Reparation of Sin: A Sovereign Sons Novel, Zavarelli, A. [easy books to read in english txt] 📗

He frowns, and I turn for the door, his voice following me out and down the hall.

"I know who you really are, Santiago. You won't hurt my daughters."

* * *

The small, gray house in Oakdale blends in amongst all the others. It is not the first time I have visited, but it will be the first time I have stood on the doorstep.

I know every detail of her schedule. When she leaves each day. Where she goes. What groceries she buys, how often she fuels her car. There isn't a single thing I don't know. And as I count the time passing on my watch, I know in fifteen seconds, she will open the door, rushing out to her car to take her son to school.

I stand and wait. Moments later, there is a commotion on the other side of the door. Something clatters to the floor, and she curses. She yells for her son, telling him they have to go. The knob turns, and when the door opens, she spills out in a rush, nearly colliding with me.

A small gasp flies from her lips, and horror washes over her face as she scrambles back inside, trying to shut the door to seal the monster out. My palm slams against it, and a dark smile bleeds across my face.

"Hello, Hazel. It’s been a while."

40 Ivy

I wake up to sunshine. Glorious sunshine. I smile, open my eyes, and take in the soft yellow light filtered by old-fashioned lace curtains.

And I remember where I am.

Sitting up with renewed anxiety, I fumble for the phone on the bed beside me. I check the time, surprised when I see it’s ten o’clock. I didn’t wake up once in this foreign bed, this foreign house knowing my husband is hunting me.

I’m tempted to call Abel but remember what he said and slip the phone into my pocket. I push the blankets off, slide my feet into my shoes, and go to the window. The lace is torn in places, and the windowsill has a layer of dust. I push the curtain open just a little. Outside all is quiet. My car is still where I left it. The army I’d expected Santiago to come with not there.

I make my way into the bathroom, where I splash water on my face and rinse my mouth before heading downstairs to the kitchen. In one of the cupboards, I find a tin of coffee and filters for the machine, but then I remember the baby. Caffeine isn’t good for a baby, right? I don’t really know much about pregnancy. I put the coffee back into the cabinet and look for tea but don’t find any, so instead, I pour water from one of the bottles into a mug and set it into the microwave. At least it’ll be warm.

While sipping that, I look through the frozen meals and find a breakfast burrito. I pop it into the microwave, and it makes my mouth water when I take it out. I carry it into the living room to eat, glancing out the window through the curtains, which are heavier downstairs, before taking a seat on the couch. I bite into the burrito, the eggs and cheese tasting great. I sit back and just eat for a few minutes. I’m so hungry, and I can’t remember the last time I ate something like this. Santiago would lose his mind, I’m sure. The food at home… no, I catch myself. The food at his house is healthy. Delicious even but never anything like this, so I savor the fat of the sausage, licking it away when it drips down my chin.

I wonder what Santiago is thinking now. He must be furious with me. Probably hurling curses at me for having stolen his baby. His. Not ours. It makes me angry to remember it. How dare he? This is my body, and it’s our baby. He can’t just use me as some host to grow a human being then take the child away from me. I don’t know what world he thinks we live in, but even The Society cannot have that kind of power.

I put the dish down and wipe my hands on a napkin I find on the coffee table. It’s clean. There’s a stack of them and beside them packets of ketchup from a fast-food place. I pick up my mug of now warm water and finish it, then look at the newspapers around me. I read the date on the first one, and it surprises me, so I look at another. It’s a different paper but the same date. The day after the gala. There are several gossip magazines underneath the pile of papers, about a week’s worth. Again, the week following the gala.

It’s nothing, I tell myself as I stand to carry my dish and mug back to the kitchen. Just a coincidence. In the kitchen, I wash my things and set them on the drying rack before returning to the living room.

Was Abel here that week? Why? He called this a safe house. What would he have needed to be safe from?

But no, Abel doesn’t read gossip magazines. He does devour the papers, though. I check my phone to make sure I haven’t missed his call. I haven’t, but he’d better call me soon. The battery is running low, and I don’t have a charger. Although I could charge it in the car if I need to. The one I keep plugged into the power outlet would fit.

I make my way into the study. It’s still not as bright as the rest of the house, but with the light coming in from the open door and my flashlight, it’ll do. I sit back down in the big chair, switch on the flashlight and start to go through the folders one by one, seeing if I recognize any