Unravel Me: The Juliette Chronicles Book 2

opens at my touch.
    I look around the hallway for any sign of life. I don’t have any idea what time of day it is or what I’ve gotten myself into. I don’t know if anyone exists in this house except for Anderson—and whoever it was that helped me in the bathroom— but I have to assess my situation. I have to figure out exactly how much danger I’m in before I can devise a plan to fight my way out.
    I try to tiptoe quietly down the stairs.
    It doesn’t work.
    The stairs creak and groan under my weight and I hardly have a chance to backpedal before I hear him call my name. He’s downstairs.
    Anderson is downstairs.
    “Don’t be shy,” he says. I hear the rustle of something that sounds like paper. “I have food for you and I know you must be starving.”
    My heart is suddenly beating in my throat. I wonder what choices I have, what options I have to consider and I decide I can’t hide from him in his own hideout.
    I meet him downstairs.
    He’s the same beautiful man he was before. Hair perfect and polished, clothing crisp, clean, expertly pressed. He’s sitting in the living room in an overstuffed chair with a blanket draped over his lap. I notice a gorgeous, rustic-looking, intricately carved walking stick leaning against the armrest. He has a stack of papers in his hand.
    I smell coffee.
    “Please,” he says to me, not at all surprised by my strange, wild appearance. “Have a seat.”
    I do.
    “How are you feeling?” he asks.
    I look up. I don’t answer him.
    He nods. “Yes, well, I’m sure you’re very surprised to see me here. It’s a lovely little house, isn’t it?” He looks around. “I had this preserved shortly after I moved my family to what is now Sector 45. This sector was supposed to be mine, after all. It turned out to be the ideal place to store my wife.” He waves a hand. “Apparently she doesn’t do very well in the compounds,” he says, as if I’m supposed to have any idea what he’s talking about.
    Store his wife?
    I don’t know why I allow anything out of his mouth to surprise me.
    Anderson seems to catch my confusion. He looks amused. “Am I to understand that my love-struck boy didn’t tell you about his beloved mother? He didn’t go on and on and on about his pathetic love for the creature that gave birth to him?”
    “What?” is the first word I speak.
    “I am truly shocked,” Anderson says, smiling like he’s not shocked at all. “He didn’t bother to mention that he has a sick, ailing mother who lives in this house? He didn’t tell you that’s why he wanted the post here, in this sector, so desperately? No? He didn’t tell you anything about that?” He cocks his head. “I am just so shocked,” he lies again.
    I’m trying to keep my heart rate down, trying to figure out why on earth he’s telling me this, trying to stay one step ahead of him, but he’s doing a damn good job of confusing the hell out of me.
    “When I was chosen as supreme commander,” he goes on, “I was going to leave Aaron’s mother here and take him with me to the capital. But the boy didn’t want to leave his mother behind. He wanted to take care of her. He didn’t want to leave her. He needed to be with her like some stupid child ,” he says, raising his voice at the end, forgetting himself for a moment. He swallows. Regains his composure.
    And I’m waiting.
    Waiting for the anvil he’s preparing to drop on my head.
    “Did he tell you how many other soldiers wanted be in charge of Sector 45? How many fine candidates we had to choose from? He was only eighteen years old!” He laughs. “Everyone thought he’d gone mad. But I gave him a chance,” Anderson says. “I thought it might be good for him to take on that kind of responsibility.”
    Still waiting.
    A deep, contented sigh. “Did he ever tell you,” Anderson says, “what he had to do to prove he was worthy?”
    There it is.
    “Did he ever tell you what I made him do to earn it?”
    I feel so dead inside.
    “No,” Anderson says, eyes bright, too bright. “I suspect he didn’t want to mention that part, did he? I bet he didn’t include that part of his past, did he?”
    I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to know this. I don’t want to listen anymore—
    “Don’t worry,” Anderson says. “I won’t spoil it for you. Best to let him share those details with you himself.”
    I’m not calm anymore. I’m not calm and I’ve officially begun to panic.
    “I’ll be heading back to base