Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
He doesn’t speak right away. Just studies me. His expression is unreadable, but his gaze is sharp, sweeping over me from head to toe. There’s no shock, no confusion—just quiet scrutiny.
I force myself to hold his gaze, even as my teeth chatter.
His brows pull together. “How long have you been out here?”
I hesitate before answering in barely a whisper. “A while.”
Penn exhales through his nose, glancing past me to where my car sits ten yards away. His fingers move over the dashboard, and the gate buzzes softly as the locks disengage.
“Get in your car,” he mutters, sounding more irritated than concerned. “Follow me up.”
I don’t waste time questioning it. I scramble back to my car, fumbling with numb fingers as I crank the heat to full blast, but only cold air comes out. As I follow his SUV up the long, winding driveway, my headlights sweeping over the house—if you can even call it that.
It’s massive.
A multi-level, modern structure built from glass and stone, perched like a sentinel against the darkened sky. Floodlights from above and base lights from below cast shadows against the walls, and as I pull closer, I spot additional cameras positioned along the roofline, their blinking red lights tracking movement.
None of it surprises me. If anyone has a reason to want to keep the world out, it would be Penn.
He pulls into a garage bay and I park just beyond the rolling door. Nabbing my phone and purse, I exit my car and lock the doors so I can follow him in. He punches in a code on a security panel by a door that leads into the house and the garage door slowly rolls down. It’s then that I notice that Penn’s gaze is fixed on it and doesn’t leave until it’s firmly touching the ground. I realize… he’s making sure no one could follow him in.
He steps into a mudroom that leads into a gorgeous kitchen and I sigh as warmth envelops me. I smell a hint of cedar and faint traces of cleaning products lingering in the air and look around. I’ve never been in a house so grand before. It’s a bit boggling.
Penn shrugs off his jacket, tossing it carelessly over a chair. “You want something to drink?”
I hesitate before answering, my teeth still on the verge of chattering. “Hot chocolate?”
His expression barely flickers, but I catch it—the slight twitch in his jaw, like I’ve somehow annoyed him. Still, he moves to the cabinets, pulling down a mug. He hasn’t welcomed me to stay for any length of time, but I remove my coat, hat and gloves, draping them over one of the tall island chairs.
I stand nervously with arms folded tightly across my chest and watch as he goes through the motions of making me hot chocolate. It’s not the instant packet kind but rather he’s going all out with milk, cocoa powder and sugar. He even pulls a spice jar out of the cupboard and adds a tiny dash of cayenne to heat it up. He’s so very quiet as he stirs the liquid with deliberate motions as it comes to a boil, a process that is painstakingly slow.
I’ve rehearsed what I want to say a million times and I know I should say something. I should explain why I’m here and fill the awkward void, but God it’s hard to know where to start.
Penn doesn’t say anything as he stirs the liquid, but I feel his tension, the way his grip tightens around the spoon, the way his shoulders are stiff.
I take a slow breath, steadying myself. “I started getting the messages a few months ago,” I say quietly. “First, it was texts—always from an unknown number. Just vague threats at first. You’ll regret what you did. You ruined everything. I ignored them, thought maybe it was just some loser from back home trying to scare me. But then they got worse. More specific. I’m getting emails now too.”
Penn still doesn’t look at me, but I know he’s listening.
“They mentioned Nathan,” I continue, my voice tightening around his name. “They mentioned you.” My fingers clench around my sleeves, gripping them like a lifeline. “The messages escalated fast. Said they were going to make me pay, that I wouldn’t see it coming. It’s gotten… more graphic. More detailed.” I swallow hard. “I don’t know for sure who’s sending them, but I have a pretty good guess.”
Penn finally looks over his shoulder at me, his dark eyes locking onto mine. “Your brother.”
I nod. “He’s getting out of prison on Friday.” My response sounds thin in the vast silence of his kitchen. “Jace has been out for over a year now and these messages just started in the last few months. I think he would have done something sooner.”
Penn exhales through his nose, turning his attention back to the pot. The milk is steaming now, tendrils of heat curling from the surface.