How I Found You
Authors: Gabriella Lepore
First published in Great Britain in 2012 by The Book Guild Ltd
Copyright © Gabriella Lepore 2012
This edition published in 2015 by
OF TOMES PUBLISHING
UNITED KINGDOM
The right of Gabriella Lepore to be identified as the author ofthis work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real people, alive or dead, is purely coincidental.
Photography by Sasha Alsberg
Book design by
Inkstain Interior Book Designing
PART 1
PART 2
PART 3
PART 4
PART 5
PART 6
PART 7
PART 8
August
MY NAME IS ROSE WINCHESTER.
That’s one of the three things I know for sure.
The other two are these:
One
—it’s raining.
Two
—I belong to him.
I raced across the gravel yard, stumbling as I tried to move faster. It was useless. The faster I strove to run, the slower I seemed to move.
A bolt of lightning flashed above me, momentarily lighting my path. It made no difference. I didn’t need light. I already knew where I was going.
The rain lashed down on me and the ice-cold wind stung my face. Normally I didn’t mind the rain; in fact, I quite liked it. But this wasn’t ordinary rain. It was angry and threatening. A sign that something sinister was on its way. Something far worse than a thunderstorm. In retrospect, I should have known that was the case—it certainly explained all the summer storms that had hit Millwood this year.
I quickly glanced back at the manor. My drenched hair whipped across my face. The rain-soaked strands were jet black—a far cry from the usual golden brown I was used to.
Squinting in the darkness, I could just about make out the shape of the unlit house. It was bleak and motionless, as though it had been abandoned long ago. But the fact that it looked deserted didn’t exactly fill me with optimism. I knew they were in there. And if they weren’t in there, then they were out here—which, I could categorically state, would have been much, much worse.
I was nearing the forest now. The way I saw it, I had two options.
Option one: blindly stagger my way through the maze of evergreens.
Option two: stick to the path, the only clear route leading out of the private estate.
I picked the latter.
Okay, so taking the path seemed like an obvious choice, although perhaps not the best way to stay hidden, but I didn’t dare venture into the forest. Put it this way—if they were looking for me, they’d find me whether I was under cover or not.
The road dipped and I fell forward. My hands smacked down onto the waterlogged dirt track. Jagged clumps of mud and rocks dug into my palms; I winced as they pierced the skin.
Let me tell you this: I would never have considered myself to be a quitter, but I wouldn’t have branded myself as a fighter, either. As it happened, I was so close to giving up that I didn’t even care. Call me a quitter if you want, because after what I’d been through, I honestly didn’t see any shame in it. In a way, it would have been a relief to have given up. I could have huddled beneath the evergreens to await my fate. I imagine it would have been quite pleasant. After all, fate’s fate, right? Besides, I’d already lost a part of myself and as for the leftover part, I didn’t want it.
But, as it turned out, I am a fighter, because—what do you know?—I got back onto my feet and carried on running. I guess that little leftover piece was worth fighting for after all. Or maybe I’m just stubborn.
As I dashed on, I noticed a flash of yellow on the ground. I dived on it, snatching it up and stuffing it into my shoe for safe keeping. This wasn’t over yet.
Above the moan of the wind came a new sound. A sound that made my heart stop.
A car engine.
My stomach flipped.
I should have taken the forest
, I realised in hindsight.
Too late. A black Lamborghini shot past me at the speed of a bullet—almost knocking me down, I might add. I hated that car.
It skidded to an abrupt halt, the back wheels sliding across the mud until the nose of the car was facing me, like a panther waiting to pounce. The headlights were off and the windows were tinted, so I couldn’t be sure who was behind the wheel. I figured it was one of three.
The car was blocking my path, so there was no going forward. And backwards, well, that was probably a bad idea. It took several seconds before I realised that I hadn’t taken a breath since hearing that engine. That’s what mind-numbing fear does to you.
The driver’s door opened and I nearly passed out from anticipation. I didn’t know who I wanted to see step out of that car. In many ways, they were all equally as bad. But, at a push, I could tell you who I
didn’t
want it to be.
“Oscar,” I choked out at the sight of him. His raven black hair was damp and tousled. He wore black jeans and a charcoal T-shirt with a black, waxed jacket over top.
I despised how handsome he was. It was one of his best weapons. His ultimate weapon, however, was, quite simply, himself. Yep, I despised him.
“Come with me,” Oscar said, his voice taut. The storm had swept strands of wet hair across his brow, and his eyes narrowed as he looked at me.
I was about to speak—to yell at him, in fact—but I felt my eyes sting and my chest tighten. There was no way I was going to let Oscar see me cry. Not because of him, anyway. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“Get in the car,” Oscar said through gritted teeth. His sullen, husky tone grew tenser with each word. “You are so… stubborn.”
Okay, so that’s what I’d said, too. But
he
didn’t have the right to pass judgement over me.
I was about to say something. Hopefully something good.
“How could you do this to me?” I managed.
Oscar took an agitated step forward, closing the gap between us. “I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did!” My eyes began to sting again.
I could tell Oscar was frustrated because he rubbed his hands over his face. I knew him well enough to know what was coming next. He’d kick something, or stamp his foot.
“Get in the car, Rose,” he shouted, kicking the ground.
Part of me wanted to go, but I knew I wouldn’t.
“Get in the car,” Oscar said again, “or you will be killed.” His statement reverberated hauntingly in the night air.
That was about as much as I could take.
I glanced over my shoulder. The manor was no longer in sight. Instead, I only saw the curving path, bounded by the evergreens on either side. I returned my gaze to Oscar. Even in the darkness I was able to make out his eyes; hard, yet pleading at the same time, the russet colour of autumn leaves.
“Trust me,” he urged.
I had no voice now, but I didn’t need words to show him that I did
not
trust him.
He grimaced. “
Trust
me,” he repeated, his hand extended towards me.
“No!” The fury in my voice startled me. And by the look on his face, it startled him too.
Oscar’s eyelids lowered. He gave me a look of regret. “Then you will die.”
Without another word, he paced back to the car. He flung open the driver’s door and slid into the seat, slamming the door shut behind him.
All of a sudden, the car headlights exploded to life. I raised my hand to shield my eyes from the glare. Before I had time to regain my composure, I heard the hum of the engine, droning like the low growl of a wolf.
Hidden behind the blackened car windows, Oscar plunged his foot down onto the accelerator, causing the car to jolt forward. In the blink of an eye, the black Lamborghini was tearing down the path like a rocket, leaving only deep-set tyre marks in its wake.
I stood alone on the path, tears and rain spilling over my cheeks.
It had begun.