Page 114 of Reverie
“God,” I swear out loud.
I am just who Benjamin Brigham raised me to be.
Misha,Amelia, Luna, Max, and I sit around the table in the war room. Leo’s off doing whatever he’s doing, and I’m glad that he’s absent. We shared a room last night, but I’m grateful that Misha offered me my own space on the other side of the compound.
One, it prevents me from having to deal with Leo’s iciness toward me.
Two, it prevents me from acting on the urge to go back to the room where Winter sleeps and taking her in my arms, begging her forgiveness.
My heart races at the vision—me on my knees for her, pleading with her not to leave me.
She’d give me a sweet smile with her delectable mouth, only to say, “No.”
Just as she should.
The adrenaline causes a sharp headache to form between my eyes.
“Let’s reverse engineer this, Hunter. Tell me what you know about Isla Cara—what places feel important—or even unimportant. We’ll all put what we have together, and maybe something will make sense.” Luna’s voice is uncharacteristically soft. She’s taken the lead on this meeting, which has gone on for three hours.
First, Amelia recounted all the places she knew on Isla Cara and other places outside the island that Father deemed important.
The hidden spaces in Brigham Estate.
The multiple vaults he held riches in.
The list of twenty-seven properties he owned and the dozens of others he held with partnerships.
None of them rise above his connection to Isla Cara.
I take a deep breath, prepared to give them a listing of everything I saw on Isla Cara over the several years I spent there on and off, but I stop short because everyone is giving me strange looks.
Misha looks grim.
Luna looks empathetic.
Amelia looks…sad.
Max ignores us all, favoring work on his computer.
I clear my throat.
“There weren’t too many places I was allowed to go when I visited him there, and I only spent a few weeks at a time. I spent the summers there when I was older.”
Luna nods, scribbling on her notepad.
“Do any specific instances stand out to you?” Luna puts the end of her pen in her mouth, and I track it when the ballpoint side traces a faint blue line on her palm.
“Sure. Several things.” I close my eyes and try to push away the image that’s been haunting me on a flashback loop.
Me on the veranda. Hot. Naked. Bloody.
I clear my throat again.
“I saw Misha there once. I was about fourteen or so, and it was the first winter break that my father had me the entire time.”
Misha speaks up. “I remember seeing you a few times on that visit, but you would always run away.” He gives an amused chuckle, and I try not to bristle.
Run away, you little pussy.Father’s words ring between my ears.