Chapter 2

The Lincoln Navigator pulled to a stop.

The massive Greek Revival portico of the Rollins estate cast a long, dark shadow over the driveway.

The driver turned off the engine.

He did not get out to open the door for Gina.

Gina pushed the heavy door open herself.

Her worn canvas shoes stepped onto the thick, expensive Persian rug that covered the entrance steps.

The heavy mahogany front doors were wide open.

Inside the grand foyer, a massive crystal chandelier cast a warm, golden light.

Edwina Rollins sat on a tufted velvet sofa.

Hailie Rollins sat next to her.

Hailie wore a pristine white Chanel haute couture dress.

The fabric draped perfectly over her slender frame.

Hailie held a delicate bone-china teacup.

She looked over the rim of the cup at Gina.

Her eyes scanned the faded gray jumpsuit and the greasy hair.

A sharp, satisfied gleam flashed in Hailie.

Edwina slammed her teacup onto the glass table.

The porcelain clattered loudly.

Edwina pinched her nose with two fingers.

"Take her to the basement immediately."

Edwina glared at the head butler.

"Hose her down. The smell of that asylum is making me nauseous."

Gina did not blink.

She did not open her mouth.

She dropped her shoulders and let her arms hang limp at her sides.

She followed the butler.

Her shoes dragged across the polished marble floor.

She walked toward the narrow, unlit door that led to the servant quarters.

"Oh, Mother, poor Gina looks so miserable."

Hailie.

Her voice was high and coated in fake sweetness.

"She is just a tool, Hailie."

Edwina.

"Do not waste your pity on a broken thing."

Gina walked down the concrete stairs.

The air in the basement was damp and cold.

The butler pointed to a small, rusted shower stall in the corner.

He dropped a folded pile of fabric on a wooden stool and walked away.

Gina stepped into the stall.

She turned the metal knob.

Freezing water blasted out of the showerhead.

It hit her back like a spray of icy needles.

Her muscles instantly contracted.

Her breathing hitched, but she did not step away.

She let the freezing water wash away the heavy smell of bleach and institutional soap, keeping the exposure calculated and brief. Stepping out quickly, she rigorously scrubbed her skin with the thin, scratchy towel until it turned red, instantly performing a rapid, silent set of isometric muscle flexes to force her core body temperature back to normal.

She raised her hand to her left collarbone.

Her fingers traced a thick, raised line of scar tissue.

The rough skin felt numb under the cold water.

A memory slammed into her brain.

Five years ago.

The top of the grand staircase.

Hailie.

Hailie.

The feeling of empty air.

The sickening crunch of her own collarbone snapping against the marble steps.

The fake medical reports that declared Gina a danger to herself.

Gina stared at the rusted metal wall of the shower.

The blank, empty look in her eyes vanished.

Her pupils dilated.

Her jaw locked so tight her teeth ground together.

The water running down her face felt like ice.

She turned off the shower.

She dried off with a thin, scratchy towel.

She picked up the clothes the butler left.

It was an old, faded maid.

The sleeves were two inches too short.

The fabric pulled tight across her shoulders.

The butler returned and led her back up the stairs.

He took her to the second floor.

They walked past the massive, double-door master suites.

They stopped at the very end of the hallway.

The butler opened the door to the smallest guest room.

The room was freezing.

The radiator was completely silent.

A cold draft blew in through the poorly sealed window, carrying the bitter chill of the New York autumn.

Gina walked in and sat on the edge of the hard mattress.

The springs groaned under her weight.

The bedroom door violently kicked open.

The wood splintered around the lock.

Gustaf stormed into the room.

His face was red.

The veins in his neck bulged against his tight shirt collar.

He held a thick stack of legal documents in his right hand.

He threw the papers directly at Gina.

The heavy pages hit her cheek and scattered across the cheap carpet.

"Sign the prenuptial agreement."

Gustaf stood over her.

His chest heaved.

"You will not touch a single penny of the Brooks family money. Every asset you acquire belongs to the Rollins family."

Gina looked at the papers on the floor.

She did not move.

She did not reach for the pen that rolled near her shoe.

She just sat there, staring at the blank wall opposite the bed.

Gustaf.

His hands balled into fists.

"You ungrateful psycho."

He took a massive step forward.

He reached out his large, heavy hand.

His fingers spread wide, aiming straight for the hair at the back of Gina.

He wanted to grab her and slam her face into the mattress.

His fingertips brushed the ends of her hair.

Gina moved.

Her body twisted to the left with terrifying speed.

She slipped entirely out of Gustaf.

Before his brain could process the empty air, Gina.

Her left hand shot up.

Her fingers clamped down on Gustaf.

She found the exact location of the radial styloid process.

She pressed her thumb directly into the ulnar nerve.

Gustaf gasped.

A sharp, electric shock of pain shot up his arm.

Gina used his forward momentum.

She twisted her hips.

She pulled his trapped arm down and across her body.

The leverage was flawless.

Gustaf.

He crashed face-first into the solid oak desk next to the bed.

The impact sounded like a baseball bat hitting a tree trunk.

Blood instantly pooled in his mouth.

He let out a guttural scream.

Gina did not stop.

She drove her right knee directly into the center of Gustaf.

She pinned him to the desk.

Her body weight pressed down on his central nervous system.

Gustaf tried to thrash his legs.

He tried to push himself up with his free hand.

He could not move a single inch.

The pressure on his spine paralyzed his motor functions.

The grip on his wrist felt like a steel vice crushing his bones.

Gina leaned down.

Her face was inches from his ear.

Her breathing was slow, steady, and completely calm.

"If you ever try to touch me again."

Her voice was a hollow whisper.

"I will turn the bones in this hand into dust."

She applied a fraction of an inch more pressure to his wrist.

Gustaf screamed again, his voice cracking in pure agony.

Gina let go.

She stepped back.

In less than a second, her shoulders slumped.

She wrapped her arms around her stomach and began to tremble violently.

She backed into the corner of the room, looking like a terrified animal.

Gustaf scrambled away from the desk.

He clutched his right wrist against his chest.

His chest heaved as he gasped for air.

He looked at the trembling girl in the corner.

The pain radiating up his arm was real.

The cold sweat dripping down his back was real.

For the first time in his life, Gustaf looked at his sister and felt absolute, paralyzing fear.