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I swallow.
Gregory suddenly smiles, and his whole expression changes. It’s disarming.
And calculated.
“The fact that he’s not technically firstborn means he’s not really head of the family. That role goes to the son who takes it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I could want my own Willow Girl. Seems like fun.”
“You’re sick, you know that? Perverted”
“Maybe. Probably,” he adds, as if agreeing after a moment’s thought. “Still.” He reaches out to touch my face, and I bat his hand away. “I liked watching you come.”
I swallow, feel sweat pool under my arms.
“Maybe you like sick and perverted. I mean, you seem to like my brother.”
“Tell him if that’s what you want. He won’t do what you say.”
“No? How well do you think you know my brother?” He pauses for effect. “You willing to risk it?”
I study his eyes, try to read what he’s thinking.
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll keep your secret. This way, you and I, we can have our own.” He places his fingers on my jaw, and for a minute, I wonder if he’s measuring the fingertips against the fading bruises. “Just between us.”
He’s fucking with me.
I pull away, force my legs to move. I get to the door before I turn around.
“I’d rather you tell him,” I say. “I’d rather take a whipping than keep a secret with you.”
It’s full dark when I run back to the house. I don’t stop once, not even when I lose one of my flip-flops. I go straight upstairs, up to my room, slam the door behind me.
I’m in such a panic, I don’t even notice Lucinda, not until I’ve trapped myself inside with her. She’s reclining on my bed, her feet crossed at the ankles, her dirty shoes on my comforter.
She’s holding a torn envelope, reading the sheet of paper. I think I recognize the handwriting, but she moves it too quickly for me to be sure and sits up.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” I ask.
She slides her legs off the bed, stands, and looks me over. I look down too, at my one bare foot, at the scratches along my legs and the dirt on my feet.
“I hope you didn’t track dirt into the house.”
She walks across to the window and pushes it open to glance outside.
“What do you want?” I ask.
She turns back to me, sets whatever she was reading on the dresser, and gives me a grin. “Have a good trip? A romantic little getaway?”
“Yes, actually. It was refreshing being away from you.”
“Well, aren’t we lucky to have you back.”
“What are you doing in here?”
Lucinda shrugs a shoulder, pulls open one of the drawers, and rummages through it. She picks out a pair of panties, a tiny pair, and holds it on her long red fingernail.
“Does he like you in this? Likes you to whore it up?”
I go to her, take the panties, and drop them into the drawer before shoving it shut.
“You have no right to be in here. Get out.”
“It’s my house. I can be anywhere I want.” She goes to the closet, turns on the light, but stays in the doorway to peek in, then looks back at me. “Libby whored it up too. Joshua loved that.”
I don’t want to hear this. As hungry as I am about my Aunt Libby’s time here, I don’t want to hear it from her.
“You know, Sebastian should share you,” she says, coming back into the bedroom and sitting down on the chaise like this was her room. “Joshua shared Libby. She took all three at once. One in her mouth, one in her ass and the other in her dirty cunt.” Her lip curls, and the word sounds more vulgar on her lips than it even is.
“She didn’t have a choice,” I say.
She smiles a cold, cruel smile. “She came like a whore. She was loud, louder than you are. Or don’t you come? Doesn’t my son make you come?”
“He’s not your son.”
She seems surprised I know that. “Did he tell you that? Fascinating.”
“What’s fascinating about that?”
“Since he’s feeding you piecemeal, I’m just surprised he chose that little tidbit. Although Sebastian’s always been clever. Too clever. I suppose it would endear you to him to know my weak sister, his mother, hanged herself.”
I hear hatred in her words, the tone of her voice, and it’s directed toward her dead sister.
“What’s wrong with you? She lost a son.”
“Oh? How do you know that?”
I don’t answer, not right away. “Sebastian told me.”
“Really? He doesn’t tell anyone that. Not even his Willow Girl. Even if he is smitten. You’re a sneaky whore.”
I don’t reply.
“My husband was smitten too. Truth be told, he loved his Willow whore. She was meeker than you. More obedient. Although maybe that has to do with my strict regimen of discipline. Kept her in line.”
“You beat her.”
“Disciplined her. There’s a difference.”
