Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
My heart falls at how true that is.
“For the record, I’m not my father. I’m responsible, Holden. And no, Gramps didn’t change. He also knew how to treat me like an actual human being.”
He opens his mouth and hesitates. Possibly for the first time in his life.
My throat scrapes with sadness.
Being judged because I’m the daughter of a failed sculptor and a successful alcoholic isn’t new. Neither is being reminded how much I acted up when I was young.
Somehow, it hurts more coming from him, the last real living piece of my grandfather’s world.
Things really don’t change, do they?
“I’m treating you appropriately,” he mutters. “If we’re going to get through this, you’re welcome to de-escalate first—”
“Don’t bother,” I bite off.
Then I’m gone, pushing past him out the door and marching up to my old guest room. It’s only when I shut the door that I let the tears come, slumping on the bed, grateful it’s still there.
Outside, it’s getting dark.
My reflection looks watery against the glass, a miserable portrait in the black night.
People don’t change, but the rest?
Time is brutal.
I look around, scanning empty walls once plastered in grand paintings, the bare spot in the corner that once held a comfy lounge chair.
Almost everything I loved here is gone.
Just like Gramps himself.
Everything except for this secret I never wanted.
I drop my head into my hands, fingers pressed deep into my eyes.
I never asked for any of this.
The Hera Egg. This is the kind of thing that turns the art world on its head and rocks historians.
And by some insane twist of fate, it’s mine.
I’m one little fit away from hysteria.
But I won’t break.
I won’t fail my grandfather’s last wish.
I won’t strangle Holden before he protects me from whatever big, bad messy stuff I have coming my way.
So I take a deep breath and wipe my face with my hand.
This isn’t some weird challenge, I’m sure.
PopPop left a gift so heavy because he loves me. Because he knows I’ll get it like no one else in the family. Because he trusts me to find it a home, wherever that may be.
He did this for me.
He wanted to show me beyond any doubt that I was always his cherished granddaughter, no different from my cousins. So much more than my father.
Now, I just need the will to see this through and treasure the journey he’s dropped on my head.
4
BURIED TREASURE (HOLDEN)
Idon’t bother staying up late.
After my one-way screaming match with a girl who still leaves me seeing red, I head to the room that’s always been mine when I’ve done overnight stints in this house.
Like everything else here, it’s been stripped down, just barely more bare and utilitarian than I kept it when Leonidas was alive.
Why the fuck did I take her bait?
I should’ve handled it better, knowing she’d be packing venom.
Yes, she’s infernal, but she’s still a young woman.
The unexpected inheritance bomb the old man dropped has left us both shocked. To be fair, I’m hardly the only one stuck in the past.
I had my reasons for stopping her from acting out like the young, entitled punk she was.
I don’t regret welding the wine cellar shut.
I’m not sorry I confiscated the keys to her car when she wanted to sneak out with friends past curfew.
I wonder if she ever appreciated me for standing outside her door, every time the old man insisted she put in a few hours with homework or practicing her art.
No, she’s not her old man.
Gordon Blackthorn’s bullshit was everything Leonidas hoped to save her from.
Grumbling, I unfold the crumpled letter Leonidas left me. The wise old goat was a brilliant motivator.
He knew leaving behind a two-and-a-half-million-dollar severance pot of gold at the end of this shit rainbow would be plenty to keep me on for one more job.
Enough to make me go through hell.
Money like that can get Kit through college without breaking a sweat. It can fund a home nurse for my parents—a good one—plus anything else they might need. If there’s anything left over, it might be real security. Not scrambling after my retirement on a fraction of my old pay.
Damn. I guess I can’t begrudge a miracle when it comes with strings attached.
That familiar burn flaring in my knees agrees.
I flex my legs, wincing.
Probably the stress.
That and getting older.
They only started acting up a couple years ago, this gnawing sensation that’s getting harder to ignore by the month. Cortisone shots might calm it for a while, but my doc warned me that’s not a permanent fix.
A cruel reminder that I can’t carry on in the private security game forever. There’s a reason most guys with my career path age out by forty-five.
I won’t even get that.
And if I inherit my mother’s arthritis—shit. What will I be able to do after this?
“Fine,” I whisper to the empty room, old routine taking over and doing a sweep of the doors and windows. I’ve already done a clean sweep of the house. “I’ll do it for you, Leonidas. One last rodeo with the little queen.”