No Saint (Wild Men, #6)

by Jo Raven

  Holy fuck... Maybe I left it at the garage? But that’s not possible, I haven’t been there in a while. Flinging stuff around the house I’ve been working so hard to clean and tidy up, I try to keep calm but it’s not really working.

  Did I drop the pendant somewhere else?

  I stride out of the house, walk around the yard, trek down to the river. Did I drop it at work, or during one of the scuffles? Why the fuck did I think carrying it around on me was such a good idea?

  Scrubbing a hand through my short hair, I sigh and try my best not to see this as a hint of new trouble brewing, a sucking hole in the bubble I’m in, a knot in the thread of time.

  On autopilot, I walk to the shed and open the door, to check in case I dropped the pendant here. It’s a possibility.

  I stop, staring into the gloom.

  I’ve been telling myself I’d go back and check the papers, check the shed for anything else the police might have missed, but I somehow never made it. If the house gives me the creeps, this shed is a hundred times worse. I’ll never forget finding here the ax that got Dad convicted for the murders, or how he found me here and tried to kill me.

  Jesus. Fighting a full-body shudder, I step further in and spot the metal box right where I left it, on the floor. I crouch down and open it, staring down at the pair of green stone earrings and yellowed pages.

  I lift the papers, scan the scrawling handwriting filling them. Not my mom’s hand that’s elegant and soft. No, the person who wrote these... letters, from all appearances, pressed the tip of their pen deep, almost tearing the thin paper.

  “...you can’t do this to me...” I read, my eyes jumping between phrases, “...meet your son. I named him Finn...” and then “...since you’re not replying to my phone calls and texts, I decided to send you letters, but if you don’t reply to these either I’ll come meet you...”

  My hands are shaking.

  Is that what happened? She came here and he killed her? Was I around at the time? Was I in the house while he met with her down here, or by the river, and swung that ax into her chest? And what happened to her son?

  My gorge rises and grabbing the box, I stumble out of the shed to gulp big breaths of air. What the hell, Ross. Don’t be such a wimp. It all happened long ago, and these papers... they could be important. Could tell the police who that other woman was.

  Goddamn, why was Dad saving all this, the photos, the letters, both these and mom’s? Souvenirs, mementos of his victims, trophies of a sick mind.

  I sit down on the doorstep of the shed and check the pages over. They’re only signed “C.” and that’s no fucking help. My eyes return to the earrings and I lift them in my hand. I wonder what the green stones they are inlaid with are. One of them is a bit twisted and has a stone missing.

  They look like real gold and gems. Maybe they could be traced to their owner? As in, the woman buried in the woods. The second skeleton. Maybe someone might recognize them if they were posted on social media.

  Shit. I really have to talk to someone, Luna is right. John Elba. I mean, he’s the only cop that ever talked to me like I’m a real person, not a criminal who should be rotting in prison. I couldn’t live with myself if there was any chance we could find out who she was and what happened to my half-brother and I wasted it by not coming forward to let the police know.

  I’ve failed my siblings before. Octavia, Gigi, Merc—they suffered for my faults. Have I ever told them we have another brother out there? I can’t recall. I wasn’t even sure of his existence until now, only aware of the possibility thanks to Dad’s drunken rants about his bastard children.

  It’s time to find out his fate.

  ***

  Finally getting off my ass, I go back into the shed and search up and down, behind all the stuff Dad hoarded in here, looking for any more clues left behind, but it seems that the police did a pretty thorough job. No more hidden boxes are to be found, and the floor is solid concrete so no holes for hiding stuff. I go as far as to examine the wooden walls, in case something is hidden between the boards, and to upturn every crate and toolbox left to rot, but nothing.

  Clutching the tin box in my hands, I make my way back to the house, covered in spiderwebs and dirt, dust clinging to my sweaty skin, making me itch.

  I set the box down on the sofa and take out my phone to text Merc, the only one of said siblings who’s kept in touch, despite my past behavior and testy replies.

  ‘Hey Merc.’ I pause, not sure how to broach this. ‘You said I could talk to you. It’s important. I found some love letters.’ I stare at the words. Are they love letters? Or angry letters? Evidence? Hell. ‘I need your advice.’

  Next thing I know, the phone is chiming with a new text. ‘All this time of radio silence and you call me for love advice?’ Merc writes.

  I blink. ‘What the hell are you talking about. This isn’t about Luna.’

  ‘Luna, huh. That your girl? A saint to put up with you, no doubt. Tell me about her.’

  Fuck. I’ve never told him about her, have I? Walked right into that one.

  ‘Forget it,’ I text him. ‘I was talking about love letters from a woman to our dad. Found them some time ago. Could be the woman he killed.’ I pause, fighting back another shudder. ‘She had a son. Our brother.’

  There are no replies for a while, and I wonder if Merc decided this convo is nonsense. I should get up and resume cleaning, or go down to the stream and bathe. I stink of sweat to hell and back.

  But then the phone chimes again. ‘Octavia said you mentioned that once. About Dad having more children.’

  Suddenly I remember when it was that I mentioned this to Octavia, and I feel a pang of regret when I remember how I treated her that day. She’d come with her husband, Matt, to pick me up from prison and take me to breakfast. She’s said she’d been worried about me, told me about the bad dreams she had. And I’d basically told her to go fuck herself.

  Son of a bitch.

  ‘Tell her... I’m sorry.’ I send the message before I have a chance to double-guess myself.

  ‘You can tell her yourself,’ he writes back and I glare at the phone.

  This isn’t like Merc, to basically give me the finger. Then again it makes sense that he doesn’t wanna get between myself and his sister. It’s just that he’s been pushing me for so long to talk, open up, reach out. Is that his way of telling me to call Octavia directly?

  Fuck him.

  ‘Tell her or not, I don’t give a shit,’ I type, the familiarity of my anger soothing. ‘Forget I asked.’

  ‘Why wait until now to do something about the letters?’ he writes almost instantly, as if he’d been waiting for my text—or rant.

  Fuck.

  Why? Because I’m finally able to focus on something else than my anger for the first time. To look past myself and my own difficulties to cope with the world. Because I have someone who seems to care for me, and it gives me strength.

  Because I’m beginning to understand that anger isn’t the answer. That my family matters to me. That I can make a difference if I manage to get my head out of my ass.

  For a good five minutes, I stare at my phone. Finally, I reply, ‘You’re asking too many questions.’

  I get a string of laughing emojis for my efforts. Then, ‘Tell me how I can help.’

  Reluctantly, I smile. That motherfucker. ‘I need ideas on how to identify the woman. I found a pair of earrings that seem old.’

  ‘You better not be expecting miracles, buddy, even from me.’

  ‘Go fuck yourself, Merc.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. You love me anyway, big brother. That’s how families are, ya know. Btw, we are coming down to Destiny one of these days anyway. I said you’d have to tell Octavia you’re sorry yourself, didn’t I?’

  Huh. That’s what he meant? ‘Why you coming over?’

  ‘Curb your enthusiasm,’ he writes back drily. ‘Maybe for the little ones to get to know their uncle Ross, how about that?’

  ‘You’re
full of bullshit,’ I write back, but I’m grinning so wide my face hurts.

  Such an asshole, that little brother of mine... It must run in the family.

  ***

  “They’re pretty,” Luna says later, sitting beside me on the sofa, cradling the earrings on the palm of one hand. “You’re right, they look old. Probably family heirlooms. You really think it’s possible to find out who their owner was?”

  “It’s just an idea.” I rub a hand over my face, so damn tired, but smiling at her. I drape my arm around her and haul her against me. “I talked to Merc, and he said they’re coming here in a few days. I want him to take a look and tell me what he thinks. I’m hoping to convince him to talk to the cops instead of me. He has better chances of being heard.”

  “The cops would listen to you.” Her upturned face is so cute I have to lean in and kiss her. “Ross Jones, I am serious.” She places two fingers against my lips. “You’re not a criminal. You helped the cops convict your dad. You found the murder weapon. They won’t dismiss you if you turn up with new evidence.”

  The murder weapon. That’s right, I gave it to them. Images flash behind my eyes: the blood-crusted old ax, the shed, Dad with a long knife in his hand, face twisted with fury.

  I shiver hard, drawing away to try to hide it. What’s the matter with me today, huh? Old Ben’s words, the missing pendant, the letters, the onslaught of memories, I blame it all.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers, drawing her fingertips over my mouth to my cheek, stroking my jaw. “Didn’t mean to sadden you.”

  “You haven’t,” I assure her, catching her hand in mine, kissing her palm. “You’ve been the highlight of my day, the best part.” I find I can smile again. “You always are.”

  She’s the one kissing me now, climbing onto my lap and winding her arms around my neck. Oh yeah, the day’s improving. Groaning, I deepen the kiss, and her tongue meets mine, sending electric jolts down my spine, getting me hard in two seconds flat.

  Hot damn...

  “Stay tonight?” I manage, my voice hoarse, when we break apart.

  “I can’t. I promised Dad to help him prepare dinner. He wants to make toasted ravioli from scratch and I think he wants to teach me how.”

  “You like cooking?”

  “It’s okay. Not my favorite pastime, but I like cooking for my family.”

  “I like looking after the people I care for.” She told me that once. Transparent like glass, precious like a diamond. That’s my girl.

  And I can’t begrudge her the time with her family, dammit, especially since her dad seems to be so good to her. But I don’t want her to go, and my arms tighten around her. I make a conscious effort to loosen my hold.

  “I want you to meet my family,” she mutters, startling me.

  “Yeah, sure.” I laugh.

  “I’m serious.”

  “Luna... I’m not sure about this,” I say cautiously. “Last time I was there, your brother threw rocks at me.”

  “I’ll talk to my brother.”

  “I’m not the kind of guy you take home to meet your parents.”

  “You are,” she says. “Because you are my guy. Dad and Josh will just have to accept that.”

  My battered, dented heart gives a lurch. “You sure about this?”

  “Yes.” She wraps herself around me so tightly, like she wants to climb inside me. “I am. If that’s okay with you.”

  “Damn, girl,” I breathe. “Anything for you. You know that.”

  And I mean it.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Luna

  “Anything for you.”

  My heart pounds whenever I think of his words, the way he said them—low and warm, the emotion vibrating in every syllable, flaring in his eyes.

  Am I seriously going to do this, invite him to my home? Will Josh behave? Will Dad be kind? It’s not their fault—they saw how Ross hurt me in the past. They’re protective of me, but they don’t need to be, not anymore. If they reject Ross, it will break my heart.

  It doesn’t have to be today, though, I decide, or even tomorrow. I have time to prepare the ground, talk to them more about Ross, convince them he’s worth it before introducing them properly.

  I’m going through this plan over in my head as I take the trash out the back door of the diner to the alley, when I see that douche, Ed, talking with Mike again. I stop and stare, not liking this one bit. It comes to me that Mike must’ve been the one telling Dena and probably his other employees that Ross wasn’t paying his bills here at the diner. Ross said it was a lie, and I believe him.

  And now Mike seems to be rubbing elbows with the new wannabee king of assholes in town. What gives?

  Interrogating my boss doesn’t sound like a good idea, though, so I return inside and help Dena close down the shop. We haven’t talked much since I found out she’s dating Jenner, and she seems to be avoiding me as well, as much as you can avoid the only other waitress in a small diner full of customers.

  She sniffs in my direction when she sees me, grabs her purse and denim jacket, and heads out front.

  I sigh as I go grab my stuff. Truth be told, I’m sorry for this rift between us. I’d started to consider her a friend, despite the brief time I’ve worked here and my past experiences with the people of this town. I thought it’d be different with her.

  And what if it is? I walk out onto the street, glancing around in case I see her. It’s in your hands, I tell myself. Stop letting yourself be the victim. She didn’t like you butting into her personal business, and she may be right, despite how you feel about Jenner. Jenner never did anything worse than be slightly weird. Trying to look like Ross is understandable. After all, Ross is the best-looking guy in town.

  I could apologize. Clear this thing up between us.

  But instead of her, I find Ed coming right at me. I jerk back when I recognize him. He’s a tall guy, strong. Not as strong as Ross, but I’m no match for him. At least his friends are not with him today.

  “What do you want?” I demand.

  “Me? Nothing. What would I want with a fat, ugly slut like you, huh?”

  I barely flinch at the slur. In fact, I’m starting to get angry. Maybe some of Ross’s darkness is rubbing off on me. “That’s all you got? No imagination. Get out of my way.”

  “Now, what’s the rush?” He crowds me against the mouth of another alley, smirking. “You may be ugly, but you have your uses.”

  “Get out of my face before I start screaming, and I know for a fact there are people around at this time of day.”

  He hesitates, uncertainty flitting over his stupid face. “Bitch.”

  “Douchebag.”

  He glances around him, and I see the moment he decides I’m not worth the trouble. “Your precious Ross is not around to save you this time.”

  “I don’t need saving.”

  “Soon he’ll be back in prison where he belongs, just like his dad. He isn’t as good-hearted as you seem to think, stupid girl. By the time you realize it, it’s gonna be too late.”

  I glower at him. “What the hell does that mean? And what’s going on between you and Mike?”

  His eyes dart toward the diner. “Nothing.”

  “Since when are you two buddies? What’s going on, Ed?”

  “None of your goddamn business.” He jabs a thick finger at me, and scowls. “Keep your damn nose out of it, you hear? Don’t go meddling in other people’s affairs.”

  “Funny, coming from you,” I shoot back, but he’s already turning away. I watch him stalk across the street and into a side street, vanishing from view, and I lean back against the wall to steady myself, my knees suddenly kind of weak.

  I’m not letting any bully get to me again. I’m not a weak little girl, and if I’m not thin like a supermodel, all the better. At least my phone can’t fall through my thigh gap, and I’m not here to sell beauty products. I’m here to live my life, be happy, be surrounded by people who appreciate me as I am... and Ross.
/>   Ross thinks I’m pretty, and that’s the only opinion I need. Who cares what Ed or anyone else thinks of me? If my guy likes me the way I am, then I’m good. He’s the only one that matters, anyway.

  On shaky legs, I make my way home and shut myself up in my room until I can get myself under control. Don’t want Dad or Josh to see me like this, and Ross...

  I should tell him about this, about what Ed said, about him and Mike talking...right? I think about it, lying on my childhood bed, staring up at the glowing stars of the ceiling, comparing them to the real ones that I gazed at, in Ross’s arms. Twinkling stars, and the milky way.

  Would I be worrying him for no good reason?

  What Ed told me sounds like empty threats and insults, but something tells me there might be more to it. No idea what.

  And what if I tell him what happened and he goes off to beat Ed up and ends up in jail? Of all the things Ross has recounted from his past, going to prison seems to be the one thing he dreads. Something happened to him there, I can tell. Whenever he starts telling me about it, he sort of... stops cold, and his eyes go flat and wide.

  Crap. I’ve heard horror stories about prisons and the lack of discipline inside. I don’t want to know what happened to him in there—and I can’t help but hope he’ll tell me about it. It feels like the last missing piece of the puzzle, though if he doesn’t want to, then of course that’s okay. I wouldn’t want him to relive any of that hell for my sake.

  Dad is calling my name and I sigh, rolling off the bed and to my feet.

  Toasted ravioli made from scratch is frankly the last thing on my mind and on my list right now. I wish I could be with Ross.

  But then I enter the kitchen, see Dad’s big smile, and remember how Ross’s dad treated him, and I’m so grateful for mine. For my whole family. Spending an evening with him isn’t that bad. No matter how deep in love I am with Ross, I can’t shut the rest of the world outside.

  Especially since even the deepest love can go unanswered, and this thing between Ross and me is so new it’s still green. I want to hope he loves me back, that his actions speak louder than the words I want to hear from him, but it’s too soon to tell...