9. NINE

NINE

O nce I started running, I didn't stop.

By the time I reach the house, I'm sweaty and winded. I close the door behind me, grateful both for the false security that comes with being indoors and that the first floor appears to be empty, and then head upstairs to Layla's bedroom, locking the door behind me.

She isn't here, either.

I take off the coat, sit at the edge of the bed, and try to get a fucking grip and process what just happened with Luca.

And beyond that, what does it mean for me between now and Wednesday with no cell phone?

But it's a big house. There are a lot of people here; maybe they'll just ignore me.

The silence isn't helping, but I'm not about to start roaming the halls. I turn on the TV only to be disappointed again.

Of course. There's no wifi here—I should have known better. It looks like there is a DVD player, but from what I can see, there aren't any DVDs in this room. And you know what else isn't in this room? A fucking clock. I realize I've had no concept of what time it is since I saw the clock on the microwave this morning at 11:00 AM, and it makes me fucking crazy. For the first time in my life, I feel like I'm in one of those horror movies I obsess over, and I don't love it.

A young woman trapped in a secluded mansion in the mountains in the middle of winter—no one is looking for her, and there's no way out.

I lie face down and scream into my pillow until my lungs hurt.

Then, I remember what River said earlier—that if I got lost, I could follow the river downstream, and I'd eventually run into the main road in town.

It's better than freezing to death, and it's better than dying here like all the other fucking idiots in my favorite movies.

I make a decision. Tomorrow, as soon as I get the opportunity, I'll go. I think I've seen all there is to see here anyway.

I'm pulled from my thoughts when the doorknob begins to turn back and forth. I wait, and when it stops, there's a knock.

"Layla?" I call out hopefully.

There's no answer; I hear more fumbling with the doorknob before the door creaks open. When Declan walks in, I sigh and lie back on the bed.

So much for hiding out.

"Don't lock the doors in my house," he says.

"Why not?" I ask. "Doesn't look like it matters anyway."

He sits on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry about what happened in the woods."

Did he just apologize to me? I prop myself up on my elbows and look back at him with a furrowed brow. "What?"

"I think maybe it was a good thing, though. Don't you? Maybe you can understand now that Luca is just…unwell."

"I'll stay away from him…until Wednesday, like you said. But I am not the one seeking him out. I haven't done that, not one time. And I still don't understand."

Declan climbs further onto the bed and tosses the teddy bear Layla clung to so tightly last night aside like it's nothing. Then, he lies down next to me, mere inches away.

"You were trading stories, right? That's what Luca said." He props himself up on his side then runs his hand through his raven hair, brushing it away from his eyes.

"Not really," I tell him. "I told him a story. I never got one."

"Well, I am going to tell you a story about Luca—or maybe about Luca and I both—that might help you to understand. And it's not the one he was going to tell you."

"Okay…" I say hesitantly.

"Our mother died shortly after he was born," he says. "She hemorrhaged; they said there was nothing they could do. He never knew her, but I did. I was three years old."

"I'm so sorry," I say.

"I don't need you to do that. Just listen. Our dad, as you may know, is a pretty prominent international investor. He's acquired quite a bit of wealth as well as inherited it, and he was never around a lot—always traveling, we always had live-in nannies. And, when I was seventeen, Dad came home with a twenty-one-year-old bride and told us she was going to be our new mommy. But new mommy didn't understand how things worked around here; she thought that since they were married, my dad was going to be around and would stop sleeping with other women."

"And he didn't."

"No, he didn't. And they fought and fought until she decided that to get back at him, she was going to start sleeping with his son."

"Wait so…you had an affair with your stepmom?"

"No."

"No?" I ask.

"Luca did."

"Luca? But…he would have been…" I start to do the math in my head, thinking I must have misunderstood.

"He was thirteen when it started, yeah. You're about her age, Teagan. Can you think of anything you would want from a thirteen-year-old boy?"

"What?" I ask, repulsed. "No."

"Exactly," he says. "But he thought they were in love. Eventually, he called my dad and told him, and he immediately hopped on a plane. He prepared this big speech where he was going to tell my dad she wanted to marry him instead, and they were going to leave together; he told her to pack a bag, and then she left without him before my dad made it home. He was devastated. He was convinced for months that she would come back for him, but obviously, she never did."

"Why are you telling me this?" I ask.

"Because that's the story that matters," Declan says. "That's Luca's origin story, and that's why he'll never really be able to love a woman. It fucked him up, Teagan. He doesn't understand this…concept he's obsessed with. He's not capable of it. But he is more than capable of violence in its name. I'm not controlling him, Teagan. I love my brother more than anyone; I would do anything for him. I'm taking care of him."

"Are you?" I ask.

"Am I what? Capable of love?"

"Yes. Or violence."

"Yes to both," he says. "Promise me that you'll really stay away from him this time."

"Yeah. No problem."

"Say it."

"I promise."

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" He pushes up into a seated position and climbs off the bed. "Come with me."

"What?" I ask. "Where?"

"You'll see."

He walks toward the door, but I don't move.

"Get up, Teagan," he says. "If I have to make you, I'm going to show you something you won't like nearly as much."

"Um…okay."

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and force myself to follow him out the door and down the dark hallway, my pulse racing. This weird idea enters my head that maybe he can hear it, even though I know that isn't humanly possible. Still, it makes me panic even more as we walk the halls of the house, which is somehow even more ominous in the daylight. Last night, when it was filled with people and noise and bloodstains, it felt more like a prop. Now, it's too quiet. It's like the walls are watching me, and I can feel it breathing.

Declan stops in front of a small elevator and ushers me inside, closing the gate behind us. I move to the back corner, cross my arms in front of me, and watch as he hits the 'B' button.

For basement.

Maybe I am going to die like a dumb bitch. God damn it.

When it stops, he holds the gate open and waits, but I don't move.

"Get out," he says.

"No."

"What do you mean, 'No'?"

"If you're going to kill me, I'm not going to make it convenient. You can kill me here in your fancy elevator. The floors look porous, and the wallpaper will be an absolute nightmare."

He throws his head back and laughs, but I don't. I stare at him, straight-faced, with my arms still crossed tightly in front of me. "Oh god, you're dramatic," he says. "I'm not going to kill you, Teagan. Let's go."

Reluctantly, I exit the elevator and follow him down an even darker hallway. He stops in front of a set of wooden double doors and pushes them open.

A library. He has a fucking library.

I stand there in awe, taking it all in.

"I told you that you'd like it," he says. "I haven't given you any reason not to trust me yet, have I, Teagan? You, on the other hand…"

I do like it. There's even one of those rolling ladders like on Beauty and the Beast . And he has a point—I guess he hasn't given me a reason not to trust him. He wasn't lying about Luca.

"I want to try something," I say.

"It's not going to work—" he starts.

I run and jump onto the rolling ladder, hoping to check off an item on my bucket list, but it barely moves more than a couple of feet.

"I told you," Declan says. "It's too heavy. It has to be, or else what do you think would happen when you tried to reach for something at the top?"

"I'm so disappointed," I say. "Dreams shattered right now. That would have made for great content for my socials, too…if I had my phone."

He laughs and pulls his own phone from his pocket.

"Oh, I see how it is. The rules don't apply to you."

"I make the rules," he says, then holds his phone out in front of him. "Smile, Teagan."

I'm momentarily taken aback, but I strike a dramatic pose anyway and smile as he asked, and he snaps the photo.

"Beautiful," he says, looking down at the screen.

He smiles just a little, and the late afternoon sun streaming through the small windows near the ceiling hits his face just right. He's fucking beautiful. I won't say that, but I'd have to be blind not to notice it. A lot of time, he's terrifying, but I noticed it when he was on stage, too. Still, I won't be like the rest of them—I'm not going to fall at Declan's feet and worship him just because he took me to his secret library and called me beautiful.

"I sent it to you," he says. "You can post it when you leave."

Oh. Right. When I leave.

"Why'd you bring me here?" I ask.

"Well, not to murder you," he says. "I thought you might be bored, I know you like to read. The horror section is over here." He walks to the end of the bookshelf and turns down the next row. I climb down the ladder and follow him.

"I can take any of these?" I ask.

"Yep," he says, leaning against the shelf.

I search the shelves and pull out a couple of my favorite Stephen Kings. Declan adds a book to the top of the stack. "Have you read this one?"

I read aloud from the cover, " At the Mountains of Madness by H.P. Lovecraft. No, I haven't. Are you trying to tell me something?"

"You're overthinking again," he says. "Just thought you might like it."

"Okay," I shrug. "I'll try it."

He's quiet while I search the shelves for about ten more minutes, adding a couple more books to my stack.

"Okay," I tell him. "I think I'm set."

"After you," Declan says. He places a hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward the door. I swear I don't breathe until we're back inside the elevator.

"What'd you think of the party last night?" he asks as he opens the gate again.

"Um, I'm not sure," I say. "I think maybe I was drugged."

"No one gave you drugs, Teagan," he says as we step into the bedroom. "I told you about the blood. Do you believe me now?"

I remember how I felt last night…alive. Like everything was alive. Hyperaware of every sensation. Horny as fuck.

"I haven't decided yet."

"I see," he says, frowning.

I sit on the bed with the books still in my arms. Declan stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans and leans against the dresser.

Why is he still in here? Does he want something?

"Um, I think I'll try this one first," I say, holding up the book he recommended.

"Did you fuck him?" he asks.

"Luca? No."

"Good. Teagan, I—"

"Declan." I look to the doorway and see Layla looking back and forth between the two of us. Tears well in her eyes. "What are you—"

"Enjoy the books," Declan says, interrupting her. He turns and leaves the room without another word.

Her pain-filled eyes meet mine. "I was just borrowing some books," I tell her.

"Yeah," she says softly. "Okay. Um, we're going to eat soon. Alana ordered Chinese food. Do you like Chinese food?"

She blinks, and silent tears run down her cheeks.

"Yeah…but Layla—"

I'm not sure exactly what I was going to say, but I never get to say it. She leaves the room without another word. I don't see her when I go downstairs to eat later, nor do I see Luca, but Declan is there. He doesn't speak to me; he never even glances at me, and it's like the entire afternoon never happened.

And when they invite me to watch a movie with them in the theater room afterward, I decline, telling them I'm tired and just want to read and go to bed.

It's so incredibly quiet in the room that it seems loud. I miss music. I miss hearing the traffic from the 57 outside my window at night. I think maybe I won't be able to fall asleep, but eventually, I find my eyes heavy. I close my book, turn off the lights, and drift off to sleep.