Page 23 of Oh, Hell No

I started to stand to go get it for her.

“I can get it,” she told me, shooting up out of her seat. “I was just repeating you because chocolate sounded almost as good as the shower and bed had.”

Not going to allow that to get to me.

“Do you want a drink? I have some red wines here. A port that would pair well with chocolate.”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t really drink often. I mean, I’m not against it. I just don’t really enjoy it that much, probably because of my mom.”

That was understandable.

I gave her a nod, and she turned, taking her bowl with her back to the kitchen. I, however, needed another two shots of whiskey, so I went to fill my glass. Since I had her up here, I intended to get her talking. To learn about her childhood, past, family—anything could help me. If I could get things from her without her even realizing it, that might be easier.

I walked over to stand in front of the windows that overlooked the east side of the house. The full moon lit up the darkness. Tonight was already more relaxing. Not having to sit up here and pace over the fact that an innocent female was being kept like an animal in the basement was one reason. The other was having a solid lead as to where Perry Gerard had fled. I wanted to go to fucking Morocco and find him myself, but until he was found, I was the jailer.

The bitterness that I was the one stuck here with her had changed in the past seventy-two hours though. Now, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to leave her with anyone else.

She’d protected Perry her entire life, but who the fuck had protected her? She’d started dating Alec as an adult—that was almost three years ago, so she’d been twenty by then.

“This is delicious,” her voice said, drawing me out of my thoughts.

I swung my gaze from the moonlit night to see her standing there in my Carver’s Bootleg Whiskey T-shirt that hit halfway down her thighs and a pair of black leggings that I’d found in a guest bedroom, along with the panties. There were tops, too, but they weren’t baggy, and the bras I’d found were too smallto contain her tits. I’d decided one of my shirts would be big enough not to cling to her.

“Let’s go to the living room. It’s more comfortable,” I told her.

She seemed hesitant, but she nodded and then fell into step behind me. I wished she’d drink a little and loosen up. The more relaxed she was, the more she’d tell me. As it was, I had to use my charm to get information from her, and I wasn’t known for that. I might not be an asshole like Bane, but I didn’t talk much. Preferred the silence.

When I entered the most comfortable room out of the many like this one, I took the chair and motioned for Winslet to take a seat on the sofa. It was more plush and less fancy than the period pieces in this house. Her brown almond-shaped eyes studied me cautiously before dropping to her plate. She rested it in her lap after curling her legs up onto the sofa and tucking them in beside her.

“How old were you when your mom died?” I asked, not even leading into it.

This wouldn’t help me with finding her brother, but I was curious. I shouldn’t be. Our conversation should be all about Perry, but I wanted to know more about her.

She seemed surprised by that question. “I was fourteen,” she replied.

Damn. I hadn’t expected her to be that young.

“Were you sent to live with family?” Although I knew she had no other family.

She shook her head. “We didn’t have anyone. But we were lucky. Marley Luneze had been our elementary school counselor. Neither Perry nor I were in elementary school anymore, but she kept tabs on us. She’d always tried to talk to me and get me to tell her that our mother was abusive. I knew better than that. I could take the hits for Perry, but I couldn’t keep him with me if we were put into the system. Anyway, she had connections andwas able to take us both in instead of us going to a foster home or other home where we would be split up. Mom falling down those stairs was the best thing that happened to us.” She paused, and a small frown creased her forehead. “That sounds terrible.”

I was still stuck on the abusive comment and her taking hits for Perry. I knew the guy wasn’t big, and he was two years younger than her, but, damn, he was a guy. What guy let a girl take punches to protect himself? I didn’t care what age he was. I had thrown swings at seven years old. Our dads encouraged it inside the family. We dealt with our disagreements by fighting.

“Your mother hit you?” I needed clarification.

She bit her bottom lip, then took a deep breath. “She wasn’t well. But yes. If I didn’t step in, she’d do more than break Perry’s bones, like she did mine. He was fragile. She didn’t ever attack me unless I stopped her from going after him. I never understood what it was that made her hate him like she seemed to. He was a quiet kid. Smart. A people pleaser. Rule follower.” She stopped, and her gaze looked at me pleadingly. “It’s why I am struggling to believe he did all this. And if so, then I don’t think he was the actual one behind it. He was used by someone else. Possibly this Samson guy.”

It was the opening I needed to turn this discussion to Perry, and I could ask things to get more answers where he was concerned. Which was what I should have been doing because all I had learned had me hating a dead woman.

Focus on the problem, Oz.

“We will know when we find him,” I replied, not telling her that Perry had absolutely known what he was doing. He was brilliant at it. No one was using him as a puppet. “You both went to college. Got degrees. How did you get the loans, assuming that was how it was paid for?”

She smiled softly. “Marley. She cosigned with me. Perry, however, got a full ride. His IQ alone was impressive. He skippedhis eight grade and tenth grade years. Stanford gave him a full ride—considering our financial situation, he fell under the need category, and they wanted him bad. He graduated from high school the year I did. He’d done college freshman classes online that year too. By the time he was seventeen, he already had a year of college hours completed. Instead of four years, he completed his bachelor’s in three. He graduated from Stanford a year before I did from Mississippi State.”

Yet she didn’t see how he would maybe need money to help fund that company and open it up? That, in two years, he had become a multimillionaire from a start-up company, and that was fucking unheard of.

I struggled at not pointing that shit out to her. I wanted her to open up more. If she thought this was an interrogation, she’d flee the room. Shut me out. That wouldn’t help things.

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