Page 7 of Colton
He points at the door, and I sigh before moving towards it.
“Your daddy won’t be happy your room isn’t clean, Colton.”
His head snaps up when I say his name, a strange expression on his face that I can’t quite work out.
“If I catch you in here again,” his voice drops to a dangerous whisper, eyes locking onto mine with an unsettling intensity, “you won’t leave.”
His voice is cold, but something flickers in his eyes, something darker. It isn't just control. It's hunger—like I'm something he’s already decided to keep.
I roll my eyes and flip him the bird despite the way my heart hammers in my chest. “Of course, you will. Bye, rich boy.”
He clenches his fists but says nothing, and I let the door slam behind me.
I move into another room, closing the door so I can hear if that prick follows me. I press my trembling hands against it, trying to steady myself.
Pathetic. I shouldn’t be trembling—not because of him. I’ve dealt with worse. Haven’t I?
I’ve not trembled because of a man since…
I close my eyes and count to ten, inhaling deeply and holding it for as long as I can.
We don’t think about that.
Not anymore.
Chapter 4
Luella
The following morning, Mr. Blackwood knocks on my door, scaring me half to death. I didn’t expect him to turn up at my fucking bedroom door at six in the morning, but I curse myself for underestimating the fucker. I reach down to my hip, stroking the blade pressed against my skin just in case. Just in case he turned up like this, for example. He looks surprised to see me dressed and unfazed, his gaze sweeping greedily over my features and my chest. He licks his lips and smiles, which probably works on every unsuspecting woman he meets.
“Mr. Blackwood?” I stare into his cold eyes, hating that they were probably the last thing my sister ever saw. I want to claw them from his head, but instead, I force a smile to reassure him that I’m just the same as every other girl.
“Mary.” Another grin. “I’d like you to clean my bedroom today.”
My stomach twists, nausea threatening to spurt from my lips with sheer fucking disgust at the thought of being in his torture chamber. I know how many times he took my sister and his many other victims there. But I can’t let him see my fear.
My heart pounds in my chest, dread pooling in my gut. I nod, keeping my expression carefully schooled into one of naivety. “Of course, Mr. Blackwood,” I reply, my voice betraying none of the fear roiling beneath the surface.
He lingers in the doorway, his gaze fixating on my lips before meeting my eyes with a challenge. “Good. I expect it to be spotless.”
As he walks away, I close the door, leaning against it, allowing myself a moment to gather my composure. The thought of stepping into that room—the epicenter of his depravity—makes my skin crawl. But I must do this. For her. For all of them.
I make my way to Xavier’s bedroom, the weight of the knowledge it holds pressing down on me with each step. His door is ajar, and I push it open with a sense of foreboding. The room is a stark contrast to Colton’s; where his son’s space is cold and immaculate, Xavier’s is a den of opulence, layered with the scent of his cologne and the heavy musk of power.
I start with the surfaces, dusting and polishing, each stroke fueled by the memory of my sister’s terrified eyes. But as I work, I can’t shake the feeling of being watched. I glance over my shoulder, half-expecting to find Xavier lurking in the shadows, but there’s no one there.
Then I see a battered file on his dresser, which looks like it holds nothing important but has been left specifically for my attention.
I just know it.
My curiosity gets the better of me, and I inch closer, my heart hammering in my chest. I tell myself I’m looking for anything that could be used against him.
With trembling hands, I turn the cover and find a collection of photographs. My breath catches in my throat as I take in the girls’ faces, all of them, some younger than I am. There’s a cold,hard lump in my stomach as I realize what I’m holding: evidence of his crimes, his trophies.
I sweep through, tears blurring my vision as I look for my sister, but before I can find anything, I hear the creak of a floorboard behind me. I whirl around, the photographs slipping from my fingers and scattering across the floor. Now, they’re evidence of my snooping, and I curse myself for being caught. My eyes meet Colton’s, his expression unreadable, his steely gaze fixed on the incriminating evidence at my feet.
“I thought you were meant to be cleaning, not making more of a mess?”
