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“Mr. Brannon is waiting for you in the dining room,” he told me, his hands folded in front of him, his stare hard.
I nodded and hurried away, disconcerted by the presence of a sentry at my door. Was Butcher protecting me or keeping me prisoner?
I couldn’t say which direction my thoughts were leaning. Everything was jumbled in my head whereas before I’d been oblivious to certain cues that would’ve been alarming to most people.
Now, my nerves were a tangled mess.
Just as the guard had said, Butcher awaited me in the dining room, dressed in a tailored suit that made him look like an overdressed gorilla.
My brother had never been particularly svelte. He liked his sweets far too much to maintain his figure. He was barrel-chested and his gut had begun to round out.
In a way, he looked like the historical photos of King Henry VIII. And since learning what Butcher had done to Cason’s sister and her friend, the comparison seemed quite appropriate.
Butcher’s eyes lit up as he smiled with approval at my dress. “It looks stunning on you, Holly. Just as I knew it would.”
Somehow I found my smile and took my seat at his side. “You shouldn’t have,” I murmured, shaking my napkin out onto my lap. “You’ve already done so much for me.”
“I enjoy spoiling you,” Butcher said, then he noted I wasn’t wearing the jewelry and his smile faded to a frown. “Was there a problem with the necklace and earrings?”
“No, I’m just not into all that much jewelry,” I answered with a brief smile.
“When I buy something for you, I like to see you wear it.”
The displeasure in his tone was mirrored by his expression.
I nodded, licking my lips. “I’ll remember that next time.”
“See that you do,” Butcher said, seemingly pleased with my answer and ready to move on. “Congratulations on your achievement. I am very proud of you. Straight A’s and the Dean’s List. Very good. Money well spent.”
“I’m thinking of going into some field with research capabilities. I love to read,” I said, trying to make conversation but Butcher waved me off.
“Not necessary. You have your degree and now it’s time to focus on the future.”
“Well, that’s what I’m trying to do,” I said, frowning. “I didn’t just spend four years of my life busting my butt for nothing. I want a career.”
We were interrupted by our dinner arriving. I grimaced at the rare steak bleeding on my plate. I hated rare meat. I could barely stomach looking at the bloody mess much less put it in my mouth.
But my brother had no such obstacle and immediately tucked into his steak, cutting a big piece and stuffing it into his mouth. Of course, his full mouth didn’t stop him from talking either.
“I’m very proud of you, Holly,” he said again, his knife scraping against the fine China, causing me to wince. “But we have matters to attend. I have something to share with you that you might find confusing at first but once you get over the initial shock I think you’ll see how it’s really not that big of a change.”
I reached for my wine glass, needing to fortify my nerves, but stopped short when I remembered I might be pregnant. Instead, I sipped my water. “What do you mean?”
Butcher leaned back, wiping his mouth. “You’ve always been very special to me,” he began. “From the first day I saw you.”
“Well, that’s good to know considering you’re my brother.”
“Actually,” he said, leaning forward, pinning me with his gaze. “I’m not.”
“Not what?”
“Not your brother.”
I was thankful I hadn’t eaten anything yet because I couldn’t swallow very well.
“I’m sorry, what?” I cleared my throat, stalling as I tried to process. It was one thing for Cason to suggest the theory, quite another to have it confirmed by the source. “Did I heard you correctly?”
“You are not my sister.” Butcher repeated, seeming pleased with my reaction.
I stared.
Had I just fallen down the rabbit hole?
But apart from the shock, I was overcome with relief.
Butcher Brannon wasn’t my brother.
I wasn’t related to the man who had done such despicable things to Cason’s sister and her friend.
My relief was short-lived; I needed answers.
“Are you going to explain or do I have to pull it out of you?” I asked stiffly.
His smile disappeared and his brows knitted with displeasure. “Watch your tone,” he warned as if I were an unruly child who needed discipline. “Remember who you’re talking to.”
“No, actually, I don’t know who I’m talking to,” I said, my temper rising. “All these years you pretended to be someone you were not. So what am I to you? Why did you tell me you were my brother? I can’t understand why anyone would do that?”
Clearly, my reaction wasn’t what he’d anticipated. Maybe Butcher was so accustomed to people jumping when he snapped his fingers that he didn’t remember how to deal with opposition.
“Who am I?” I asked, tucking my hands in my lap when I saw them trembling. I didn’t want Butcher to see how I was holding everything together by the thinnest thread. I was trying to be brave but nothing felt safe, most of all, Butcher seemed far more dangerous as a man rather than simply my brother. “Where did I come from?”
“I took you in, that’s all that matters,” he said.
“No, I need to know my story,” I disagreed hotly. “You’ve dropped a bomb in my lap. You have to expect questions.”
“Fair enough,” he grudgingly allowed, leaning back in his chair to regard me with hard eyes. “Your mama sold you to me when you were five. For your own protection, I told everyone you were my sister. Having my name has afforded you opportunities that you never would’ve had otherwise.”
So in Butcher’s mind, he was the hero. Somehow I found that a stretch.
“Why would my mother sell me to a stranger?” I asked, trying not to get emotional about the shocking truth of my origin. I tried to separate feelings from reason because I needed to remain calm. “And why would you agree to buy a child?”
“Your mama was a whore,” he answered simply. “And a drug addict. I felt bad for you. So, I gave her a wad of cash, had her sign away her rights and then she went away, true to her word.”
But I didn’t believe it. “Did you kill her?”
“She went away,” he answered, sipping his wine, unperturbed by my question but I could tell pressing harder wouldn’t yield results. “As the years went by, I realized there was something special about you. I enjoyed playing the part of your foster brother because I saw that you were a worthy investment.”
Investment? Good God, I wanted to vomit. “An investment implies you have plans for the future. What are your plans for me?” I asked coolly.
His smile was alarming. “See? That’s what I’ve always sensed about you…your ability to cut through the bullshit to get to the point. That’s a talent, girl. One I hope to benefit from. I think we’ll make a good team.”
Team? What the hell was he talking about? I held my breath, waiting for him to finish.
Butcher reached for my hand and it was all I could do to keep from jerking away to avoid his touch.
“I want you to be my wife.”
I think my face froze.
I mumbled something about needing to the use the restroom and then fled to my room.
It was stunning how calmly Butcher had proposed to me, as if I hadn’t spent my life believing he was my brother.
As much as I had wanted to believe otherwise, Cason had been right.
My entire childhood took on a completely different meaning. The reason Butcher had sent me away was so I hadn’t formed a brotherly attachment to him.
He wanted me to think of him romantically.
I wanted to puke.
Was he insane? Butcher was much older than me, by twenty years.
Had he planned th
is all along? And if I wasn’t a Brannon, who was I?
I needed Cason.
Tears burned behind my lids.
Suddenly, my door opened and Butcher was there. I gasped and wiped at my eyes, feeling violated with him in my space.
“I know this is a big shock,” Butcher started gruffly. “But give it time to sink in. I’ve always loved you, Holly. I want to give you the life you deserve.”
“Who am I?” I asked, ignoring his declaration of affection. “What was my mother’s name? What’s my real name?”
“Don’t dwell on the past when the future is far more interesting,” he advised. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”
But I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to leave.
“I’m going to get my own apartment,” I said as he started to close the door. My statement caused him to pause, his gaze narrowed. “If I’m not family, you shouldn’t have to pay my expenses. You’ve already done too much. I don’t want to burden you any further.”
“Maybe I wasn’t clear,” he said. “You are going to be my wife. End of story.”
And then he shut the door.
I ran and turned the lock with trembling fingers. He probably had a key but even the pretense of locking him out gave me some semblance of security.
Was I a prisoner here?
Sick, twisted, and perverted.
Butcher wasn’t right in the head.
How could I have missed such a huge red flag?
Perhaps I sensed something was wrong, which was why I had always sought solace in books.
But what could I do now?
I could run.
