Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 123575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Ahead is a bedroom, and I nearly gasp in shock. It’s not just functional but luxurious. A king-sized bed with black satin sheets. Artwork on the walls—abstract, violent splashes of red and black. The room looks nothing like the one at The Mill or back home. A large armoire stands open, revealing clothes—some are those I’ve seen Aries wear before, while a few others are darker and more utilitarian.
Is he a part of some undercover operation?
My head moves on a swivel as I take in all the details. I notice a nightstand with a framed photograph. It’s turned down. Why? That’s such an odd thing. Maybe it got knocked over by accident? Curiosity overcomes caution.
Three careful steps, and I’m close enough to lift it.
The photo shows two identical boys, perhaps seven years old, one arm wrapped around each other’s shoulders. It hits me...this is the same photo I found in his room. Matching faces, matching smiles.
Aries... and someone else. A twin brother? That’s impossible. Or is it?
I don’t know what to make of the photograph. All I know is something isn’t adding up. I know his brother died, but...he was a twin? Wait, I peer closer, and I see that these two look like the same boys in the picture I found at the Mill House. Twins? It can’t be true...
I set the photo down exactly as I found it while my mind whirls. The creaking of pipes catches my attention. A shower? Like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, I freeze. I’ll be found if I don’t move. The sound came from somewhere deeper in the warehouse.
Move, Lilian. If he’s showering, he’ll be heading to the bedroom next.
I dart behind the armoire when I hear a set of heavy footsteps approaching.
My heartbeat quickens, and I focus my attention on controlling my breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Panic will only trigger an episode, and I can’t afford to have one of those right now. I watch between the cracks as Aries enters the room, a towel wrapped around his waist, water droplets gleaming on his skin.
A gasp threatens to escape my lips when I see the scars etched into his flesh.
Who hurt him? His back is a topography of old wounds—some surgical, others jagged and violent. Evidence of events that I know nothing about. What has Aries been doing? What kind of danger has he put himself in?
Logic tells me now is not the time to let my body react to his proximity, but I can’t help myself. I stare at him, unable to look away, my gaze moving over every inch of exposed flesh. The curve of his body, the tense set of his muscles, each sculpted from hard work. I ignore the way my core tightens with excitement.
He moves to a dresser and pulls out clothes. I sink a little deeper into the shadow of the armoire, calculating the distance to the door. Too far. Any movement would expose me, and I know damn well I wouldn’t be able to fight him off.
He drops the towel, and I look away, my cheeks burning.
When I build up the courage to look again, he’s dressed in athletic shorts. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of him.
Raw beauty and power.
As if he can sense my presence, he tilts his head to the side. His eyes scan the room, passing over my hiding spot once, then twice...
I hold my breath, my stomach tightening with anxiety. He’s going to find me and then tell our parents. I can feel the danger rippling across my skin. Before that can happen, his attention is taken elsewhere. Grabbing his phone off the bed, he peers down at the screen, frowning as if he sees something that has upset him.
Before I can wrap my head around it, he’s walking out of the room and into another.
Where is he going?
The sound of a treadmill whirring to life follows a second later. I exhale slowly and count to thirty in my head before tiptoeing from my hiding place.
The bedroom exit separates into two corridors—one heading toward the sound of the treadmill and another going a little deeper into the warehouse.
The direction I’m going to go is obvious, and it’s not near him. Going in the opposite direction, I slowly proceed down the hallway.
It feels different—colder, utilitarian. Like there were no attempts made at making this space comfortable. Motion-activated lights flicker on as I advance, and I notice a security camera that swivels above, its power light red. Disabled or fake? Who knows. I guess I don’t understand enough of what is going on here for him to need cameras.
At the end of the hallway is a steel door. The kind used to keep things out. Or in. I have this sudden urge to run toward it but don’t. I need to get as much intel on this place as I can, which means moving slowly, with calculation.