Page 17 of Séance

RUE

The evening arrives much too soon for my liking. Then again, I’m not sure any amount of time would be enough to slay my nerves. I come up with a million reasons why meeting with the guys is a bad idea, but none of them silence my need to see them again.

I’m not sure if it’s something about them that tempts me or if it’s just the novelty of being able to do whatever I want.

Freedom is addicting, and honestly, it’s a little intimidating too.

There is so much to experience that I don’t know what to do first, and indecision leaves me floundering. I spend the afternoon searching the internet for anything pertaining to the guys. There is so much information about them that it’s hard to know if any of it is true. Frankly, not a lot of what I find is very complimentary.

They are insanely popular, which is a mark against them in my opinion.

Hicks and Jameson are everywhere online, and they seem to thrive on attention. Jaceson and Ellis are more reserved, everything posted about them done by someone else.

Gunner is nearly a ghost, and the information I unearth is almost nonexistent. The only things I can find are images of him fighting. Even though my brain wants to shy away from the violence, there is something magnetic about seeing him stripped down to just his pants.

Without a shirt, he seems bigger than life, his muscles even larger. What gets me is that they fight without shoes. Something about seeing his naked feet changes the image from menacing to vulnerable.

Covered in blood, a nasty cut over his brow, Gunner is the picture of determination. It’s almost like he’s fighting more than just his opponent. After viewing a dozen or so images of him bruised and bleeding, I click off the window, anxious to get away from the brutality.

I’m used to violence, intimately familiar with what it feels like to be pummeled by fists, but it hurts to see him injured, almost like I want to protect him, which is foolish. The man is easily twice my weight and towers over me, and yet I can’t get past the impression that I’m right.

Pushing away from the computer, I stand then tug on the bottom of my dress. It’s short, flirting with my knees, and I’m not sure I like feeling so vulnerable and exposed around strangers. I yearn for a pair of jeans, but dressing for supper has been beaten into me enough times that I can’t go against the impulse…yet.

It’s another thing I’m determined to fix.

Peering around my bedroom, I smile. With the guys’ help, the room almost looks complete. The empty boxes were hauled to the garage, so I’m no longer living in a cardboard jungleafter ordering so much shit online. I might have gone a little overboard.

Even my clothes have been properly folded or hung, thanks to Jameson’s help. If I ignored the way he touched all my underthings, I would almost be jealous of his organizational skills.

The room now looks like a normal teenage space, minus a few knickknacks and decorations.

I’m almost afraid to touch it.

I actually own things now—items that no one can take away from me as punishment.

The only luxuries my father allowed me to have were my books and my computer—not that I was ever allowed to go online without strict supervision. Communication outside of schoolwork was strictly forbidden. The one time I tried, the beating I received in return cured me of any rebellion.

As I got older, I was able to work around their restrictions, but it was always a dangerous endeavor and not to be taken lightly. Finding out that I was an heiress was a shock, money I inherited from a grandfather I never knew existed.

Unfortunately, I wouldn’t gain access until I turned twenty-five. The only loophole is if I attended college, the funds were approved to be released early to pay for my education. While my father allowed me to take online courses, he was completely oblivious to the fact that I graduated high school almost eighteen months early.

My current classes are college courses.

Since I didn’t need his money to enroll, I didn’t need his approval either.

At sixteen, I began investing my own money. It started small, a few dollars here and there, before gradually growing to thousands, then even more. Every time my father allowed me toresearch his business deals, I would use the time to increase my own portfolio.

Now, I’m quite wealthy in my own right.

Unfortunately, no amount of money was enough to escape my father. Until I am of legal age, I’m under his control.

With my father getting more and more violent, I knew it was only a matter of time before he finally succeeded in killing me. Call it instinct or intuition, but I knew I didn’t have much time left. Spirits often swarm places of violence, almost as if they can sense death. When more spirits began showing up at the mansion, I knew it was only a matter of time.

In a last-ditch effort to escape, I contacted the lawyer who created my trust fund and sent him a letter to be delivered to any remaining relatives with a plea for help.

To my shock, not only did my grandmother come to my rescue, but she also understood about spirits. For the first time in my life, I’m in a place where no spirits can reach me. The house is warded in a way so nothing can enter without permission.

My head is almost too silent without all the voices.

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