Page 13 of Stockholm (Angel of Mercy #1)

The Keeper

I catch her before her head hits the ground. Her suffering will be mental , not physical.

Picking her up, I lay her on the couch, rolling her toward the back cushion so she doesn’t somehow fall onto the floor. When I turn back to Jesse, he’s got Bo laid out in front of him, his head in his lap as he plays with his hair.

He’s clearly fucking obsessed. I should have known better than to take him on surveillance that first time I went to the bank. There was poor Bo walking into work–innocently enough, but in a way that made Jesse want more . Then he needed to tag along every single time to get his eyes back on him.

Unfortunately for Bo, he’s collateral damage. He shouldn’t be here, but I won’t tell Jesse no. We’re cousins, but it’s always felt more like he was my little brother and if this makes him happy, I’ll allow it.

“What do you think,” he asks, looking up at me.

I don’t know. If she could just be a little less convincing with her act. Pretending to be all timid and wholesome. It’s a good one, I’ll give her that. She almost has me forgetting that she’s complicit in the vile shit her husband is into.

But whenever those wide eyes of hers are trained on me, I find myself wanting to know if she’s this compliant all the damn time.

Quickly, I remind myself she’s a liar, and shake those thoughts free. The fact she’s creating doubt in my head makes me dislike her even more .

“How could she possibly not know anything? That’s highly fucking unlikely,” I say, watching him brush his thumb across Bo’s jawline. “Even if she doesn’t know the specifics, she’s guilty if she ignores the red flags, right?”

He nods, and I look back at her. Her strawberry blonde hair falls around her in a tangled mess. The sweet little dress skirt and blouse she wore to the bank this morning sits in stark contrast to the rope around her wrists. To the saliva I know is on her face.

Maybe I didn’t have to do that.

I turn back to the door, heading out to the truck. The bed of it contains several duffle bags, which I grab and carry back to the cabin.

Inside, Jesse is gone, likely having carried Bo up to the room he’ll be in. I kick the duffle bags in, and look back at her.

She looks so out of place. And she is. My research of Emma painted a privileged picture. Rich parents, high class circle. It was likely a marriage that was set up by two wealthy sets of parents hoping to make a good match for their offspring.

I know she barely speaks to her family. And from watching, I gathered that she spends a lot of time by herself.

All those days I’d stood in the treeline, watching her in and out of the house in her little sundresses, barefoot.

Hanging clothes to dry. Tending her little vegetable patch. Filling bird feeders.

I’d almost gotten soft. Even her cat seemed to like me, coming everyday to sit at my side as I watched her.

And then there was the time I’d sent her that dahlia, just to see her reaction.

It was a momentary lapse in judgment. She made it easy to forget what Eric did. What he had done to Jesse’s little sister, Lily.

Emma had to know, she had to at least be suspicious that her husband was a cheating piece of shit. That he kept her locked up in a house all by herself while he slept around, ruining young girl’s lives like he had with Lily.

How could Emma be so naive not to at least wonder ?

It doesn’t matter right now. We would get to that later .

I grab the bags, go upstairs and drop two outside of Bo’s door for Jesse to deal with, then head to the room on the other side of the house that Emma will be kept in. I place the bag with her clothes on the dresser, and the one with her toiletries in her bathroom. Then I go back downstairs for her.

She’s light in my arms, her mouth slightly open as I carry her up the stairs. Once back in her room I lay her down on the blanket.

Something about it doesn’t quite feel right, so I pick her back up and lay her at the foot of the bed.

There .

For what they did to Lily, this placement is much more fitting.