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I shiver. Fuck. There’s something about Jericho Viotto that spreads goosebumps across my body and makes me want to lean into him. Also, I want to hit him most of the time.
“I’m fine,” I shrug, darting my eyes. I fill my mouth with blazing coffee, trying to avoid his stare.
“Of course you are,” he mocks, setting his cup down. “I fucked you so hard, even I have bruises.” I stiffen when he chuckles, running his finger over the brim of his coffee. “You’re thinking about running again, aren’t you?”
Yes. Of course. Who wouldn’t want to scurry away from three dangerous mafia men who’ve trapped you in a mansion from hell?
An unsaid threat hangs in the air, though. He doesn’t need to speak it for me to listen. It’s there in his eyes as they darken with the thought of chasing after me and hunting me down.
“No,” I clip out, continuing to stare out the window and take in the beautiful landscapes and avoid this conversation like the plague.
Jericho snorts, “I pegged you the moment I laid eyes on you. You’re a runner. Whether you’re running from your monsters or us.” I glare daggers at him, narrowing them when he smirks. “Now, eat your breakfast.” He taps the table several times before picking up his paper and resumes reading, picking it up so the front article is up. I cock my head, reading the headline?—
Twenty-two-year-old Carolyn Crider of Briar Cove's Millionaire's Row has officially been declared missing. It's been four weeks since she stepped out with friends to celebrate her college graduation, and she never returned. Video surveillance has Crider entering a local hotspot, Rave, with friends, but never leaving through the front doors. Sources say the club owners are cooperating with local police and helping in the search for the missing woman.
A $100,000 dollar reward has been put together for anyone who can aid in finding Carolyn Crider.
She was last seen in pictures in a black mini-dress and red high heels. She is five foot, six inches tall and is described as being very knowledgeable and caring. Her parents are desperate to have her back in their arms.
A missing girl? From their club? That can't be settling with them well. But Jericho doesn't seem to mind as he flips to another page, blocking out the article altogether.
I don’t say anything else after reading the article. My emotions consume me like a damn dark cloud. One I'm not excited to have hanging over my head. Give me the numbness my darkness provides me with any day over this stupid indecision. I’m stuck under this roof with nowhere else to go because they stole my shit. I want it back. It's mine. Especially my damn letters. So, maybe I’m just sulking and pitying myself. Or I’m just avoiding them because they rocked my world and freed me from myself for just a few hours.
Yeah, that’s it.
“I have something for you,” Jericho says, breaking the silence. His newspaper crinkles when he sets it on the table beside him.
I have a snarky grandpa joke on the tip of my tongue, ready to say. But I don’t. I can’t. Heat fills my eyes when he slides over a familiar stack of white papers with my name written on the outside of each. They’re bundled together by a few rubber bands. Just how I left them.
My fingers run over the stack, mentally counting the number of letters there. Relief slams into me. They're all there. All of them.
“I figured after last night, those might mean something to you,” Jericho says softly.
“My letters,” I gasp out, hugging them to my chest.
They’re my lifeline. The only pieces I still have connecting me to Sunny. After she was taken, she no longer existed. When I was released after six months of capture, I came back to an empty room where my sister should have been. It’s where she always was. Her heart prevented her from doing day-to-day activities. We were warned not to stress her out. So, she stayed in her bed with her favorite shows and lived life like that until we could get her a transplant.
This is all I have left after three years of being apart from her.
“Thank you,” I rasp, squeezing my eyes shut.
I don’t want to see the pity or the curiosity in their eyes. I’ll tell them on my own time. Not now, though. I feel too exposed and raw.
“You’re welcome,” Jericho retorts quickly, leaving it alone.
Half of me wonders if they read the letters, trying to figure something out about me.
“The offer still stands,” Jericho says again, setting his coffee down. “A tit for tat, if you will. You spill more of your secrets, letting go and opening up, then, we’ll do the same. Consider it a trust exercise between us. The more you trust us, the less you’ll want to run.”
I finally peel my eyes open and nod. “Okay.”
But I don’t intend to give more pieces of myself away. Not for nothing. Sure, they’ll clue me into their lives. Will it be true, though? Will they really give me more if I tell them everything that’s happened to me?
I don’t know.
Because I’m indecisive as hell right now. I can't even decide which donut I want to eat next. Chocolate frosting or vanilla frosting? They are equally as delicious. But which one should I consume to fill my belly more? Fuck me. I hate making decisions.
Arrow’s video abruptly stops, and he frowns when his phone vibrates. “It's Brandon from the club,” he mutters, putting the phone to his ear with uncertainty. "Arrow's Alien Abduction Hotline! Have you been probed today?!" he greets into the phone with a grin, seeming more settled than I've ever seen him. Before my eyes, a darkness crawls across his eyes. A stony expression crosses his face, and his entire body stiffens. "I see," he grits out, running his tongue along his teeth in agitation. "You did the right thing by calling me. We'll be there to check it out."
