My flesh was ice cold as Reid led me, his hand enclosed around mine, into the building, through the lobby, and toward a lone elevator that was in an alcove away from the other elevators.

He slid a key card through a slot, and the elevator arrived shortly. Then he slid the card into another slot once we were inside. “This goes straight to my place,” he said.

“Do you all live here?” I asked.

“No. Just me. Rock will, eventually, but the penthouse where my father lived is still a crime scene.”

“Where do Roy and Riley live?”

“They both live in other buildings, not too far from here.”

“Why don’t they live here?”

“Roy didn’t want to, and Riley… Honestly, I don’t know. I’m surprised my father didn’t want her here, close to him.”

“Why would he?”

“How much has she told you?” he asked.

“Not much. Just that you were all abused by him. Your father.”

“I can’t tell you her story,” Reid said. “But if you ask her, I think she’ll level with you.”

I could already imagine what Riley had suffered, and I didn’t like where my mind was going.

When the elevator door opened right into a living area, Reid said, “This is the second to top floor. The penthouse is at the top.”

My stomach was jarred from how quickly the elevator had ascended. I felt a little queasy from the ride…and also from being here with Reid.

His place was huge and spacious, decorated in masculine black and green. I wanted to look, to take it all in, but I followed Reid.

He carried my small bag—I hadn’t brought much—to a door and opened it.

I gasped. “Is this where you want me to stay?”

The room was huge and decorated in soft pastels. So unlike Reid Wolfe. A king-sized bed was covered in what appeared to be pink satin. Fluffy pink and white pillows lounged over it. The dresser and chest were white lacquer, and the window… Such a gorgeous view of the city lights. Nothing like the glitz of Las Vegas. The Manhattan skyline wasn’t as colorful but was spectacular in a classy way.

“Don’t you like it?” he asked.

“It’s lovely, but I have to say. I can’t imagine you having a pink and white bedroom in your house.”

“It’s a guest room,” he laughed. “My own bedroom doesn’t have a sliver of pink in it, I assure you.”

A guest room. Of course. For female guests. Which he probably had a lot of.

Jealousy speared its ugly head into my flesh.

What did I have to be jealous of? Reid wasn’t mine. Would never be mine, no matter how attracted I was to him. I was a mess, and getting involved with the son of one of my tormentors wouldn’t help me heal.