Midnight Toxicity

20.

"Damn sandals," I whined minutes later, my footwear slipping and sliding all over the place as I jogged down the road.

Dust from Gary's vehicle infiltrated my lungs. Still, I pushed through the discomfort, barely taking in the scenery as I focused on the large Gothic-style monstrosity coming into view. The different varieties of green screwed with my sight, but I wouldn't allow it to screw with my confidence as well. I spent my younger years training my mind's eye to recognize certain colors, but the dim lighting and vibrant landscape had my head spinning. Because... Wow! After living in the city, the region was surreal.

The grounds were an overgrown mess, but the closer I trotted to the house, the less it mattered. There were crumbling outbuildings close by, but Gary parked in front of the massive Victorian, figuring he would meet me there.

At four stories tall, the old boarding house would be any Gothic lover's wet dream. Dark balconies with ornate gable trim and questionable-looking chimney stacks jutted from the weather-worn brick exterior. Despite the unease I felt, the soft lights beyond the windowpanes looked warm and welcoming, and there were actual cobblestone pathways between each decaying structure. Five wide stones led up to the ancient double doors, and I huffed and puffed up the stairs just before Gary popped his head outside with a blank look. Why did he make me run?

He's an asshole, Char. Act like you aren't freaking the fuck out.

"Funny meeting you here." I panted, rocking on my heels on the top step.

I had a hard time reading Gary, but since he's Golding's closest henchman, I needed to find out what made him indispensable and how to become his replacement. If I couldn't, then I would adopt an alternate scheme. Kacen hadn't given me much instruction other than one; get as close to Golding as possible and inform him of any relevant info when he contacted me.

I should have asked for specifics, but I had been naked and unnerved. And horny. The guy was insanely hot, owning his bad-boy persona, making girls drool everywhere. But without knowing what I was getting into, how the hell was I able to strategize? I had no idea when I woke up in Tucker City I would end up in Alabama by nightfall.

"Come on in," Gary intoned, widening the door for my arrival.

I strode inside like I belonged, even though my pulse skyrocketed over the unfamiliar interior. Windows as wide as buses lined the foyer, although concealed by thick curtains, making me wonder about the lights I saw. Had it been a trick of the fading sunlight? Several halls pointed in different directions. Gary motioned for me to follow him up a set of winding stairs.

He explained there were four stories and three separate wings. The upper levels were closed for repairs and to keep out because some areas suffered severe damage in places and were dangerous.

The remodeled surfaces looked great, though, with golden-toned runners covering the newly tiled floors while the walls retained their wooden gleam.

The rooms along the second floor all had their doors shut, but I heard faint voices. How many people lived there? And where was this Chace guy? As if reading my mind, Gary pointed to the last doorway on the left.

He stopped on the landing. "Chace will see you soon. Don't explore above this level. It is for your own safety. Everyone follows a strict routine based on their position. After you settle, come down to the dining room. I requested the chef to prepare a plate for you."

"What happened to waiting until breakfast?"

"You still don't understand." He clipped.

His tone sounded so monotone I almost asked if he followed a script. It was odd, but I didn't have time for his weird ass, taking the initiative to enter my improved living quarters without knocking. And they were quarters if the three different entrances inside were any indication.

Twisting open the creaky door on the far left first, I frowned at the pair of twin beds and a chest of drawers on each side. I blinked at the intricate designs above my head, not expecting the ornate ceiling. Did this mean I shared sleeping accommodations with a stranger? The space on the right had a lived-in feel with a bottle of cologne and odds and ends on the bureau, so I dumped my bag on the empty half before checking out the other areas. I grinned after verifying the mattress was new, petting the soft cream-colored comforter, thankful I would not have to worry about mundane things like pillows and sheets.

The next doorway I tried after traipsing over the thin carpet led to a small sitting area. A TV mounted against the wall before a blue sofa with a low coffee table had me cocking my head in confusion. I was expecting a bathroom, my bladder nearly bursting after the flight and the long trek to Motley Hall.

I ignored my baser needs, finding a canvas painting beside the TV. After running my fingertips on the edges, I peeled my bra from my sweat-soaked skin to grip the knife I always carried. After hiding my only weapon on the backside of the wooden frame, I stepped away to make certain it hung straight.

"Can I help you?" A deep voice barked from behind me.

I took my time turning around, pretending my heart was not thundering at the thought of my new partner discovering I stashed a knife in the back of a painting for when the shit hit the fan. What a first impression! When Gary combed through my stuff, I knew if they found weapons, they would confiscate them. Hoarding weaponry in plain sight gave me a thrill, even if it left me defenseless.

The man was a few years older than I expected, and he stared deep into my eyes as if trying to steal my soul with a turquoise glare behind black-rimmed glasses. Damn, where did they find this blue-eyed hottie? His shock of pure white hair curled under his ears when he leaned forward menacingly.

"What are you doing in here?" he growled, stepping into the room.

"Hi." I turned on the charm, flipping my ponytail across my shoulder. "I'm Charlize Codona."

His deadly glower intensified. "I asked you a fucking question."

"Aren't these my rooms, too?" I threw up my hands, feigning innocence with a coy smile known to give guys dirty thoughts about what my mouth could do. "Just checking out the place. What's your name, sugar?"

I watched as he snatched a cell phone out of his tan khakis, huffing at the double standard. Why did he get to keep his phone? He pressed a button, and I realized too late that he had hidden a camera in the corner. His eyes narrowed at what he saw on the screen. When he reached out to grab me, instincts took hold, and I tightened my fingers around my rings, aiming my fist at his jaw. He dodged my swipe, a large palm gripping my throat to press me against the nearest surface with his imposing strength.

Who needed a stellar first impression, considering my history of violence?