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Mind already made up, I grab my keys and start for the door, barely giving myself enough time to tie the laces on my boots.
I pause halfway through the door, my hand still on the handle. Maybe I should call first? I dial Ryan’s number as I shut the door behind me and get in the car. The line rings, and rings, before eventually going to voicemail. I give it one more try, despite the fact that I’m already pulling out of the driveway.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m pulling in their expansive, obnoxiously long driveway with the stupid fucking fountain in the middle. I wouldn’t be surprised if Ryan builds a monument of himself in the middle one day.
There are a few lights on in the monstrous house. Seeing this house makes my lip curl every fucking time. It’s over the top, with white sleek walls, glass and wood making up the entirety of the house. It’s modern and very fucking pretentious.
Fuck. I’m nervous. My hand is sliding through my hair, frustrated with this shit. With Ryan and the constant pain in my ass he’s been since I was adopted.
Throwing myself out of the car before I end up tearing out of the driveway, I rush up the steps and knock on the door loudly a few times. Glancing at the time on my watch, I note that it’s only eight thirty. Ryan should still be awake.
When no one answers, I knock a few more times. Sometimes I wish that he’d act like every other rich asshole and hire a butler. I give it all of five seconds before I try the door handle. Locked. There are cameras recording me right now with a feed I’m positive links to Ryan’s phone. I linger for another minute, hoping he’ll see that it’s me and open the door.
Yeah fucking right, Mako. Like that’s going to happen.
Fuck it. I’ve been to Ryan’s house only three times in my life, but it only took one time to catalog every exit point. I jog around to the back of the house. The backyard consists of an inground pool on the edge of a cliff, widening into the kitchen in an open concept. The backside of the house is all glass, the entirety of the wall capable of sliding open until the backyard and kitchen become one. Fucking stupidest thing, if you ask me. Who the fuck is okay with just anyone being able to peer inside their house? The thought sends shivers down my spine.
Quietly creeping up to the door, I peer through the glass and listen for any sounds. Any yelling, screaming. Flesh hitting flesh. There’s only silence. No movement, either.
The glass glides open smoothly without a sound, and though it’s good for me, I still shake my head in disappointment. So stupid to leave any door unlocked. I see too many goddamn murders for this to be acceptable, and the fact that I’m breaking and entering so easily is going to earn this fucker an earful. I could be a burglar, and apparently, that’s okay with Ryan.
The white and gray kitchen is dim, casting shadows across the pristine kitchen. It’s starting to get darker earlier in the day now that fall is approaching. It’s only eight thirty, but the sun is setting. A drawer hangs at an odd angle, catching my attention. I peak in the drawer to see a bunch of knives and silverware haphazardly thrown into it.
I click on the flashlight on my phone and inspect them. None look bloody. It does little to calm my racing thoughts.
I angle the light over the shadows until I’m sure there’s not a person hiding in them. Based off the soft gleam from down the hall, there’s a lamp on in the living room. I strain my ears, listening for footsteps or voices.
“Ryan?” I call loudly, clicking off the light and stuffing the phone in my back pocket. The last thing I need is to be accused of breaking and entering by an asshole of a lawyer. Ryan would take that opportunity and eat it up like candy.
A muted voice filters through, but I can’t place where. As I’m concentrating on the muffled noise, a loud bang from upstairs draws my attention away.
I swear to fucking god, if he just hit her… My body is moving before I can think to, rushing through the kitchen and into the hallway. I nearly crash into the wall as I swing myself around the white marble staircase. Nearly tripping up the stairs, I come to a stumbling halt when River’s face comes into view. She had just done exactly what I did—almost falling in her rush to come down the stairs.
“What are you doing here?” she yells, just as I yell, “Did he fucking hurt you again?”
“What?” she asks, bewildered. We’re both immobilized on each end of the staircase, staring at each other with wild expressions.
“Is he up there? Did he hurt you?” I ask again harshly.
“No—I—he’s not here,” she stutters. The pounding in my chest slowly calms as my suspicions rise. She looks like she’s been caught with a knife over a dead body. Guilty as fuck. Home intruders don’t announce themselves. Ryan could’ve easily invited me over and not tell her. So why the fuck does she look green in the face? And why are her eyes shifting with paranoia and nerves?
“What are you doing here?” she snaps again, crossing her arms and widening her stance into a defensive position. Her chin lifts as she stares down her nose at me. Just barely do I curb the urge to question her. I am, after all, breaking into her house. She has every right to be suspicious of me.
“Ryan invited me over,” I lie, steeling my spine.
She rolls her eyes. “No, he didn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he’s not even here,” she repeats. In that moment, another muffled voice sounds from somewhere. I cock my head, trying to place it.
Noticing my attention is averted, she barrels down the stairs and throws herself on me, cinnamon enveloping all my senses. Stumbling backwards, I grapple with her body and the railing to keep from falling backwards. What the fuck?
“You scared me,” she says breathily. “But I’m glad you’re here now. Can I come over?”
The look on my face could only be described as utterly baffled.
