Page 68

Ivy

“Ivy, Ivy come down here.” My father's voice bellowed through our old farm house, ping ponging off the walls as it finally came to settle at my door.

Huffing under my breath, I rested my book on the bed and took the stairs by two to see what he needed.

I was slightly annoyed that he was calling me, I had already finished everything around the farm I needed to. But as long I just listened and yes'd him to death, I'd be back to it in no time.

Rounding the corner, I stepped into the den and stopped short.

He was here again . . .

That man with the devilish black eyes.

A shiver ran up my spine, spiking at the base of my skull. He gave me the creeps every time I saw him.

And now he was staring me down like I was a fucking meal.

Shifting my eyes between the unknown man and my father, my skin dampened with a cold sweat. “What's up?” I asked, cautiously skirting around the couch and moving closer to my father.

My father's hands were clutched tight between his thighs, his face pale and lacking any visible emotion. It was strange, he almost looked like he was made of plastic. My dad always wore his feelings on his face.

If he was happy you could see it, if he was angry you would feel, no emotion went blind.

Not this time.

Right then he was completely sober, every muscle loose and hanging. He wouldn't look up at me; his gaze kept shifting between my feet and the rat-faced man sitting across from him.

From the corner of my eye I could feel the man's stare. It burned into my back, making me heat with unease.

The guy's face was sunken in at his cheeks, dark bags pillowed under his eyes. His hair was shaggy and dirty. Drawing a hand up, he brushed it over his ears and smiled through dried lips.

I couldn't help but notice how thin the man was. His arms were long and lanky, legs no bigger around than my calf.

But none of that mattered . . . It was the way he looked at me that made me so uncomfortable.

“Ivy, we need to talk.” Digging his thumbs into the underside of his chin, my father stared past me and at the wall.

“Alright . . .” Folding my arms up into my chest, I wanted to shrink myself smaller so that fucking guy couldn't see me anymore. “What's wrong?”

“Honey, this is Mr. Levoi—”

The man held his hand up, silencing my father. “Remo, please call me Remo.” His smile crept across his face like a slow slug.

“Remo, of course. Ivy, this is—”

“Remo, yeah, I heard him. Why am I here?” My senses had kicked in, flipping from curious to protective. I already had the feeling floating around my insides that this wasn't good, that there something off about this whole thing.

And my gut instinct was about to hit the nail on the head.

“May I?” Remo asked, standing with his hand against his chest. “Ivy, I'm here on business, business that myself and your father have been working very hard on arranging.”

“Okay, but why are you telling me this?” I didn't look at him, I looked straight through his slinky form and at my father.

“Ivy, Honey . . . This wasn't an easy decision, and I . . . I . . .” For the first time since stepping into the room, my father's eyes connected with mine. He looked sad, torn, and hidden in his gaze was the most delicate twinkle of relief.

Relief . . .

That one stung.