Page 130 of Brutal
Neither does he.
For a second—just one—I think he’s going to close the distance. That he’s going to take the decision out of my hands the way he did before.
Part of me wants that way more than I should.
Until—
He lets go.
Just like that.
The absence of his hand hits harder than the contact.
I inhale sharply.
He steps back. “Not again,” he says.
“Why not?”
“Because this time,” he says, “you’re going to know exactly what you’re stepping into.”
I let out a huff. “And you think I don’t already?”
“No,” he says quietly. “I don’t think you do.”
I open my mouth to respond but nothing comes out.
“I have some business to attend to,” he says. “Look around. Your bedroom is upstairs. It’s the one with the linens on the bed. I’ve had supplies brought in for you.”
“Samson…”
“I’ll be back soon. You’re safe here. Feel free to look around.”
I look around. “Is anyone else here?”
He shakes his head. “That’s what makes it safe.”
Then he’s gone. He leaves me here. Alone.
I brush the chill from my arms. Time to explore my new home.
I move slowly down the hallway, brushing the surface with my fingers as I pass. There isn’t anything on the walls, not like the oil portrait of Arthur Vexley in the foyer of Vexley House. Here the décor is minimal. Just lighting and a few pieces of furniture scattered here and there.
Nothing that suggests anyone stays here longer than necessary.
A place to disappear.
Or to be hidden.
That’s what this is. Not a home. A holding place. A safe house.
A castle without warmth.
Fit for a beast.
I pass through the first room on the left. It’s a kitchen—a huge kitchen. Stainless steel, dark stone, nothing left out, nothing mid-use. No glass in the sink. No trace of a meal ever started and abandoned.
I move on.
