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Something about the idea of Gregory Kingsley molding his son into a monster makes my heart ache.
I test the top drawer in the desk, surprised when it rolls open. There’s nothing much of interest, until a small black bound diary catches my eye.
Retrieving it, I unlace the leather bindings and flip it open. The handwritten scrawl is difficult to decipher, but my eyes quickly pick out words.
Gravestone.
Quinctus.
Electi.
Power.
Future.
Strong.
I turn back to the first page and find an inscription in the corner. “To my son. Remember, power is not given to you. You have to take it.”
The barely legible signature could easily be Gregory. Or maybe it isn’t. But the dread snaking through me tells me it is.
I sink back into the chair, letting out a small breath, when something else catches my eye. It’s a bigger journal, tucked at the back of the desk. Pulling it out, I lay it on the desk and flip it open, gasping when I read the inside inscription.
Cade Kingsley.
Could it be… no. I slam it shut. Cade might be a monster, but this, reading his personal journal, still feels like a gross invasion of privacy. But before I can stop myself, I flip it open again and start reading.
When I’m done, silent tears streak down my cheeks, my heart coiled tight. Until now, I hadn’t really considered anything about Cade’s past, his childhood or family life. And although this doesn’t change things, it does fill in some missing pieces of the puzzle…
“Mia?” Bexley appears in the doorway, his hair all messed up with sleep. “What are you doing in here?”
Quickly drying my eyes, I stutter, “I noticed it was locked a couple of weeks ago and wondered what was hiding in here.”
“Find anything?” He comes inside.
“Not really.” I gently slide the journals back into the drawer and close it. “Just a bunch of old musty books.”
“How are you feeling?” The unspoken words hang between us.
“I’m okay.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
My lips thin as I shake my head. Talking about it is the last thing I want to do. But there is something on the tip of my tongue.
“You looked comfortable last night, with Phillip and his friends.”
“Shit, Mia.” He lowers his head, rubbing the back of his neck, but his eyes don’t stray from mine. “It’s a role, baby. Good acting.”
“Is it?”
Bexley comes closer, until he’s looming over me. He holds out his hand and I take it, unable to resist the magnetic pull between us. A shiver runs down my spine at his touch. My body remembers. It always remembers.
“It’s all for you,” he says gruffly, pulling me to my feet. “There isn’t a single thing I wouldn’t do to keep you safe. To make you happy. Tell me what to do to fix this.” Sheer desperation coats his words, breaking something deep inside me.
“I don’t know that you can,” I confess. “I feel like I’m losing myself.”
“It’s just trauma, Mia. Things are so fucked-up, I know that. I know how hard it is—"
