Page 38 of Brutal
“If you’ll come this way.”
I step inside.
The space is expansive, but not in a way that feels open. The ceilings are high, the lines clean, the materials expensive without being showy. Light filters in through tall windows.
My heels click softly against the floor as I follow him deeper into the house. I look around, trying to take in as much as I can. Staircases that don’t curve but angle sharply upward. Hallways that narrow slightly before opening into larger spaces.
A strange awareness settles low in my chest.
This place holds power. It’s so thick I almost feel like if I breathe in enough of it, I’ll explode.
The man leading me stops at a set of double doors and turns. “He’ll be with you shortly.”
I nod once. “Thank you.”
He opens the doors and steps aside.
I walk in.
The room is smaller than I expect after the scale of everything else, but it’s no less perfect. Dark wood. A single large window overlooking the grounds.
I move a few steps inside and then stop.
Wait.
I see it again on the far wall.
The key.
It’s carved into the paneling, almost hidden in the grain if you’re not looking for it.
But I’m looking.
I step closer.
I hover my fingers over the design, almost afraid to touch it. It means something. The repetition makes that clear. But what?
I gasp and pivot when I hear footsteps.
Samson Vexley stands in the doorway.
He looks freaking gorgeous in dark jeans and a white shirt, again open at the neck. What did I expect? That twenty-four hours later I’d no longer find him attractive? He’s watching me as if he’s been here longer than I have.
As if this—me, standing in his house, studying his walls—is exactly what he expected.
I lift my chin. “You didn’t invite me here,” I say, “but you did say I should come to you.”
He looks like he wants to smile, but he doesn’t. “I did.” He rakes his gaze over me slowly, as if he’s memorizing me. He doesn’t even try to hide it.
“I don’t wait for invitations.”
“Good.” He steps into the room and closes the distance between us.
My pulse betrays me, quickening just enough that I’m aware of it.
He drops his gaze briefly to my throat. Can he see my carotid pounding? Of course he can.
Already I know that Samson Vexley notices everything.
