Deviant (Boys of Winter #3) - Sheridan Anne Page 0,83

expectation for everyone else. Besides, this is a big house. I’m sure he wanted to sweep every room, though had it been me, I would have started with the room that had the light turned on.

Michael steps fully into the doorway of his office and I don’t miss the way that the light from the desk lamp shimmers against the knife wielded in his hands.

Michael lets out a deep sigh of relief, seeing that all this commotion has been caused by little ole me, and as he steps into the office, I keep my gaze trained heavily on his knife. I don’t trust him one bit. The guy is as shady as they come.

Michael turns on the main light in the office, and as he walks through the room to the little alarm keypad on the wall, he keeps his gaze trained on me. He turns his back as he enters the alarm code, proving that he doesn’t see me as a threat, but why should he? I’m just some stupid eighteen-year-old girl who doesn’t know shit about the world she was just dragged into. He could take me down in seconds.

He walks toward me and I nod to the chair opposite his desk. “Take a seat.”

“Unlikely,” he spits, leaning onto it while keeping the knife tightly in his grip. “What the hell do you think you’re doing breaking into my home in the middle of the night? My wife is in a panic and my children are scared. You should be arrested for this.”

I shrug my shoulders and slam the photograph of Michael and Paris down for him to see. “I think your wife and children are the least of your problems right now,” I tell him. “Sit your ass down and start talking.”

Michael’s eyes bug out of his head as his hand flinches around the knife. He scrambles for the picture, quickly looking over his shoulder at the door, making sure there isn’t anyone here to overhear our conversation. He shoves the old photograph into the pocket of his pants. “Where did you get this?” he hisses.

I laugh knowing my father wouldn’t be stupid enough to not make copies. “I think the question is how long have you been having an affair with Paris Moustaff, and how long has she been claiming the identity of her twin sister?”

His eyes bug out again, telling me that I’m right. The woman in the picture really is Paris, and the woman who showed up at my house and put a knife to my throat wasn’t my mother at all.

A massive relief settles through me, but I do my best to mask it. He doesn’t need to know where my head has taken me or just how messed up I’ve been at the thought of my mother wanting me dead.

Michael straightens and takes a step to his right, and I instantly stand and step in the opposite direction, circling the desk. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

A twisted grin cuts across his face, thinking he has this in the bag. “And why the hell not?”

“Because the boys have this place surrounded.”

Michael pauses for a moment, his eyes flicking around the room as though he’s mentally trying to map where on the property the boys would be, though if I’m completely honest, they’re probably still sprinting down the long ass driveway, cursing me for going out alone. Though, once they understand why, they’ll get it. They won’t like it, but they’ll understand … I hope.

Ahh, shit. Who am I kidding? I’m going to get my ass rammed for this, and not in a good way.

Michael looks back at me, his gaze shifting over my pajamas, and after a short moment, a cockiness seeps into his gaze. “Really?” he questions. “They have my home surrounded? Because to me, it looks like you’ve just rolled out of bed and walked your ass over here without a second thought. Typical Elodie Ravenwood, act first, think later. You’re trying to tell me that those boys allowed the great Ravenwood heir to break into my home and stand in a room with me while I hold a knife, and they’re not busting down my doors? You’re lying, Elodie. You’re all alone. There’s no one here to save you, not this time.”

Well, shit. He’s got me there, but I’m not about to go and admit it.

“The picture, Harding. You have two seconds to start explaining yourself.”

Michael shakes his head, taking another step around the desk. “You’re not