Page 8 of Revealed

I hate to admit the nickname is growing on me way too fast.

“Let’s continue our tour,”I say, hiding my smile.

The remainder of the bottom floor holds two office spaces, one each for Ashton and Evander, which we move past quickly. We end in the cozy front room which Michael explains is for entertaining guests. I wonder immediately how often this room is used. Do they actually allow people who don’t work forthem, or whom they don’t plan to eventually kill, onto this land?

My mind is on thoughts of hosting and entertaining guests as I follow Michael through a side door that leads to a covered breezeway large enough to park two cars. To our right is a row of white golf carts lining the wall. Across the walkway is the entrance to a detached portion of the house. Curiosity takes over and I have to know.

“What’s this area?”

He checks his watch before walking over to one of the golf carts. I follow his lead and he helps me climb into the passenger side before moving to the driver seat.

“Through that door,” he points to the entrance of the detached building, “is the staff house. It consists of six suites, but it’s only partially full at the moment. Kathy, the head chef, and I hold space there.”

That catches me off guard.

“You live here on-site? Do you have time off?”

He smiles. “Yes, I live on-site. Need to be close should an attack happen here.”

“How often do people try to attack?”

“Not often, but this land has been in the Rose family for years. So if someone was ready to challenge the Rose authority, attacking here would be a good start,” he says with a shrug.

It does my heart good that he doesn’t sugarcoat things for me and tells me exactly how it is. I ponder his living on the property. Why is it calming to know that he will be close by? Could this perceived connection be an act? Is he gathering information on me to report to Ashton? I look over, studying his face. I’ve always been good at reading people, and he doesn’t strike me as a manipulator. Especially after seeing how he treats others.His kindness isn’t exclusive to me.

“So where are you taking me now?” I ask, clicking the seatbelt across my lap.

“We’re going to drive around the grounds. You need to know the property lines, but most importantly the areas that you should avoid.”

He starts the cart, then we’re bumping down the paved paths of the compound. Once we’ve circled around the main house, a tennis and basketball court come into view. There are a few guards playing ball who look over as we ride by, but I keep my attention on what’s ahead. A mile back from the main house sits six large buildings. I realize it’s the buildings I can see from my bedroom.

“Do I even want to know what goes on in those warehouses?” I whisper.

“Well, you’re aware of the dealings the Rose family is involved in. The first four buildings serve as a holding place for various products. The last two buildings are used for torture. It’s best if you don’t ever find yourself back here without me.”

His voice is stern, the expression on his face hardening as his eyes scan the area. Gone is the carefree man, replaced with my serious bodyguard.

“How do they get away with keeping their product on-site?”I question in disbelief.

My father kept me in the dark with his business dealings and honestly, I didn’t want to know. Now I’m legally attached to someone far worse, and I don’t even know if our marriage could implicate me should things take a turn for the worse.

“You can get away with just about anything when the government is on your payroll. The Rose family makes and spends a ton of money to keep their operations moving without any issues,” he answers with no emotions, simply stating facts.

“Interesting,” I grunt out, processing the information as it comes.

If there was ever a thought that I would be able to run away or go to authorities for help, it diminishes at this moment, knowing my husband pays to keep them quiet. My father definitely didn’t have that type of pull.

We drive out a little farther past the warehouses and I take in the scenery of my new home. Up ahead is the dense tree line that wraps around the back part of the property. Michael slows the cart. A slight breeze moves through the air as I look over at the man driving me around. Just like last night, the need to know more about him rears up within me.

“I know why you're here working for this family, but if money and responsibilities were out of the equation, what would you be doing?”

“I’d be an artist,” he answers without hesitation.

The playfulness returns to his eyes as he surveys the view in front of us. I see a glimpse of the carefree man peeking through the hardened shell.

“Do you paint?” I dig deeper, needing more.

“Draw,” he says, looking over at me. “Promise you won’t laugh?”