Page 114 of The Devastation You Reap
“Let’s check the place out. See if we can figure out what’s setting the alarm off.”
“Okay,” he places our bags by the stairs and follows me down the hall to the kitchen.
23
Leon
I’ve spent the last ten years hiding my feelings, masking what happened and how it… Shattered me. Ruined me. Destroyed me.
But never have I had to fight as hard to keep it all from erupting as I do walking into that cunt’s house.
From the second I step through the door. The scent. The sight. Everything comes rushing back.
The pain.
The mortification.
I follow Macie from room to room looking for anything that could be triggering her security notifications.
“This place is spotless. I assume there’s a housekeeper,” I observe.
“Yeah, she comes in once a week. She hasn’t found anything, but then she doesn’t go in all the rooms. Some are… off-limits.”
“Why? What is your uncle hiding?” I ask through gritted teeth knowing full well her uncle keeps more secrets than most are probably aware of.
I also know that Macie herself keeps one very big one.
“Beats me. I try not to pry for fear of what I might find. He’s not exactly…” She considers her words for a moment. “Open and honest.”
I want to scoff and tell her he’s the biggest cunt on the planet but somehow I manage to keep the thought inside.
She sweeps the formal dining room, the wood is all dark, the ornaments all gold, expensive and pretentious.
Richard Fletcher always did want to appear to be better than he was.
He hated being second best to Macie’s dad.
I often wondered if that was what drew him to me. I was second best too.
He must have seen that from the way Brett talked about us, our future, what he wanted for Luca. All his dreams for his golden boy.
She leads me to a room which looks about as relaxing as being stuck in a hornets’ nest before dipping into every room on this level of the house.
“I swear it’s just a fault with the system but they’re adamant it’s something inside.”
“Guess that means digging into your uncle’s secret rooms.”
She visibly shudders at my suggestion.
“He won’t know. He’s not here,” I say confidently until a thought hits me. “He’s not likely to come back… is he?”
Fear and panic like I haven’t experienced since I was eleven years old rushes through me.
I have no doubt she can see it on my face but other than narrowing her eyes at me, she doesn’t comment.
I need to be careful though because at some point she’s going to figure it out. That’s fine. I want her to know. But I want to be the one to deliver the blow, not let her put the pieces together herself.
“No, he won’t be coming here.”
