by Lily White
Canting his head from side to side, Vincent stretched the muscles of his neck. “Do you honestly believe money is my only concern? Even after what I’ve already told you?”
“What else could it be? You obviously cared very little for Penny. She was a woman you were toying with since the beginning. And although I believe you truly loved your brother, I don’t think you loved him enough to stay away from a woman he wanted to be his. Unless of course,” she surmised, tapping her fingers against the table, “you really did have feelings for Penny. Did it bother you that she cut of the sexual relationship she had with you after you demanded she have the same type of relationship with Maurice? Is that why you forced her?”
Soft laughter shook his broad shoulders. “I never told her to fuck Maurice.”
“You implied it. By sending her down there - alone - you knew he would take what he wanted.”
Vincent relaxed back into his seat. “You’ve neglected to focus on an important detail in what we’ve explored so far.”
“And that is?” Her fingers stopped their rhythm, the room growing quiet.
Giving her question time to linger, Vincent finally parted his lips to answer, “Whereas Maurice had sex with Penelope as soon as he had the opportunity, there was one part of her that was mine.”
It was Meadow’s turn to laugh. “Please tell me you don’t mean her heart.”
His snide grin returned. “No, of course not. I’m not sure that belonged to anybody but herself. Penelope was rather fickle. The part of her that belonged to me was her mouth. I’m the one who kissed her. It was my cock she wrapped those pretty lips around. In that way, I took the most intimate part of her, despite what Maurice had done. No matter how many times she spread her legs for my brother, those lips would always be mine.”
Oh, how Meadow wanted to skip ahead, wanted to strike out at him to leave a deep scar, but with a calm professionalism, she took a breath and held those secrets to herself. Reminding herself less than twenty-four hours remained for her to crush the arrogance of this evil man, she threaded her fingers together over the surface of the table.
Leaning forward, Vincent stared at Meadow as if he were holding her feet over a fire. She didn’t like the feeling that all he had to do was loosen his fingers and drop her down to burn.
“And how curious is that? Don’t you think? Penelope was a rebellious girl. She had you and your mother she could run to and avoid ending up back on the streets, but she stayed at Wishing Well even when demands were made of her that she didn’t like. Even when she was forced to participate. Perhaps the answer to that odd question was written in the diary you have? Perhaps it’s trapped inside your head? For once, you might know something that I don’t, so as usual in this game we’re playing, I’ll give you my perspective if you’ll give me hers.”
“Fine,” Meadow agreed. “We’ll continue this dance. Now, start talking.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Vincent
“I’m not hurt,” Penelope spat as she moved past me, her body moving quickly to escape down the employee hall. Cocking a brow, I watched her until she’d rounded a corner, and then I let myself into the elevator, typing in the code to ride down to the basement and speak with my brother.
While Penelope had been away cooling off the prior evening, I’d taken Maurice his dinner. It was a surprise to find him in a good mood, his demeanor not quite, but almost normal. We’d talked of what occurred when Penelope brought him lunch, and oddly he’d left out most of the sordid details. I’d found the exclusion of pertinent information strange for a man who normally treated women like objects used to get off.
Tits. Ass. And a cunt. That’s all he cared about, all that interested him. But with Penelope, a curious shift had occurred in his thinking.
First noticing the change on the evening of the masquerade ball, I’d neglected to pay better attention during the weeks after that I’d stayed away, but after returning, and in the weeks that followed, I’d breathed easier with how even-tempered he’d become. I’d thought that, maybe, he would improve even more if he could admire Penelope’s face during the encounters he had with her.
But what I found when taking the elevator down to his cage was a complete reversal in a man who, until now, had struggled to behave.
The sound of breaking glass drew me left down the long hall. Entering the only cheerful room that could be found in this dark maze, I stood watching as Maurice destroyed a large part of it. Interestingly, I noted, he hadn’t destroyed his breakfast or the table it was set on.
“Is there a problem?” I asked, intentionally keeping my voice calm.
He spun to look at me, a vacancy in his eyes I hadn’t seen in weeks. The regression scared me. What had Penelope done?
“She won’t come back,” he growled, the sentence a mix of French and English I was unaccustomed to hearing.
“One language, Maurice.” Although I’d tucked my hands inside my pockets, and although I’d made my request as if his choice in words hadn’t stunned me, I was frightened for my brother. Somewhere in that twisted mind of his, Penelope had managed to clutter his thoughts further.
Slamming his palms down on the surface of his desk, he ignored the wreck he’d made of the room. It wasn’t like this was the first time, and as usual, I’d clean up the mess and recreate the memory of our childhood home. When he said nothing, I asked, “What do you mean she won’t come back? Did she tell you that?”
“No.” His bark of a response was followed by the slide of his hand, knocking the keyboard away from his computer. “I hurt her.”
My brows pulled together. “I just spoke with her in the lobby. She told me she wasn’t hurt.”
“I tried,” he admitted through clenched teeth before stalking away from his desk to drop his body down onto the leather sofa.
“Did she submit?” I asked calmly.
One harsh shake of his head. “I didn’t want her to.”
My eyes rounded to hear it. For the first time I realized my brother might actually love the woman for whom he’d developed an obsession. Heart pounding, I attempted to convince myself that it was possible for him to feel such an emotion, despite what all his doctors and counselors had told me.
Psychopaths don’t love.
Sociopaths care only for what they can toy with as long as it amuses them.
Schizophrenics develop delusions that can, sometimes, make it impossible for them to believe that another person might love them in return.
He wore all of those labels, or just one - depending on the person diagnosing him.
But despite the labels, all I’d ever seen in my brother was a man with limited communication regardless of his intelligence, and a man who was so out of touch with emotion that feeling anything beyond anger and rejection were impossible. He was never compliant with medications. Never.
It wasn’t until Penelope that I’d believed in the possibility of something else. I wouldn’t let her ruin that.
“She’ll be back at lunch, Maurice, and I promise you that she’ll be in a better mood, but I need you to promise me that you’ll clean up this mess and calm down before your counselor arrives.”
Doubt lingered behind his eyes, but he nodded his head regardless. “I’ll do it, for her.”
My shoulders relaxed. “I know you will, brother. I have business to attend, so I need to go upstairs. If you behave for the rest of the day, I’ll take you out into the garden tonight. It’s been a few days since you’ve left your cage.
Another nod was all he gave me, and knowing that he was done with communicating with me for the morning, I slipped away from the basement, reached the lobby and went in search for Penelope.
Finding her at the well, I watched her silently for several minutes, noticing the way her shoulders shook with tears, the way her arms crossed over her chest protectively. In truth, I should have left her alone to her quiet moment, but I was more of a bastard than that. She’d angered me. She’d upset Maurice. She deserved what was
coming to her.
Stepping up to the other side of the well, I waited for her to lift her eyes, to lock the gold-flecked brown with mine, to show me her rebellion peeking out from her sorrow.
In the weeks I’d spent toying with her, I hadn’t broken her completely. That fact pleased me.
“Have you given any consideration to what we discussed in my office this morning?”
She rolled those pretty eyes, and if she’d been any other woman I would have made her regret such an act. However, in this moment, I needed Penelope’s refusal to surrender. I needed her to fight.
“I take that as a no.”
“You take it right,” she said, her hand brushing away a tear. “You and me, we’re done. I’m not some fucking whore you can pass around in the hotel. I’m not Émilie.”
Pinning me with a stare that dared me to ask, I had to fight not to show my confusion. What did she know of Émilie, and why use that particular woman in this fight?
It didn’t matter enough to ask.
“Fine,” I relented, shoving my hands in the pockets of my slacks, “I won’t pass you around. I’ve decided I want you all to myself. What you’ve done already is enough. You gave Maurice a taste, and as I just informed him, he won’t get another. You’re mine, Penelope.”
Narrowing her eyes, she glared at me as a pink film of hatred colored her skin.
Grinning to see the color, I said, “Let’s face it, Maurice is just a pathetic mess that has no hope of a future. The man can barely communicate, much less control his emotions. I’ve been telling him that for years, but the idiot won’t listen. I apologize for using you to prove my point to him, but you did it quite well. I bet the man thinks he’s in love. How ridiculous is that? He’ll spend the rest of his life in that cage while I enjoy all that life has to offer.”
The pink transitioned to a brilliant red. Hatred was woven into that color. Pain, anger, and a loathing so deep, I would have felt the sting of it if it could reach out and slap me. Daggers were her eyes, her mouth pulled in such a tight line that holding the expression must have been painful for her.
“Why do you treat him so badly?” she hissed, her voice barely controlled. “Sure, Maurice doesn’t know how to communicate very well, and yes, he has no clue how to behave around other people, but keeping him down in that fucking basement doesn’t help him! What you’re doing to him is evil and it’s your fault he is the way he is!”
Shrugging my shoulders as if her words hadn’t cut deep, I ignored the confirmation – the perfect reflection - of a fear I’d held for many years. My feelings, my thoughts, were not for her to know.
Shoulders rigid, she tipped her chin. “Are you telling me my new job is over? What’s the next one you plan to assign to me? Making me strut around in one of those bullshit costumes in the lounge?”
Although, the idea of watching her strut around in costume aroused me, I glanced out over the garden, silently telling her that the anger she felt had no effect on me. It wasn’t even worth looking her in the eye, wasn’t worth acknowledgment. “No. I still want you to take Maurice his meals. But I expect you to treat him as all the other professionals I hire for him do. Keep your distance. Give him nothing. And make it clear that he’ll never be good enough for a woman’s love. That’s what I want. That’s what I intended. And if you won’t do it, I’ll find someone who will.” My eyes finally met hers. “It’s that simple.”
I worried she’d break apart if she didn’t let the anger out. But somehow, she remained in place, she managed to keep from exploding. A decision filtered behind her gaze. I could only hope it was the right one.
Smiling, I inclined my head. “Have a good day, Penelope. I expect to see you in my suite at ten tonight. Because, regardless of what I’ve led you to believe, you don’t have a choice as to whether you are Maurice’s lover or mine.”
It took everything I had to stroll off calmly without looking back, and I could only hope that by pushing the buttons that were so plainly obvious in her, I’d shoved her in the direction I wanted her to go.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Faiville Prison, 1:37 pm
“Stop.”
Vincent’s gaze shifted to brush Meadow’s, not giving her his full attention, just a tease that he was concerned with what she would have to say. Arrogance lined his face, the knowledge that he knew something she did not, that in his games, he’d led her to believe she could hurt him.
“Is it something I said?” he asked, humor having returned to his voice, victory infecting his tone. “And here I thought you would continue this discussion as we’d agreed. I gave you my portion of the story, now you owe me Penelope’s.”
Meadow was mere inches away from scraping her fingernails down his handsome face. If what he’d just told her was true...
“You intentionally shoved her to Maurice. You know goddamned well that what you said to her, that making her hate you and then stripping her of a choice, would make her rebel against you by choosing Maurice. Why would you do that?”
Tilting his head this way and that, he considered her question. “You have it half right.” Pausing, he splayed his hands over the surface of the table, his mouth puckering with thought, his eyes directed at anything but her.
Meadow knew he was intentional in the direction of his gaze. There was nothing of interest in the room, only plain white walls and two tables. He was making it clear that, she too, carried little interest.
Finally locking his eyes on hers, he commented, “People are so easy, aren’t they? It takes practice and control to be able to see through one’s anger, patience that not many people possess. So muddied by their own emotions, most people don’t stop to think - to plot - before they react. They’re like a bull charging the red cape of a matador, their hoof scraping the ground before they lunge. But it’s the matador who has the advantage, the weapons hidden that will stop the bull in its tracks.”
He blinked slowly, smiled a lazy grin. “If Penelope had taken the time to think about what I was doing, she might have seen how easily she was being led. But she was too angry, wasn’t she? And with that streak of rebellion she carried inside, it was too easy to guess what her next move would be.”
Meadow refused to respond, she was too locked in frustration that Vincent had managed to pull the rug out from beneath her on this one subject - this one secret. It wasn’t the best card she’d intended to play, the biggest card, but it was one she’d hoped to slash across his twisted heart to cut deep. Wanting to slap the amusement from his face, Meadow clenched her hands in her lap.
Vincent stared at her for several seconds before laughter burst from his lips. “Oh, come now, Meadow, you couldn’t possibly have believed I didn’t know what was going on in my own hotel, with my own brother.” His shoulders shook as the laughter faded, his eyes flicking to hers before he canted his head. “Did you think you were going to surprise me with the fact that Penny loved Maurice more than she loved me?”
Sighing, Vincent shook his head. “I’d say I’m sorry for having stolen that moment from you - that revelation - but I’m not. If anything, it’s rather funny to see the anger on your face. You can’t hurt a man who made puppets dance by pulling their strings. Of course, Penny cared for Maurice more, I’d made sure of that.”
Meadow ground her teeth, hating the satisfaction behind his glimmering, green eyes.
When she remained silent, Vincent resettled in his seat, his shackles rattling. “It’s your turn to tell me Penelope’s perspective.”
Finally, Meadow snapped, “Why do you care or want to know? It’s not like the information will be new for you.”
He grinned. “That’s not entirely true. Whereas I knew Penny continued in her relationship with Maurice, I never knew how either of them felt for each other. In a small way, you’ve already answered that question with the anger you’re showing me now, the fact you’d hoped to surprise or hurt me with the depth of feelings between the two. But, I’d like to know.”
“Why?”
Meadow asked again.
Resignation smoothed the laugh lines of his face, a soft breath whispering out from between parted lips. “Because Maurice was my brother, the only person I cared about in this world-“
“He’s dead because of you,” she spat, interrupting him, doing her best to drive a knife into his rotten heart.
Holding up a finger, he said, “We’ll get to that. But first, you owe me a story, and I would like to hear that, in Maurice’s life, he found some light within the darkness, some small bit of hope that he could be a normal man for once. It would make his death less tragic to know that he’d experienced actual joy just once. He had such a difficult life, was so walled off and out of control. It would be a shame if he’d never had one day, one hour, of peace and contentment.”
“I still don’t understand why you care.”
Vincent sighed loudly, his voice soft as he confessed, “Because if you haven’t realized it by now, Meadow, then you must be blind. If ever I had a weakness, a soft spot that could have been used to strike me down, it was Maurice. I may have resented my brother for the problem he’d been in my life, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t love him.”
“And yet you treated him like garbage,” she posited.
Nodding his head, his smile turned into a frown. “I thought what I did to keep him out of trouble was best for him. Looking back, I regret those decisions. I regret the cage I’d built for him, and for having kept him alone and apart from society.”
The honesty of that statement - the admission - stunned Meadow. “Are you telling me you know that you helped create the problems Maurice had?”
Vincent swallowed down whatever guilt he was feeling. “I wouldn’t say I created the problems, that was a matter of nature and brain chemistry. But I didn’t help make the situation any better, and for that, I blame myself. In my haste to protect him, I never gave him the chance to grow.”
