Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
He’s the only one in the world who can understand mine.
From the diary of Rex Roy, aged twelve. . .
Today is the anniversary of my parents’ death.
I’ve been kicked out of another school for fighting. I can’t help it. The darkness rises up and takes over. One minute, I’m talking with another student, and the next, I’m giving into the urge to punch the smug look off their stupid face.
I come back to myself only when my opponent is on the ground, and my face and uniform are spattered with their blood.
Hamish says I need to learn to control the rage. I’ll have to continue school at home until I do.
I don’t care what happens to me. It’s been a long time since I’ve cared about anything at all.
I spent the day at Mother and Father’s tomb. There are statues of angels there that seem to bear Mother’s face.
At least, I think they do. I’m afraid I don’t remember her face anymore. I stare at our family portrait in the great room, but my parents look like strangers to me.
They wouldn’t recognize the person I’ve become either.
Inara
As I head out of the graveyard, marching across the wet grass to the gothic gates, my phone pings with a text.
Sir: Let me take you home.
I ignore it and pick up my pace. I wind my way between statues of shrouded deities and weeping angels, taking the scenic route back to the city.
The whole time, the back of my neck prickles in warning. By now, I’m used to it. Rex is still out there watching me. He’s riding in one of the black cars crawling over the picturesque stone bridge, willing me to text him back.
Sir: Inara, please. It’s about to rain.
Sir: Let me take care of you.
Not going to happen.
By the time I cross the bridge, it’s spitting rain. I duck under the green awning of a florist shop, and that’s when I notice the black town car following me.
I stop and let it roll past. I can’t get a good look at the driver, but the shape of him—burly, with a shaved head—gives me a sense of deja vu.
I step into the street to snap a picture of the retreating license plate and text it to Mina.
Can you run this?
Usually, Mina gets back to me instantly. I walk a few blocks, waiting for the ding of a notification.
No response. I tap my cell phone against my chin.
Something’s up. Mina told me she’d get back to me in a few hours with what she found on Rex. She should’ve checked in by now. I need leads. I need answers.
I hop a bus to Club Empire. The place looks closed, but the doors are unlocked. A receptionist in a black and purple corset and leather leggings appears and greets me. He’s a different employee from the ones I’ve seen before, with midnight dark skin and a silver choker around his neck that looks like a collar. “Ms. Ramos. How can I help you?”
I open my mouth and then pause. “You know my name?”
“Of course. I know all our platinum members. I’m Henri, the day manager.”
I shake his hand, still frowning. “I’m not a platinum member.”
“Ah, let me check.” He clicks the computer mouse a few times and nods at the screen. “It seems you’ve been upgraded in the past twenty-four hours. Congratulations.”
Probably Rex, pulling strings. “What does platinum membership entail?”
“Invites to private functions, unlimited use of the facilities at all hours. Access to a private bar.”
The bar would explain why Rex always has a drink in his hand.
“So it’s like an exclusive club.”
“Membership dues run a hundred thousand a month, due in one yearly payment. So yes. It’s very exclusive.”
I have to give Henri credit. He seems unfazed when my eyes almost pop out of my head.
Rex paid over a million dollars for me to have special access? What is he playing at? I plan on never scening with him again.
“Would you like a tour?” Henri asks.
“No. . . thank you. Maybe later. I was here Wednesday night. You told me a car was available to take me home. Is that a common club service?”
“No. It was privately arranged.”
“Who arranged it?”
“I can’t say. The driver himself told me he was waiting for you. I thought you had arranged it.”
“The driver. Do you have his information?”
“I don’t.”
“Does he often give members rides?”
“I’m not sure. I’d never seen him before.”
Dead end. I blow out a breath, trying to remain calm.
“The man I’ve been scening with—does he come here often? Does he scene with anyone else?” It’s not pertinent to the case, but I want to know. How many people is Rex Roy toying with?
Just me? Or am I one of many?
It shouldn’t matter, but it does.
“I’m afraid I can’t divulge any information about our members. They expect total confidentiality. As a member yourself, I’m sure you understand.”