Page 54 of Uprising

And that’s for him to stay here and forget about Florida.

CHAPTER31

Noah

When I was a child, my mother read to me once. I’m not sure why she wanted to, it was like a flip of a switch. I was ignored, and then suddenly one evening when I was seven, she wanted to read to me. Dad was gone on some business trip, and this one time, she decided to stay back home with me. I’m not entirely sure why. She made me dinner instead of having one of the nannies do it. She then helped me get ready for bed, right before reading me ‘Goodnight Moon’. It was magical.

Only it died the next day when Dad came home and I was back to being a forgotten child they didn’t want. I threw every mug in the house, breaking nearly every glass, but nothing made her read to me again.

They never said a word, but I knew they were disappointed in having a child like me.

It was like this itch inside me; it was there when I was a child. The need to destroy something because I could only hurt myself so much.

And that itch sat heavy against my chest. Even now, Reed lies next to me, one arm over his eyes as he takes shallow breaths.

I know he’s asleep, and while a part of me wants to stay here and watch him. Bathe in his presence? That itch won’t let me.

I sit up, holding my breath as I swing my legs over and stand. The constant ache in my shoulder remains as I move off the bed and towards the bedroom door. Twisting the handle, I peer over my shoulder when the door creaks open. When Reed doesn’t move, I quietly step out and close the door behind me. I held my breath, waiting for any movement that tells me he woke up. But when it never comes, I blow raspberries. Glancing over at the open window at the back of the house, the sun settles just above the mountain, slowly plunging the cabin into darkness.

When I did my snooping the last time, I never got to the kitchen. I figured he wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave cliff notes just hanging around. Granted, when I finally got downstairs, it only took me two seconds to find the right door. I mean, who just leaves a gunroom door opened? It was like he wanted me to find it. Not that I blame him. How do you bring up being a murderer to someone?

If it were me, I have no idea what I would do. It’s not like it’s easy to just slip off the tongue.‘Hi, I’m an ex-hitman, maybe still am. I used to kill people, but don’t worry, I don’t plan on killing you’.

I’d probably freak out more if he told me. But that also begs the question, why won’t he kill me?

Not that I’m asking him to, as I'd very much like to live. But what makes me so different? I can’t be that special. I’m annoying, talk too much, and random facts live rent-free in my head.

Shaking my head, I make my way into the rustic kitchen. When I first saw this place, I thought I was dreaming. I’m not one that’s usually surprised by luxury things, especially not houses or cabins. But this place was different. It had vaulted ceilings, making the place feel inviting and warm. It wasn’t like my parents house. Theirs was cold and hateful.

I open one of the dark wood cabinets, finding cans of different vegetables.Hmm, it seems like someone was into canning.One of my nannies had a thing for living off what we have. She was big into canning, growing her own fruit and vegetables. But it only makes me wonder who in this household did it. I can’t imagine Reed doing it, and from that picture I doubt the man in the mask would.

Moving along, I open nearly every cabinet until I find the mugs. I pull one down before grabbing one of the tea bags and placing it under the faucet.

“When did you get up?”

“AHH!” I scream. Jumping up, my heart pounds against my chest as I take Reed in. Bare-chested, he stands before me with his arms crossed. “You scared me.”

“You need to learn to listen for every sudden movement.”

Rolling my eyes, I place the mug into the microwave.

“How do you have power?” I ask.

“Generator and solar panels.”

“Hmm.” I hum, nodding my head.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Reed steps forward, leaning his elbows against the island. How can one be so attractive? The way the scar somehow makes him hotter. It adds to the roughness about him. The way his lips tip up when he tries to hide his smile. It’s distracting and maddening but so ungodly beautiful.

“Do I need to tie you up to make you answer my question?” Reed's voice breaks into my daydream.

“Don’t tempt me with a good time,” I mutter as the microwave beeps. “But, no, uh, I just woke up. You were still sleeping, and I didn’t want to disrupt you.”

Pulling the mug out, I’m too quick to take a drink, burning the inside of my mouth. My eyes slam shut as I blow out a breath.

“That’s what happens when you warm something up.”

---