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22
ROWAN
One Hour Earlier…
I stare at the wall across from the wooden chair I’ve been tied to. There’s a painting of a man leaning against a desk hanging over the fireplace mantel. When I was first placed in this library, I assumed it was Gideon. He seems full enough of himself that he’d have such a gaudy thing. But after staring at it for at least an hour, I began to wonder.
To my misfortune, I had a perfect view of him from the backseat of the Rolls-Royce that drove us through Boston. If he’d captured me at any other time, I might have fought harder when they secured my wrists behind my back. But all I could do was stare at his profile.
In all the times I met with the Alliance, not once did we see a photograph of Gideon. Arran gave a description. Said he was tall with dark hair and blue eyes and wore a suit. That could have been anyone.
So I stared at him as he chatted animatedly with the blonde woman, wracking my brain for any clues as to where I’ve met him before.
I fixated on that because it was better to busy myself with a pointless exercise than to think of the woman who’d betrayed me. And when we arrived at the sprawling mansion in Brookline, and the two men I’d sat between dragged me out and placed me in one of the suites, I went over his face in my mind.
Now, as I sit at a reading table in this two-story library facing the painting, I do the same. Or I try to, at least.
The man depicted above the fireplace has the same air of confidence that Gideon has. But while he has similar features, they’re different enough that you can tell one from the other. So what makes them seem so alike?
I stare harder, studying the face, and discover the similarity. It’s the eyes. They have the same eyes. Steel blue and intense despite the slight upward pull of his lips.
“That’s Father.” Gideon enters, holding a glass filled halfway with an amber liquid, and walks past me to peer up at the portrait. “Stephen Black. Handsome, wouldn’t you say?”
“He’s not ugly,” I reply with a shrug.
“Hewasn’tugly,” he corrects. “Or have you forgotten your uncles were involved in his murder?”
“Andyouwere involved in theirs. You’re even now?”
Gideon turns to me, a sly grin plastered on his face. “Is that your way of pleading for your life?”
“I’d never beg you for anything.”
I hate you, Rowan. […] You made me into this monster.
Suddenly, no matter how hard I try to ignore them, Lou’s words blare in my mind. She’s right to hate me, but not to believe herself a monster simply for reacting to the pain I inflicted.
I’m the real monster. I deserve whatever is coming.
Scanning the stately room, I ask, “Is this where you’re going to do it?”
“Do what?” His brows pinch together in genuine confusion, and, once again, the strange sensation of having met him before fills me.
“Take me out,” I say. “Is this where you kill me?”
With a horrified expression on his face, he makes a big show of looking around at the expensive furnishings. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to get blood stains out of marble flooring? Impossible.”
The horror vanishes as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that fucking grin that’s starting to grate on my nerves. I frown at him. If I turned Lou into a monster for what I did to her, then this guy has been turned into a complete psychopath by what was done to his father.
That’s when it hits me. The portrait, the house, the fact that he won’t kill me in it when he didn’t care about stains before. This ishishouse.
For months, the Alliance has searched for this place. Anyone who’s met with him has always been sent to different locations—empty buildings, hotels, restaurants. But we’ve never been able to determine where he actually lives.
If I’m right, Sofia, Luca’s sister, could be here as well. Whatever the reason Gideon has for keeping me alive, I need to use the advantage to search for her.
I look around. The woman who’s always attached to him is nowhere in sight. In fact, no one has come in here at all.
Scrutinizing him, I ask, “Why have you brought me here if not to kill me?”
