What did come as a surprise were two doors at the end of the corridor.
One led to a massive terrace with a hot tub, some sleek loungers, a grill, and a view that was enough to give me vertigo. The railings were glass, and over six feet high, but every screw and bolt could work its way loose over time. I didn’t go anywhere near the edge, even though I loved the seating area which made me feel like I was on top of the world, while safe in my little bubble.
There was a dining area and a kind of ultra-sized hammock that was more of a swinging, king-sized bed than anything else. I knew, come summer, I’d be glued to it, and if I could get some of those outdoor patio heaters and a couple of heavy duty blankets, I’d be spending a lot of time out here now.
At home, even in the yard, I’d felt unsafe. A theory that was proven to be a fact when my father had his kneecaps shot out by a sniper. I had a feeling the glass around the perimeter was bulletproof, so without a doubt, I knew I was protected up here.
After I explored the terrace, I found my way back to that other door which revealed a set of stairs that led to another level below. I came across two more living rooms, one with a massive screen and which was evidently a home theater, and another that was for the ‘boys.’ It had a full-sized snooker table—not pool, it was too big, too wide—a poker table surrounded by comfortable leather armchairs, and various other games that made me realize Brennan had to be a big kid. Why else would he have old school arcade games likePac-Manin here if he wasn’t?
There were two more guest bedrooms, and a final door that was locked. I’d bet my left boob that was his office, but I wasn’t offended. My father had always locked his office door too, and Brennan had no reason to trust me.
Not yet.
I’d work on that.
If Inessa could fall for Eoghan, and vice versa, there was no reason deeper feelings couldn’t flourish between Brennan and me. I still had no desire for him to love me, but trust was more important than love. At least, it was to me.
I’d loved Nyx. What did that get me? Nothing. I’d felt like a stranger in the home I’d made in the compound, to the point where turning to my dick of a father felt like my only option.
No, I wanted nothing to do with love.
Trust was what I was aiming for.
Retreating to the upper floor, appreciating how much space there was here, and knowing that I could take over one of the bedrooms and make it into something for myself, some personal space that could be a crafting room if I wanted it to be, I felt a little brighter when I returned to the living area and started to sort through my things.
I had a mixture of designer clothes that Father had bought for me, stuff that was from my childhood, and then the gear I’d brought back from West Orange. Most of that was Target stuff to be honest, nothing as fancy as the Gucci dresses, the LV purses, and Prada shoes he’d used to decorate his sacrificial lamb.
I’d have tossed them out if I didn’t need them. I didn’t have any money of my own, not unless Father had left a will for us, which I doubted. Most of his ill-gotten gains would probably sink into one of the Brotherhood’s fronts. God only knew who he’d deigned to assign Victoria’s guardianship to—a matter I’d have to ask Brennan to look into. Like he didn’t have enough on his plate.
My lack of funds, however, meant I’d be beholden to Brennan for cash, so wasting good clothes wasn’t sensible. Didn’t mean I had to like it, though, did it?
He’d told me not to go into the bedroom, but would he be okay with my storing my things in his closet?
And what of my toiletries? Would he be annoyed if I put them in his bathroom?
It was when I found my self-harm kit that I knew I’d take over another bedroom tonight without asking. If Brennan saw it, he’d throw it out, and even though its contents were destructive... I couldn’t bear to part with it.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
Brennan couldn’t remove every knife in the house, could he? It wasn’t like tossing this out would do much, but I had a lot of memories in the box that was decorated with stickers. Glittery ones, Vans ones, some Roxy Girl ones... my teenage years were in them, as well as the doodles I’d drawn on there.
What I didn’t find in the bags was probably the one thing I needed the most: Mama’s journals.
Had Maxim mistaken them for regular books? I supposed it was easily done. None of my fiction or crafting books were here, either. He’d obviously emptied my drawers and wardrobe, but not cleared my bookshelves.
I tried not to get upset about the diaries but it definitely dampened my mood.
It was hard to move past the loss of them when those were the only things that you had of your mother which reflected her as a woman, as a person.
All of the other ‘stuff,’ I dumped back into the black bags so I could heft them downstairs. Toiletries, a box with my crafts in, yarn, my jewelry box, they went in there. I laid a pile of dresses over my other arm and carried them to the lower level.
Deciding I’d take the guest room at the head of the hall, the opposite end of Brennan’s office so he wouldn’t think I was spying on him, I started to unpack my stuff. It took about four more trips before I brought everything down, and when I looked around, I made a list of what I’d like Bagpipes to help me do in the morning.
Moving the bed and nightstands into storage was top of the agenda, and I’d make do with working at the dinner table until I built up the courage to ask Brennan for a desk and other pieces of furniture that would make this room mine.
For now, with its plain white walls, and rose pink carpet—proof that Brennan had hired a decorator, because I couldn’t imagine him choosing pinkanything—it would do. I could deal with a Barbie carpet for the moment.