Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Part of me wants to rebel.
Screw him and his games. Why put me through this? Why not talk to me like a normal human being?
I know this is the best he can do. Brenden’s whole life has been defined by sneaking through the shadows. Secrets are all he has, the marrow in his bones, and I can relate to that. Where he’s been a shadow, I’ve been a spotlight, but that’s a type of hiding too. I can play a role, try to be the girl everyone wants me to be. Try to live up to Annie’s perfection even if that’s not possible. That’s safer than the alternative.
Exactly like keeping himself hidden away is safer than revealing himself.
In the end, I can’t help it. I grab my pick set and get to work, cursing Brenden the entire time. I jiggle the tumblers into place and am rewarded with a wonderful clunking sound as the door swings open. I don’t know what I expected, but I’m disappointed to find a single folder with papers stacked inside.
I take the dossier out, open it up, and nearly drop it.
Most of the information is typed. But half the numbers were scratched out and neatly replaced by tight, tiny script. Notes are meticulously scrawled in the margins.
I know that handwriting. It’s too damn familiar.
Sam wrote these words.
But what the hell am I looking at?
I collapse into a chair, coffee balanced on a knee, as I flip through the pages and try to understand.
Why did Brenden want me to see this? What could it all mean? Names and figures repeat, locations, percentages, and a pattern emerges. Sam mentions poker more than once, and the sums are staggering in a few places. I know these people, and if this is a tally of what they owe… at some game Sam was running…
I jump to my feet. The coffee mug clattering to the floor and spilling all over. I barely notice. My mouth is dry and my throat is constricted and I feel like I can’t breathe.
The break-in at the house. Davit lying on the cold floor unconscious for God knows how long. That safe hanging open… and Dad so sure he didn’t know what was taken…
I run into the bedroom, ignoring the mess, and throw clothes on.
No more secrets. No more bullshit.
I have to find my husband and I have to kill him.
I bang on the apartment door and wait, seething, dossier tucked under my arm. The building is in a quiet, unglamorous residential area, practically the opposite of where our shared house is. I’d call it a home but that implies a familiarity and comfort that I don’t feel right now.
Because how can it be a home if I’ve been sharing it with a fucking liar?
All this damn time. He sat with my family, listened to my father talk about security, offered his stupid insights, even let Sam babble on about gear and con games and all that crap, and all that time he was lying to our faces. Was it ever real? What does any of it mean and how deep does the game go?
I feel dizzy. I’m overwhelmed. But most of all, I’m fucking pissed off.
He seems vaguely surprised to find me at his door. “Tallie. That was—“
I shove past him. “Time to talk, you piece of shit.”
The interior is plain. I didn’t expect anything else. It feels like the house did back when I first moved in. Staged almost, like he put only enough effort in to make this space livable, but he actively avoided giving it a soul. Like he’s hiding himself even from the four walls he’s trapped between.
I whirl on him in the living room. He shuts the door and faces me with that infuriatingly calm expression, eyes straying to the papers I have clutched to my side.
“I didn’t think you’d get past the lock that fast, much less get my address.”
“The lock was bullshit and your sister was more than happy to help.” I shake the folder at him. “What the fuck is this, Brenden? And no, before you start giving me some story, I want the god damn truth. What the fuck is this? Did you almost kill Davit? Did you steal this from Sam?”
Brenden shrinks back for one moment, shoulders pulling in, and I think he’s going to do what he always does: disappear.
Because this is always him. He wraps himself in armor and tries to hide in plain sight. Every time I feel like I’m making progress, there’s a new level to break through, and it’s like Brenden’s always one step ahead of me, receding further into the distance until one day I’m tired of chasing, and today might be it.
He lets out a breath, closes his eyes, and seems to gather himself. “I’ll tell you everything,” he says and moves past me to the kitchen.