Page 39 of Brutal
“You’ve been busy,” he says.
“Have I?”
His eyes flare. “You’re here.”
I hold his gaze. “So are you.”
He chuckles. “I live here. Some of the time, anyway.” He shifts his attention past me, to the wall.
To the carving.
“The key interests you,” he says.
I don’t pretend otherwise. “It’s everywhere.”
“Yes.”
“What does it open?”
“If I thought you were ready for that answer,” he says evenly, “you wouldn’t need to ask.”
A chill slides down my spine.
Not fear.
Something else.
I drop my hand from the wall and face him fully. “Then I suppose I’ll have to find out on my own.”
A faint smile. “Careful, Delaney. You might not like what you discover.”
My lips part before I can stop them. “I didn’t come here to like anything.”
Something in his expression shifts. Again, I’m not sure what.
“Good,” he says quietly.
And for the first time since I drove through the gates, I understand exactly where I am.
This isn’t just a house. The Vexleys aren’t just a family.
Men like Samson Vexley aren’t born.
They’re made. They’re carved just like the key in the wood and honed to perfection into something dangerous.
And I just walked in willingly.
9
SAMSON
She doesn’t look away.
Most people do.
They come into this house and they look at the ceilings, the glass, the stone like they’re trying to absorb it all. Or they lower their gaze and choose not to look because they’re overwhelmed.
Delaney Cross does neither.
