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Get Out
I rushto pack like I did when I left two days ago: Without much care. I just sling and pack it down. Then sit on my luggage to zip it up.
Without bothering to make the bed or clean up any other messes, I wheel my luggage down the hall and into the living room, but what I find gives me pause. Causes a wave of chills to run down my spine—the butlers are lined along the edges of the room in such a way that they bar me from going anywhere—even out.
I stand there in shock for a moment and then turn to the closest one. “Where’s Jake?” I say, my voice shaking. But he doesn’t look at me or acknowledge that I’ve said anything at all. He’s statue-like. Like I’m talking to one of the Queen’s guards.
I release the handle of my luggage as my eyes skip around to the others. “Where’s Jake?” I say again.
I’m met with more silence.
My gaze lands on the one, the biggest one, guarding the door to outside, and dread slithers through me. Runs its cold fingers down my spine.
I hold my stomach. “What is this?” I whisper aloud.
What’s happening?
A pair of determined footsteps make their way from the direction of the kitchen, and a voice reaches out beyond them that turns my blood to ice. “Jake is meeting with his sister at the moment,” Magnolia says, clipped and authoritative.
The butlers part to allow her through, then close the path again.
Magnolia’s face is still puffy with sleep, her hair pulled back into a hurried bun. No makeup. Jeans and a silk top. And of course, pearls. She clings to a coffee mug like a life raft.
She got up and rushed to get ready. And, apparently, had enough time to spare to get coffee and ask the butlers to assemble a barrier no one could get through in the meantime.
“Sit,” she says, eyeing the couch across from the wingback chair she’s settling into.
I don’t oblige. “I’d like to leave now,” I say. She can’t box me in like this. This is illegal.
“You can leave in a bit,” she replies. “Now sit. We have some things to discuss.”
I grip my suitcase again. “Tell Jake I’ll meet him by his car,” I say and wheel toward the front door.
“Move,” I say weakly to the butler there. Like the others, he says nothing.
Magnolia loses patience. “Scarlett Marie Reed,” she says with a sigh. She doesn’t say my full name, my real name, menacingly. She says it calmly with a hint of frustration, and I think that scares me more.
I don’t turn to face her. All I can do is stand there, frozen. Reality sinking in. Jake and I didn’t get away with what we’ve done. They know who I am, what I do, and that I lied about it all.
“Sit down,” she continues. “Or I’ll ask these butlers to help you with it.”
I inhale sharply.
Turn and glare at her. She’s not serious. “They touch me, and I’ll sue you for—”
“For what?” She slaps on a fake smile.
“For…for assault.”
She tsks. “Now, Scarlett. It’s your word against all of ours.” Her smile turns dark and dead behind the eyes. “And I’ll make sure they don’t mark you up. You’ll have no evidence I did any such thing.”
She shifts, pulling something from her back pocket and lays a revolver, carefully, emphatically, on the table beside her. “Now, sit your pretty little ass down…please.” Her eyes are still as dead as a shark’s.
I go still.
I might be strong. I might be stubborn. I can hold my own against narcissists and sociopaths and any other unpleasant thing that comes my way, but guns are an instant game changer.
“People know I’m here,” I counter, my words coming out in a defensive rush. I know I need to sound more forceful, but I can’t manage. “If anything happens to me, Magnolia, they’ll know.”
