“Thanks, Granddad. I just need some time in my room alone.”
All three shouted after her, a chorus of noise as she hurried up the stairs. She ignored them, desperate to get a locked door between herself and every last one of them.
She slid down onto the floor on her butt when the door was finally closed, and rubbed the hot, stinging spot on her cheek.
She couldn’t stay here any longer. Not even for a few more weeks, to save money. She wasn’t going to the Culinary Institute this year anyhow. Not on her own dime.
Change of plans. She had to go to Seattle now. Scramble to find enough flexible catering work that would fit around the hours of the internship. After that ended, she’d find the highest paying job she could during the day and double up with catering gigs for nights and weekends. She’d find a group house to manage big city rent. Eat leftovers after catering gigs. Shop at thrift stores. Take the bus or walk everywhere.
She would save every penny toward her goals. Just like Eric did.
Damn, the guy was inspiring in all kinds of delicious ways.
She would have bought her bus ticket that very moment, but for the date with Eric. First things first. She had to have one more taste of that wafting-six-inches-off-the-ground high, that scorching, mind-melting lust. Those earth-shattering orgasms.
That was her shining prize. She was going to reach out and take it.
God knows she might as well, since she’d already paid the price.
5
Eric was careful coming down the stairs that morning, skipping the ones that creaked and snapped. When he’d gotten home before dawn, he’d seen a motorcycle and a rented Buick parked out behind Otis’s pick-up. His brothers had arrived. Mace was on leave from the Marines, so Otis had bullied Anton into driving out from his luxury lair in Vegas so they could be all in one place. It hardly ever happened these days, and never in Shaw’s Crossing. Otis complained that getting them back here was like pulling teeth.
It was a quarter to six, and he moved through the hallway at that careful, panther-like pace that left plenty of time for his eyes to slide over the pictures in the entrance hall. His adoptive father was an avid birdwatcher and amateur wildlife photographer, and Otis’s tired old joke was that the three boys he’d taken in definitely qualified as wildlife. So among the woodpeckers and red-tailed hawks and bald eagles and elk were pictures of himself, Anton and Mace. Fixing cars. Sprawled on the porch. Diving into the river pools.
One picture held pride of place, three photos displayed in a single frame: a shot from each of their three high school graduation ceremonies. Cap, gown, and all.
Otis took full credit for that achievement, as well he should.
Almost to the door. Careful, now. If he managed not to wake anyone—
“Well, well.” Anton’s voice, from the kitchen. “Look who’s sneaking out at the crack of dawn without even saying hello.”
Eric froze, and accepted the inevitable. He was busted.
He entered the kitchen, where Otis, Anton and Mace sat at the table, wide awake and fully dressed. They were drinking their coffee and staring at him with varying degrees of worry and disapproval.
“Up bright and early, hmm?” Otis leaned forward, his gnarled, arthritis-knobbed hands clasping a coffee mug, and scowled at Eric from beneath bushy, tufted white eyebrows. Otis was craggy, keen-eyed, hawk-nosed. He’d let a grizzled beard grow in as long as it wanted to grow since his retirement from the job as police chief. That and the old plaid flannel shirt flapping on his bony frame made him look just like the rawhide-tough, old-time mountain man that he truly was.
“Morning,” Eric said guardedly, nodding to his brothers. “Good to see you guys.”
“Is it?” Anton slouched back in the kitchen chair in a pose that looked lazy and indolent, but knowing Anton, was anything but.
“You cut your hair,” Eric said. “What the fuck? Your pride and joy. Gone.”
Anton’s hand went up, finger-combing the thick, messy, chopped-off brush of dark hair, shaved closer on the sides. “Got sick of dealing with it,” he said. “All that combing, having it clog the fucking drain, the girls always rolling over it in bed—”
“Hold it right there.” Otis clucked his tongue. “I don’t want to hear any sex stuff.”
Anton’s brief grin flashed. “Sorry,” he murmured, tussling his top hair. The gesture made the thick muscles of his chest flex beneath his gray tee-shirt. Anton wore a tee-shirt in Otis’s house out of respect, to cover some of his extensive tattoo art, of which Otis vociferously disapproved. But the tattoos drew attention away from the snarl of whip scars on Anton’s back, which Eric suspected was his brother’s main reason for getting them.
He might have known they’d catch his sorry ass. His brothers were early risers. Or rather, shitty sleepers. All the brothers were twitchy, restless, and more-or-less paranoid. Relentless training to be the vanguard of Jeremiah’s army of the faithful had jacked up their stress chemicals chronically high. Which sucked for sleep.
“Gone so soon?” Mace said. “We just got here. Sit down. Have some coffee.”
“Nope, gotta run,” he said. “Early shift down at the construction site.”
“At six AM?” Anton said. “Well, that would explain the incredibly long shower.”
Mace approached, sniffing him. “How much cologne did you splash on yourself, anyhow? Woodsy, spicy, with just a hint of bergamot to drive the ladies wild.” He gave Eric’s face a playful slap. “Ooh, feel that close shave. Smooth as a baby’s bottom.”
Eric jerked away. “Cut it out, meathead. What the fuck is this about?”
“Language,” Otis growled. “Bad language is for mindless idiots.”
Mace rose, grabbing a coffee mug from the cupboard. He filled it from the pot, and put it down in front of the one empty chair. “Sit,” he said flatly.
Eric’s gaze focused on the shiny burn scars on Mace’s huge hands and thick forearms. Mace’s souvenir of the GodsAcre fire, right out there for the world to look at and wonder about.
Mace was the biggest of the brothers. Both he and Anton were six-three, but Mace had just kept on growing into a dense wall of muscle, stopping just shy of six-five. Otis had been forced to buy kitchen chairs with metal frames after they destroyed his old ones.
Mace’s dirt-blond buzz cut was fresh and crisp, not like his own that was getting shaggy on top. His younger brother had bright gray eyes. His beard scruff glinted reddish gold on his square jaw.
Otis indicated the chair with a commanding air. “Sit,” he said. “We need to talk about a phone call I got last night from my old friend, Benedict Shaw.”
Eric’s eyes closed with a hiss of dismay. “Oh fuck.”
“Language,” Mace chided. “Your mindless idiocy is showing. But I can’t really blame you for it. I’ve seen Demi Vaughan, and she has got one sweet set of plump, pointy-tipped—”
“Shut up,” Eric snarled.
“Mason!” Otis scolded. “Show some respect for the young lady.”
“Oh believe me, I’ve got nothing but respect for a pair of tits like—ow!”
Anton smacked Mace in the back of the head, knocking his face into the table, all without looking away from Eric’s face. Cups rattled, and Mace cursed and squawked but Anton didn’t appear to notice. He was too busy staring right into Eric’s brain.
Anton’s dark gaze had a strange, almost hypnotic quality. Since he was a kid, when he stared at a person, it was like he saw inside them and could just poke around in there, opening cupboards and drawers, turning over rocks, rifling through anything he pleased.
He saw things Eric didn’t even know about himself. Then he churned it through some mysterious processor in his head, deducing things he had no business knowing.
Anton shook his head. He looked almost pitying. “Dude,” he said. “You’re done for. It’s all over your face. You’ve drunk from the sacred well. Kiss your ass goodbye.”
“Oh, God.” Otis put his head in his
hands. “Say it’s not true. Damn idiot.”
Eric could not say it wasn’t true. He kept his eyes averted and his mouth shut.
Mace could always be counted on to break an uncomfortable silence. “Whoa! Look!” he crowed, holding up a box of condoms that he’d fished out of Eric’s backpack. “Bad intentions? The seal’s not broken yet, but it won’t be long now! Here, I’ll do the honors for you.” He ripped open the box.
“Get your paws out of my shit.” Eric jerked the box away from him and the string of condoms tumbled down onto Otis’s coffee mug, slid off and came to rest on the table in all their glory.
Otis rubbed his forehead as if it pained him. “For the love of God,” he said. “You said you wanted to work like a bastard and put aside some money for your future, and now you’re diddling Henry Shaw’s granddaughter? That’s insane. That girl is off-limits.”
“Her limits are her own to decide.” Eric folded up the condoms and shoved them roughly back into the box. “She’s not a child. It’s not up to her dad, or granddad, or you, or anyone. And it’s nobody’s damn business what we do.”
Otis muttered under his breath, shaking his head.
“Sorry. I have to go,” Eric mumbled, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
“We’ll discuss this when you get home,” Otis said. “Tonight’s your night off from the care home, right? You and your brothers can all help me clean out the storage shed.”
“Uh…” Eric hesitated. “I’ll be home late. I got something going on after.”
Mace chuckled under his breath. “Oh, I just bet he’ll get something going on. Something as juicy and sweet and silky soft like a ripe—”
“Shut up!” Otis and Eric yelled.
Eric locked eyes with Otis. Not blinking, since he had nothing to be ashamed of.
Otis shook his head wearily. “After the hell you went through, the people who hurt you, the people you lost. You’d think someone who got through all that and lived to tell about it wouldn’t be so goddamned innocent.”
“I’m not innocent,” Eric protested. “I’m just minding my own business.”
“Not according to Shaw. Ben Vaughan is nothing but a dumbass tool, but he’s still Henry Shaw’s son-in-law and Henry owns this town in every way that counts. If Shaw decides to mess with you, you will be messed with. I can’t help you. He made that clear to me last night. You’ve got your head up your ass. So damn stupid.”
“Not exactly stupid,” Mace broke in helpfully. “Cum-poisoned. Different cause, same effect. Much higher fun factor. But hey, if you’re going to ruin your whole life and get flattened by Fate, at least make it count, bro, am I right?”
“Zip it,” Eric said, through his teeth. “I’ll be late for work—”
“You’ll lose the work,” Otis said. “All of the work. No Shaw’s Crossing employer in their right mind would go against that girl’s granddad. I guarantee it.”
“I hear you,” Eric growled. “Don’t flog a dead horse.”
“So don’t kill the damn horse!” Otis retorted. “You need that horse!”
Eric backed toward the door. “I have to go,” he repeated.
“Eric.” Otis’s voice stopped him. “I said this years ago, but it looks like I need to say it again. If you get into trouble, or hurt someone, or run with garbage and get blamed for their smell, whatever it is, know this. If you end up on the wrong side of the law, I will cut you loose. No explanations. No excuses. No bail. No lawyer. You’re on your own, twisting in the wind. Do. Not. Blow it.”
“I understand,” Eric said.
Otis, Anton and Mace came out onto the porch as Eric wrangled the Monster into gear. He disliked turning his back on Otis like an ungrateful, disrespectful shithead.
But he couldn’t explain himself, or defend himself. It was a done deal. He was taking Demi to a secret place to pleasure her beyond her wildest dreams. That was the plan, and he could not turn back from it. No one could ask him to. It just wasn’t an option.
The roar of lust in his head was louder than any voice of reason could yell.
A cold fist clutched his belly as he drove away, watching the worried faces of his family getting smaller and smaller in the cracked rearview. It felt almost like fear.
The lust was stronger.
6
The buzzing finally penetrated Benedict Vaughn’s brain. Barely audible, like a dying insect inside the locked drawer in his desk. He’d been instructed to keep the phone on his person, but that made him too anxious. And attracted too much attention.
Good thing he’d been in the office. He did not want to blow off this caller.
Benedict rummaged for the key to the drawer with hands that were slightly unsteady after his third Scotch. Four rings. Five. Six.
He finally got it out and hit ‘talk.’ “Hello? This is Ben Vaughan.”
The pause before answering was loaded with silent menace. “Don’t ever make me wait that long before you pick up again.” The deep voice was deceptively soft.
“Ah, sorry. I was just in the middle of—”
“I don’t give a fuck what you were doing.”
“Ah…yes, of course. So what can I do for—”
“You have to ask?”
Ben floundered, fishing desperately for the right answer. “I just wondered if—”
“The Trask brothers are all in Shaw’s Crossing together. Right now. That hasn’t happened for five years, and I am not okay with it. You had one job, Benedict. One.”
“They haven’t shown any signs of wanting to go back up to GodsAcre,” Ben said nervously. “They’re just visiting Otis. So I don’t think—”
“I did not pay you to think. I bailed you out of your mess. You owe me.”
“And I’m very grateful,” Ben said quickly. “But I—”
“Do not interrupt me. Thinking is not your strong suit. I paid you to do as you’re fucking told. You’re falling down on the job.”
“But I—”
“Your daughter’s been seen with Eric Trask. Holding hands. Kissing him.”
“I’ve got the situation under control,” Ben assured him.
“The last thing I need is for a Trask boy to decide to hang around here. Your job was to make them feel unwelcome. You were supposed to encourage them in every possible way to get the hell out of town.”
“And I did!”
“Your daughter is opening her legs for him, Ben. Seems to defeat that purpose, wouldn’t you say?” The man’s oily tone made Ben as angry as he was afraid. Almost.
“She’s not opening her legs,” he protested. “I’ve already talked to her, and she—”
“So this wide open legs state of affairs bothers you. That’s good, Ben. I’m glad you’re bothered. It means our personal interests are aligned. He’s as much a liability for your family’s future as he is to my own private interests. So take care of it.”
Ben opened and closed his mouth, at a loss. “Uh…do you actually want me to—”
“Don’t ask me to do your job. Fucking earn the money I paid you. Money that kept you out of jail. Be creative. Solve the problem. Permanently. Do we understand each other?”
“Uh, yes,” he faltered. “Of course. You don’t have to worry about my…hello?”
The line was dead.
“Ben? Honey? Who were you were talking to?”
Elaine stood in the doorway. He’d been so flustered, he hadn’t seen her open the door. “What did I tell you about bursting in here without knocking?”
Elaine winced, but did not back down. Her eyes flicked down to the Scotch glass, then to the phone in his other hand. “That’s not your smartphone,” she said.
“That’s not your goddamn business!” He couldn’t get the snarl out of his voice.
Elaine noticed fucking everything. He’d fallen in love with her for that. Her perceptive intelligence. Her brilliant green eyes. Then he realized, too late, what it meant to live with a woman whose big, intelligent eyes saw far too much.
/> Elaine knew the man she’d married all too well. That knowledge made him squirm. And his daughter was just like her. That same unflinching gaze that saw too damn much.
“It’s just a work phone,” he mumbled, sliding it into his pocket.
“It’s a burner,” Elaine said. “You don’t use burners for work. And someone just hung up on you. That didn’t sound like a work call. You’ve gotten calls like that before. Who is it, Ben?”
“It’s work!” he reiterated. “The line got disconnected. It’s nothing to worry about. Don’t be paranoid. And don’t spy on me. It’s annoying.”
She just kept looking at him. It was driving him crazy. “What?” he snapped. “Say it!”
“I got another call from Raelene,” Elaine said.
Shit. Here it came. He braced himself. “Yes? What does she have to report?”
Elaine’s mouth flattened. “She said that Demi left with Eric again. That wreck of a car he drives was parked down the street. She went straight for it. Made out with him in his car, right on the street in front of everyone, and then they drove away. So she’s out there with him now. Somewhere.”
Fury almost drowned out the dread, fogging his vision with red. Selfish slut. Spitting in his face. Throwing herself away on that piece of garbage just to spite him. After all the opportunities she’d been given. The privileges. That snotty, ungrateful bitch.
“I told Raelene not to call me with any more news like this,” Elaine said.
“What?” he was horrified. “Why? That’s insane! We need to monitor her!”
“No, I think not, Ben. Spying on her like that. It’s wrong. She’s an adult, whether we approve of her choice of boyfriends or not. God knows, I can hardly blame her. They just don’t make them any better-looking than that young man.”
“Have you gone nuts?”
“Not at all.” Elaine’s chin went up. “I’m trying to be fair. I’m also trying to salvage our relationship with our daughter, which is more than you’re making any effort to do. Eric Trask…well, I don’t know. Maybe he’s not so bad. He’s served his country, he’s working hard, he’s keeping his nose clean. He had a tough start in life, so hats off to him for trying to make something of himself. Maybe we should try giving him a fair shot.”
Hellion Page 5
