Page 38 of The Thief
I’m thinking about the choices I'm going to have to make, and whether I'm strong enough to make the right ones.
The house stays quiet. Dublin sleeps around me, unaware that tomorrow might be the day everything changes.
I start the car and drive home, carrying the image of her dancing with me. Knowing I'll see it again every time I close my eyes.
Knowing I'm already too far gone to turn back now.
CHAPTER SIX
alastríona
Marcus is everywhere.
I wake up to find him in the kitchen, reading a newspaper like he owns the place.
"Sleep well?" he asks, not looking up from his paper.
"Like the dead."
Poor choice of words in a house full of people who make their living from death. But Marcus just smiles, that cold expression that never reaches his eyes.
"Henry thought you might like to see the grounds today. Get familiar with your new home."
My new home. Like it's already decided, like I don't get a say in where I live or how long I stay.
"That's thoughtful of him."
"He's a thoughtful man. Generous to those who deserve it."
The implication hangs in the air like smoke. Be grateful. Be compliant. Earn your place in this family or find yourself back on the streets of Belfast.
I pour coffee from the pot he's already made. It’s black and strong enough to wake the dead. "What exactly do you do here, Marcus?"
"Whatever Henry needs."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer you need."
We stare at each other across the kitchen table. Him with his practiced smile and cold eyes, me with my father's stubborn streak and eighteen years of surviving without family protection.
"I think I'll explore on my own," I say.
"I'll come with you. Make sure you don't get lost."
"I'm sure I can manage."
"Henry insists."
Henry insists. Like I'm a child who can't be trusted alone, or a prisoner who might try to escape. Maybe both.
I finish my coffee in silence while Marcus pretends to read his paper. Every few seconds, I catch him watching me over the top of the pages, studying me like I'm a puzzle he's trying to solve.
It makes my skin crawl.
The grounds are beautiful; I'll give Henry that. Rolling green lawns that probably cost more to maintain than most people make in a year, rose gardens that look like something from a magazine, tennis court, swimming pool—the kind of luxury I've only seen in movies.
All of it surrounded by walls topped with security cameras.
