Page 34 of The Castle (Endgame 3)
“Well, Jonathan Scott is definitely real. And he has a price on your head. Everyone connected to the underground knows about it. Kill Avery James and get two million dollars.”
Two million dollars. I feel faint. A grim humor overtakes me, and I can’t help but laugh. Justin is looking at me like I’m crazy, which only makes me laugh harder. At least my price is going up. I’m twice as valuable now than I was as a virgin, but only if I’m dead.Chapter EighteenThe first time I came to Gabriel’s house, right after the auction, it felt like the Labyrinth. A maze, one in which I could wander for days and never find the center. I don’t think it was a coincidence that I felt completely lost at the time, wandering through the maze of Tanglewood’s underworld.
Now I know the halls well enough to make my way around, but there’s space missing. The distance between rooms doesn’t fit how big the walls should be. The third floor feels miles above the first. There are gaps in what I can see, and it’s enough to send a shiver down my spine.
I roam the hallways, my gaze flicking up to the corners. I’m looking for the glare of a tiny camera. The black wire of an audio device. My paranoia has reached untenable levels. My insides feel shaky and upside down. I won’t be able to hide the voices from Gabriel much longer. He already suspects. And now that I know about the price on my head, I’m about to fall apart.
The only sound is the soft slap of my feet on the hardwood, the swish of my dress around my knees. There haven’t been any voices today. Why do they come when I sleep? Are they part of my dreams?
I desperately want to believe that, but there’s something too real about them. The timbre of the voice, as if I’ve heard the words spoken aloud. As real as a memory.
Except those can be wrong, too.
I pass by the library with the wooden chess set silhouetted by the dark fireplace. There’s a sense of peace in that room that tempts me. I want to curl up in the large armchair with a book about ancient Roman symbolism. The words would transport me away from this house as surely as whatever strange thrall holds Penny—a separate reality, a safer one.
I’m too far gone to pretend. The voice is real. I need to know how.
I need to know why.
My step slows as I reach Gabriel’s office. The door stands slightly ajar, a half-inch view of a massive oak desk and maroon-leather swivel chair behind it. He doesn’t keep his door shut or locked, which should be a comfort. Wouldn’t a man with something to hide keep this hidden?
Unless he knows I won’t be able to do anything, no matter what I find.
I hate these thoughts, these doubts. A man who worried about the fate of a little girl, one he didn’t even know, one who gave years of his life to protect her, one who’s haunted by the memory of her, wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. Then again, that could be a lie.
He was willing to keep the bounty a secret.
My hand nudges the door open, revealing an opulent rug and a painting of intense red trees. It’s all very ordinary for an expensively decorated study. A little too ordinary for a man like Gabriel Miller.
Stop being suspicious. I can’t make the feeling go away.
When I step fully into the study, I’m surprised at how bright it is inside. Light streams in almost sideways, casting a yellow glow around me, rays pressing through the thin green fabric of my sundress.
The desk is almost completely empty, as if the room isn’t used, even though I’ve seen Gabriel here. I’ve heard him on the phone. The room even smells like him, the faint scent of man and musk.
Only one envelope sits on the desk.
I cross the room and pick it up as if in a trance. There’s one word scrawled across the white vellum. Avery. And I recognize the handwriting. It’s from my father. This must be the last letter he sent. The one I refused to read.
There are a hundred reasons to be angry with my father.
And only one reason to open the letter—hope. The hope of a daughter who never quite gives up on her daddy, who wants family and protection and love even if she knows the man can’t give it to her.
With a shaking hand I open the shallow top drawer of the desk. Scattered pens and paperclips litter the cherrywood, along with a silver letter opener. I draw a straight cut through the seam and unfold the sheet inside.
My dearest daughter,
I don’t know if you will read this. The last two returned to me, unopened. I know you’re angry, and I know you have a right to be. I never wanted you to know about the deal I made with Gabriel Miller. It was a moment of dark desperation, and I will regret it for the rest of my days, however few they may be.
