, Rose.” Gently, I take her hand and press a kiss to her knuckles. “This is just a dream.”

Letting out a tired sound, she rolls onto her side and closes her eyes again. I wait until her breathing deepens before climbing back out the window.

Once I’m on the roof, I crouch low, waiting for the guards to pass by. Charles is right to hire them. His hands are covered in blood, and I’m sure there are many men who want him and his family dead.

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