Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
An incredulous laugh bubbles up my throat at the questions, delivered so convincingly, and I can’t believe that she’s continuing this façade. So much for expecting her to be contrite and honest.
I force the laugh down. If she wants to play that game, so can I. “No." I tuck an unwashed strand of my hair behind my ear, aware that hers looked salon-fresh. "I haven't. I’m really worried. May I come in?” I’m not an actress, but the words came out pretty well, my rage disguised as concern.
Her dark red lips pin together. "It's awfully early, Layana. The staff isn't even up yet."
I call bullshit on that. Jillian demands secretaries at BSX arrive by 6:30 AM. Her house staff probably starts their day before the sun rises. I shove the door open and squeeze by her, ignoring her huff of annoyance. "I just need a minute, Jillian. I'm going crazy with worry."
"Well, please keep your voice down," she says stiffly. "This needs to be a short visit."
Short visit, my ass. I pause in the entry foyer and wait for her to shut the door. She turns to me and gestures toward the parlor.
It’s time for me to admit that I have underestimated this woman. I’ve stood opposite of her for three years but haven't appreciated the extent of her deception. Now, I know the truth—that Brant is here, or has been here—yet I'm almost persuaded by her acting. I sit in her formal sitting room, listen to her smooth lies, and start to feed her rope, curious where she plans to take this. I feed her foot after foot and watch as she sits in a plush red upright chair, ties a complicated noose around her neck and hangs herself.
It's a masterful act. One that goes through irritation, then sympathy, then a full breakdown of tears over 'where our boy could be'. She’s so worried for him. Terrified. And such the perfect portrayal of a loving aunt. I watch her performance with dead eyes, horrified by the ability of this woman who has orchestrated Brant's life for two decades. She’s run BSX during that time. Protected his secrets while spinning lies of her own. I sit beside her, grip the velvet arm of a chair, and wonder where in the home Brant is.
Once the noose is tied, once I know her selfish loyalties, once I fully understand my enemy …
I push to my feet and scream Brant's name as loud as humanly possible.
Chapter 71
Jillian shoots to her feet, confused, and her gaze darts to the upper right. I take off in that direction, sprinting up the geometric staircase, moving faster than a high-heeled senior citizen can even think about going. I scream his name over and over as I tear down a marble hallway, my steps echoing through the halls, and skid to a halt when I hear my name. It was from a few doorways back, and I retraced my steps, pushing open a bedroom doorway right as Jillian appears at the top of the stairs.
She’s breathing hard, gripping the metal railing as if she needs it to stay upright, and I’m not certain, if she had a heart attack right here, that I’d even care. I hear my name again and I turn back to the bedroom and try to understand what I’m seeing.
There’s a bald man I've never seen, standing at the edge of a bed, in front of a thrashing figure entangled in sheets. The stranger and I stare at each other for a brief moment, then my eyes drop to Brant and he smiles and it feels as if my heart will explode. "Help," he gasps. "Get me out of here." Then he jerks his hands up and I see the restraints and my vision goes red.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" I whirl as Jillian enters the doorway, skirted by two female employees. They stood there in a line between me and the door, three soldiers shoulder to shoulder as if preparing for battle.
"Layana," Jillian starts, her hands patting the air in a calming fashion. She’s still out of breath from the chase, and I’m reassured by the heave of her silk-covered chest.
"WHO THE FUCK HAS THE KEYS TO GET HIM OUT OF THOSE?" I point to the shackles that have Brant tied down like an animal. As if he is dangerous, or insane, or anything other the gorgeously brilliant man that he is.
"We had to restrain him. He was violent."
"No, I wasn't," Brant argues from behind me.
"You don't know what you were!" Jillian snaps.
"You," I snarl, pointing a sharp finger in her face. "You don't have the right to fucking talk to him anymore. I'm taking him with me right now."
“Now, now. Watch your language,” Jillian clicks her tongue. “How nice to see the trash that lies beneath that blue-blood smile, Layana."