Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 138981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Yikes.
I’m going to vomit.
The man who killed Celeste Graves—who possibly murdered Emma Santos—wants to make a good impression on me?
And after Montero’s own attempt at luring me to his lair failed earlier, now his own son is trying to reel me in.
“Will you walk into my parlor?” said the spider to the fly.
I shudder, hating how I read that poem to the third graders earlier.
But I’m no damselfly.
I shake my head, locking my eyes on his. “I’ve heard about your parties. Famous people everywhere and star-studded entertainment, right? That’s just not my jam. A street rat like me wouldn’t fit in.”
His smile vanishes as his brows pull together. “What? Oh, no. We can’t have you thinking of yourself that way, Deli—”
He breaks off as his phone buzzes from somewhere in his pocket. With a sheepish smile, he says, “Excuse me. I hate how these damned phones make everybody rude these days.”
I really wonder if he’s actually so mild mannered, or if it’s just part of his cultivated act.
“Go ahead. I don’t mind.” I take a sip of my frozen latte and smile.
With a grateful nod, he retrieves his phone and swipes the lock screen.
It’s definitely not the brain freeze that seizes my whole body when I see the top window on his screen right before he tabs away to his text messages.
It’s only there for a second, but it’s unmistakable.
Instagram.
A glimpse of the exact same page I was looking at over lunch.
Emma Santos.
Shock, panic, and a thousand other things dart through me.
What the actual fuck?
Why was he looking at Emma’s Insta profile?
I must have the craziest look on my face.
Ulysses glances up a second later and chuckles softly. “Relax. It wasn’t a girl. Just Robert.”
Holy hell.
My stomach flips over again.
Does he seriously think I’m jealous? Of him?
Woof.
Roll with it, Delilah. Better than him figuring out what you’re really thinking.
I swallow the mouthful of coffee slush I left sitting on my tongue.
“Robert?”
“Yes, that one. From Hollywood. He always fusses over what to wear.” Ulysses shrugs. “Speaking of attire, if that’s what you’re so worried about, don’t. I have people who handle the fashion end. All you have to bring is your own fine face. It’s this Friday night. The party won’t really amp up until after eight when my brothers arrive, but you’re certainly welcome earlier.” He watches me intently. “Don’t let me down, Delilah?”
He gives me a miserable hangdog look.
Everything in me screams no, no, no.
Don’t do it.
Don’t even think about it.
But I’ve already made up my mind.
If I can get inside that house, maybe I can find a clue. Something damning that links Montero Arrendell to Emma. To Celeste. To that Ethan guy. Maybe even to Roger.
It’s like she’s over my shoulder, whispering to me, and she sounds too much like her mother, Marina.
Do it.
Find answers.
Find justice.
Call me a huge idiot. Yes, I know I’m being reckless, making the same mistake every dumb overly brave girl does in the movies and books, but this is real life.
I have an advantage Ulysses Arrendell doesn’t.
The posh vulture sitting across from me doesn’t know what I know.
I’m smiling like I’m skittish and shy when what I’d really like to do is slap him across the face.
“Well... I guess. I’ve always wanted to meet a superhero—or a guy who plays one in the movies.”
“Fantastic!” Ulysses beams at me like a little boy who just found out he’s taking a NASA field trip. “I’ll find something darling for you, don’t worry—you’ll just need to accessorize. You still have the bracelet?”
“Yes.” I clear my throat, glancing away. “I just left it at home. It’s so pretty, so delicate, and I was worried one of the kids might break it.”
I’m a little proud of the way I’m casually lying through my teeth without stumbling over words.
A light touch to my wrist brings me back.
I almost have to nail myself down to keep from flinching away from his hand as I meet his avid, drilling green eyes.
“Say you’ll wear it,” he whispers, something so intense in his voice it makes me shudder. “I’d love to see it on you.”
My bones are ice.
My lips feel numb as I mutter, “Oh, yeah. Sure.”
Yeah.
Sure.
Why do those two words feel like putting a noose around my own neck?
Somehow, I can already feel it closing as he smiles so brightly it’s almost blinding.
20
Red String Of Fate (Lucas)
Somewhere along the way, I went and got myself good and addicted to Delilah Clarendon.
Not seeing her for days, not being able to make it right, eats a hole in me like an acid spill.
I feel her absence like I’m fucking fiending, this gnawing sensation in my veins, making me desperate for her.
And I just know if we sit down and talk, put our tempers aside, let ourselves calm the fuck down and put our feelings on the table, we can sort everything out.