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"Highly fucking doubt it."
"Fingers crossed," the other guy says.
I'm trembling when I step back from the door. It was incredibly stupid of me to think that I had time before Nathan got here.
I could be dead before the sun comes up, and the thinking that I might live much longer scares me more than meeting my end tonight.
Nathan would never just walk in and kill me. He's too controlled for that. This punishment will be the most drawn out he's ever managed. It could take weeks, months, or even years before he decides I've had enough, and there's a very real chance he'll never think I've served my time for the wrongs I've committed against him. He'll always find another way to hurt me, to make me wish I were never born.
I look around the room, needing to put an end to all of it before Nathan can get his hands on me.
With tears staining my cheeks, I run to the window and pull the curtain back. My fists meet the glass only to discover that it isn't regular glass covering the window but plexiglass.
My chin trembles in fear when I see the shadow of a man walking up the front steps to the right of where I'm standing. He has to have seen me, but he doesn't give me his attention. There's only ever been one man in my life who could see me without looking. My blood runs cold as I rush to put the curtains back in place.
Nathan is here. A second later I hear the front door open and congratulations being offered on his release from the two goons in the living room.
I know he picked a small house for this on purpose. He feeds on my fear, and being able to hear what's going on is all part of his fucked-up plan. He wants me to be terrified and shivering by the time he comes to me.
I rush across the room to the bathroom, but just like every house after Xan found me after cutting my wrists, there is no mirror in there.
There's no razor in the shower, and I know he'll only ever give me something I could poison myself with while I'm being supervised using it, so there's no chance of finding Nair hair remover or any excess amount of toothpaste or mouthwash. There will be no cleaning chemicals of any kind.
I regret the attempts I've made in the past to end my life because it made him prepare for the prevention of me doing it now when I really need it the most.
The closet reveals the bar being held up with only enough force to hold the clothes hanging on it. The ceiling fan and light fixture in the middle of the room are much too high to access even though there will be nothing in the room I could use to hang myself with. There will be no trash bag to put over my head, nothing sharp I could stab myself with.
I want to cower and hide, but I know doing so will only make it worse. I lift my chin as I dash the tears off my cheeks. I have no hope of making myself any more presentable. I know my eyes are rimmed in red from crying, but I still walk to the bedroom door and open it.
Nathan looks at me as he pulls his thick coat from his shoulders. I can see that he's lost the weight I've gained, and I have no doubt that he found the food in jail rather lacking. It's another thing I'll be punished for.
"Welcome home, Father," I say because it's what's expected of me.
I feel the eyes of every man in the room on me as I speak. The count is now five, two new ones having come inside with Nathan.
His eyes skate up and down my body, and it takes everything in me not to suck in my breath and straighten my spine further.
He doesn’t look at all impressed with what he sees.
Instead of voicing his opinion, he walks toward me. I flinch as he nears, but the man walks right past me without saying a word.
The man with the scar running down his face glares at me. The look in his eyes is sinister and filled with even more disgust than I saw in my stepfather's eyes. He looks like a man who might've been promised something he has every intention of getting.
When Nathan's bedroom door opens and he disappears inside, closing the door behind him, I step back into my room and close my own bedroom door.
It could be minutes or hours before Nathan opens it again. I need to find a way to die before he does.
Chapter 33
Newton
Despite whatever arrangements Nathan made to make sure we couldn't track where Brielle was taken earlier today, he made no effort to hide his location. He knows we followed him to the house. He also knows that unless we break the law, we can't go in and get her. We have no proof that she isn't there of her own free will.
There's only one window with a set of bars, and I know it has to be where she's being kept. All she has to do is open the fucking curtains and mouth the word help and a dozen fucking commandos will enter the fucking place.
"The warrant?" I ask Kincaid. The prosecutor threatened to get one for her, and that would really be beneficial right now.
"The judge refused to sign it," he says.
