And I survived because I was good at it.
Until her.
The girl.
London.
It was the first time in my life I felt.
I pressed the security code and strode through the massive house from room to room until I came to the oil painting. I hated it. So ironic, two lovers embraced together, the sun beaming down between them. Fuckin’ sick bastards.
I shifted it to the right then pressed in a code on an alarm pad. I heard a click and the door opened beside the painting. I strode through it and it slid closed behind me. It was like sealing myself in hell.
I rarely came here except once a month for a meeting with Brice or when Mommy dearest was in town and wanted to see me. The woman could read a lie before you even spoke it. I practiced for years as a kid in front of the mirror, being careful of my gestures, of my muscle movement, keeping my eyes dead. Breathing was paramount, steady and even. I’d lied to her about the girl London.
Told her I hadn’t seen her when she ran away. Of course, that was a lie.
Lies were everywhere. The art was whether you could make them into truths.
My dress shoes clicked down the cement floors to the basement. I wore my suit and tie like I always did when I came here. It would be disrespectful to look anything but your best.
I stopped at the grey steel door. “Glen,” I addressed the guard.
“Wasn’t expecting you.”
I smirked. “Better you don’t expect anything. That way you won’t ever be disappointed.” I lowered my voice and lost my grin. “Open the door.”
Glen did and I strode into hell. The dark corridor was one I’d never get used to. No doubt, they designed this place so if any of us had to walk down the corridor, we’d be reminded of what would happen to us if we made a mistake.
The cells of torture. Five of them and each had its purpose. We were lucky if we came here instead of France, though.
I put my finger on the scanner. It beeped then went green and a door clicked open. I walked in and went directly to the computer. They’d know I was here and I had to have a good excuse as to why. I was hoping one would come to me—eventually.
It took only a few minutes to get into the emails. The trick was making certain any trace of it ever being sent was cleaned up, and I spent forty minutes tracing backwards until I was sure Tanner’s message was deleted from all possible links. Well, I was betting some hacker could find it, but unless they were suspicious then they wouldn’t be looking.
I shut off the computer, got up and walked out.
It had been easier than I thought. Explaining Tanner’s death, I’d have to go to France and face my mother, but they wouldn’t be upset at his loss. Besides, telling them I killed him because of his relationship with Georgie would only strengthen their trust in me. That had been a little shaky ever since London.
I shut the door and started walking back.
Then I heard her.
It was faint, but I’d never forget the slight lilt to her voice. Fuck. I closed my eyes and forced myself to keep walking. With each step, my heart thudded louder. My mind expanded into a fit of rage and agony.
I didn’t expect her to be here, but now I knew why she was.
Because I was.
A test.
Loyalty.
They knew I came here once a month to meet asshole Brice. That I had to walk down this corridor. That eventually I’d hear her cries. Notice her.
Jesus. Their cruelty was endless.
I stopped at the door, my hand curled into a fist, raised and ready to knock for Greg to let me out. I could do this. I could leave and not look back. I could forget. I knew how to stop the nightmares.
But not this one.
My head dropped forward as I lowered my arm. I turned. What was I doing? I knew I couldn’t get her out. What was the point in seeing her? They’d want me to do this.
Like I told Deck, there was nowhere to hide from Vault. My sister was proof of that.
My feet continued down the corridor to where I’d heard her voice. I knew what I’d see. I knew how they broke them. I was one of them.
They drove all hope out of you until you became dead—nothing.
I couldn’t enter the cell as they were all fingerprint access. They’d know it was me.
I stepped closer. Then I raised my head and looked through the tiny barred window.
I had to grab the bars to support my weight as my knees weakened when my eyes hit her.
I’d thought I’d been broken once before, but now—
Now it was complete.
As if sensing someone was looking at her, London raised her head, the curtain of hair parting to reveal haunting eyes and dried, caked blood on her forehead and mouth. I couldn’t swallow. I had trouble breathing and the agony in my chest hurt so much I winced. At that moment, I prayed for the dead man I’d grown up to be, because feeling this pain was worse than any torture they had ever done to me.