Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
She used a thin tube to extract the liquid from the spoon, then tied a string around her arm. Her skin bulged, and her hand shook as she lifted the tube, pressing it into her flesh. Her eyes closed, and her body melted against the chair.
When she didn’t move for some time, Jackie stepped forward. “Mum?”
“Jackie…” Eyes barely open, her voice drifted across the room. “You’re awake.”
A strange odor tickled his nose. “Are you sick?”
“Mm, I’ll be fine. Just taking some medicine.”
He crept closer as her head lolled back. When she looked up at him, her eyes were different. The large, flat circles in the middle reminded him of fish eyes. The dead kind that watched them whenever they walked past the fish market in town.
“My beautiful boy...” She stretched weakly for him, but he stepped out of reach. “I had to do it, baby... for us.”
“Mummy, please sit up.”
Her eyes opened, staring at him with those dead fish eyes. Tears shimmered against the black where the reflection of the firelight glowed. “What have I done?” She covered her face and screamed. “What have I done?” She bellowed, causing Jackie to take another step back. “I’m sorry!”
He didn’t like seeing her like this but he didn’t know what to do. “Mummy, please get up.” He tried to pull her off the floor, but she was too heavy.
“I did it for us. We have food now, and heat. It wasn’t too bad, was it, to see how the rich live?”
A chill raced up his spine, his brow softening as his face melted from the bone. He stepped back and blinked. Up until then, he didn’t think she knew.
Concern shifted to anger as his breath quickened. “I don’t want to go back there.”
She nodded, sniffling and wiping away more tears. “Never again, baby. I promise. No more... I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.”
Needing that promise more than anything else, he sat beside her and gently rested his head on her arm.
“It was just a dream, Jackie. Just a bad dream.”
But it wasn’t a dream. Even at six, he knew that was a lie. Dreams didn’t hurt after you woke up.
Dreams didn’t leave marks.
Jack opened his eyes just as the Bentley carved through the countryside, where the landscape transformed into sprawling fields that marked the sanctuary he called home. It had been weeks since he’d been back in his own territory, and he was anxious to return to his private space.
The Isles of Kassel created a private refuge for the top one percent. He’d bought his island over a decade ago, but unlike the others, he never allowed outsiders to visit.
The car crested a hill, and Thornfield Manor came into view, delivering an instantaneous sense of relief.
Home.
The house emerged like a cathedral tribute to the Jazz era, excessive in its Art Deco design, but unlike anything he’d ever seen before. Jack had purchased it from a shipping magnate drowning in debt, a man whose father nearly lost the family fortune to gambling before successfully losing everything in the end.
Three stories of pale limestone flanked by twin towers. He loved the way the stained glass caught the sun and popped against the grey sky, crowns decorated with sunburst motifs in gold leaf and geometric order. Parapets pierced the clouds as green copper gutters spiraled elegantly to the ground.
It was obscene. It was beautiful. It was his.
As soon as Henry pulled under the awning, the doors opened, and Nick materialized at the threshold of the door.
“Our prince has returned,” he greeted, his familiarity earned over the course of twenty years and unmatched by others. “I trust your journey was uneventful.”
“Tedious.” Jack handed over the portfolio from The Preserve. “But successful. Have these sent to my study.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Something smells good.” The rich, savory scent of herbs perfumed the air.
“Myrtle’s been in the kitchen all day, anticipating your return.”
Myrtle.
Warmth spread through his chest as warm and wholesome as the stew she was likely cooking.
The sixty-three-year-old former prostitute now ran his household with iron efficiency. Jack didn’t have family, but his staff kept the loneliness at bay.
The kitchen was Myrtle’s domain. Copper saucepans hung from a rack, and herbs burst from terracotta containers on the sill. And a pot was always simmering on the stove. Today’s dish smelled of rosemary and wine.
“I hope you’re hungry,” she greeted in thick cockney before turning around. “Just as I suspected, thinner by a stone.”
“I doubt that,” he laughed, sliding into the empty seat by the counter. “I skipped breakfast.”
“No, you didn’t. I can smell the bourbon on your breath.”
“Well, I didn’t eat yet. I wanted to wait for a home-cooked meal.”
She set a slice of fresh baked bread before him. “How was Tokyo?”
“Unchanged.” He bit into the warm bread and moaned. “Delicious.”
She placed a cup and saucer before him and filled it with steaming tea. “Earl Grey, just as you like.” She dropped in a slice of lemon and it floated to the surface. “No sugar.”