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Veils: A Killers Novel, Book 4

Page 21

by Asher, Brynne


  Cayden hangs onto Noah and giggles. “What’s that mean?”

  “It means you’re ornery and your momma doesn’t know what to do with you,” Maya says as she walks into the room and comes straight for us. She plucks Chloe from my arms where she was eating my chin and says, “You go. I’ll handle your brother.”

  Maya knows how guilty I feel but I’m not sure I want to go with Noah after he threw a dish against the wall. I bite my lip and don’t take his hand.

  “Really,” Maya confirms with a hike of her brow and widens her eyes—her stare carrying weight and meaning. “Trust me. I’m not the only one who has your back.”

  “Baby.” Noah lowers his voice and is only focused on me even though my nephew is trying to climb him like a tree. “Let’s go.”

  I’m not sure what this says about me—that I’m willing to go blindly with the man who’s upset about my keeping secrets from him—but I can’t say no. If anything, I need to explain and make him understand.

  So I put my hand in his and he pulls me up, nice and easy, and I only feel a tiny sting where my ribs are still bruised.

  He turns to Maya. “I’ll pay for the wall. And the dish.”

  Maya settles my niece on her hip. “I don’t want your money, Noah. Just take care of my sister-in-law and make this right with Grady.”

  “That’s up to your husband,” Noah mutters on our way out the door where we pass Crew, Asa, and my red-faced brother who looks like the top of his head might explode into a million tiny badass pieces. I didn’t even have the chance to ask where we’re going before he helps me up into an old truck and slams the passenger door—and not the Ford Explorer we took home from the airport. I feel like I’ve traveled back in time, to another decade, before I was even born. Maybe even to an old police show.

  When he climbs in beside me, the old, yet pristine truck rumbles to life without a stutter or hiccup, defying all laws of age and wear and tear. It’s shiny and clean and all black, inside and out, besides the chrome, that’s so crystal clear, I could use it to apply my lip gloss.

  “Where are we going?” I ask as he pulls out, the late afternoon air blowing through my hair since there’s no top on this thing.

  He glances at me as he waits for the gates to my brother’s property to open, letting us out of this fortress. “Whitetail. Maya was not shitting you when she said she wasn’t the only one who has your back. It looks like you and me are Keelie and Addy’s new project. The way they’ve been texting me, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re at home weaving friendship bracelets and plan to hold me at gunpoint until I agree to be BFFs forever.”

  I ignore most of that and lean back into the soft leather of my seat. “I don’t want to go to the winery and I don’t want to see anyone else. I’m not up for socializing or answering more questions right now.”

  He pulls through the gates. “We’re not going to the tasting room. Addy’s extra house is open. The chances of your brother allowing me to stay with you under his roof are about as good as me letting you out of my sight.”

  Well, everything besides the friendship bracelets make sense now and I turn to him. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to be upset and I knew you would be. Even when it was happening, I knew it wasn’t your fault—”

  We’re already turning onto the Whitetail property since it’s just down the road and across the street when he reaches over and grabs my hand. “We’ll talk about it, but not now.”

  Shit. No one needs another dish throwing incident.

  I change the subject. “What kind of car is this?”

  “Bronco. A seventy-seven.”

  “Then whose car did we take home from the airport?”

  His eyes slice to me as we pull up to the bungalow on Addy’s property that she used to rent out. Maya lived here when she first moved to Virginia and that’s when she met Grady. The last I heard, Crew doesn’t like Addy renting it to strangers so it sits empty most of the time. “That’s mine, too.”

  I don’t have the chance to ask him how many cars he has because he gets out and I follow. But as we’re walking to the door, it swings open, and Noah moves protectively in front of me until we see who it is.

  Bev is standing in the doorway, and as soon as she sees us, a smile spreads across her pretty, lined face. She starts talking immediately. “Well, there you are. I barely made it in time. I flew into action as fast as I could when Addy called.” Her wise eyes, that have probably seen it all, don’t appear surprised when they land on me and she shakes her head. “I’ve got to say, I was prepared for the worst when Addy told me what happened. But look at you, Gracie Cain, fresh as a daisy—just like always.”

  If I look like a daisy, it isn’t a fresh one. Probably more like one that’s been baked in the sun, deprived of nutrients, and dehydrated to a crisp, which is exactly how I feel. It’s not only been a long day, but a really long few weeks. But Bev is full of sugar—she has no spice—and is bathed in kindness.

  I’m tired of being the topic of every subject so I change it. “It’s good to see you, Bev. How’s Morris?”

  Morris is Bev’s husband. He’s the caretaker of Addy’s property and vineyard. Morris is as sour as Bev is sweet—tipping their hat to the old adage opposites do, indeed, attract. Bev proves that she walks through life wearing rose-colored glasses when she describes her grumpy husband. “I love him more every day—what more could I want in life? And Jarvis, you don’t come around enough. I look forward to getting to know you. You work for the boys so you must be the bee’s knees.” She pulls the door shut behind her and hands Jarvis a key, not giving us a chance to squeeze in another word. “You kids rest up. I hear jet lag is a pain in the tush. Dinner’s comin’ so don’t ruin your appetite on any of those goodies. Huh.” She pauses and looks up at the sky. “Feels like rain.”

  I look up to clear blue as far as the eye can see and frown.

  “You should get that fancy truck back in the barn. You don’t want to ruin the pretty new leather.” She keeps talking at us and I wonder if she practices circular breathing techniques or played a woodwind in band. “Welp, I need to get back to Addy, Vivi, and Aimée. I didn’t think a baby could have more hair than Vivi, but Aimée sure came through for the win. See you two tomorrow!”

  And we don’t even get to say goodbye or thank you. In her colorful Skechers, she disappears into the woods like she wasn’t even here.

  I look up to Noah. “They named the baby Amy?”

  He nods. “Yeah, but the French version. Probably to go with Vivi’s.”

  “You knew this and you didn’t tell me?” I complain, because these things are important.

  “I just found out—" he sighs and either looks like he wants to rip someone’s head off or give up on life, “—I don’t know, fifteen minutes ago?”

  “What’s her middle name?”

  “Fuck, Grace. I have no idea.”

  “Nice. You just Graced me over Aimée’s middle name.” Exhaustion suddenly hits me like a brick wall and I move to the door. I turn the handle to Addy’s bungalow and stop at the threshold.

  A floral arrangement is sitting on the kitchen counter. It’s as enormous as it is beautiful and too massive for the small space. Enough fruit to rehydrate a small soccer team is overflowing from a bowl sitting on the coffee table next to a box—with what I’m guessing are chocolates. Three bottles of wine made from grapes grown on the land we’re standing on are perched with them, next to a cutting board with a baguette, cheese, and olives.

  “Wow.” I feel Noah at my back, his hand landing like a magnet low on my hip where it’s been very comfortable lately.

  “Holy shit. These women…” It’s all he says before pushing me in where the air conditioning is a balm to the hot, muggy day.

  “This place is so cute. Have you been here before?” I ask, looking around, poking my head into the small bathroom and bedroom, fully furnished with luxury linens and towels for days.

  “No.” Noah isn’t nea
rly as impressed. His head is bent and he’s busy typing away on his phone.

  I pass the overflowing bowl of fruit and open the box of chocolates. Picking one, I pray it isn’t coconut before biting into it.

  “Sorry, I had to send a message by courier before close of business.” He tosses his phone on the counter next to the fresh flowers and looks at me. A long pause hangs between us, as heavy as the elephant sitting in our small space.

  I lose his eyes when he sighs and drops his head, staring at his feet. He’s standing between me and the small kitchen. The marshmallow and chocolate are sticking to my teeth but at least it wasn’t coconut. All of a sudden, I’m thirsty.

  I clear my throat before breaking the silence. “It’s been a long day—long flight, it’s hot and humid, and the plane sex …” I let my voice trail off when he finally looks up. “I didn’t think to grab my suitcase before we left in such a rush but I really need to take a shower and go to bed. I need to get back on a normal schedule.”

  It’s like he didn’t hear a word I said. “I can’t unsee it.”

  “Unsee what?”

  He doesn’t hesitate. “You lying on that dirty floor. Your beautiful body beaten. I thought the sight was burned in my brain before, but now?”

  He shakes his head and takes a big breath. I don’t respond, but I do brace because this is why I didn’t tell him.

  “Knowing that happened because of me?” He pushes away from where he was leaning against the counter and stands straight. “I thought I hated myself in the past. That’s nothing compared to now.”

  “It’s why I didn’t tell you,” I whisper. “You seem to know everything about me, and even though I don’t know you well, I knew you’d take responsibility. I’ve been through a lot, Noah, and even more therapy and counseling and other shit to know that bad shit just happens.”

  “But it happened because of me,” he growls and I can tell he believes it down to his soul and raises his voice. “I was the one who led them to you. Someone is trying to get to me and used you to do it. Dammit, Grace. You can’t spin this any other way. This,” he motions to my face, and for the first time since he rescued me, he looks at me differently and I don’t like it, “wouldn’t have happened. I have no fucking idea what I did or how I slipped up that led us to this nightmare!”

  My pulse picks up and I have to swallow over the lump in my throat. No way—no fucking way. Especially not with him. I try to keep my voice steady but I know it’s failing me when I practically beg him to drop this. “No. You didn’t lay a hand on me. Don’t twist this into something it’s not. This is one area of life that isn’t gray. It’s black and it’s white. Shit happens and sometimes you’re unlucky. It’s taken me a long time to come to peace with that, Noah. If you do anything to convince me otherwise, I swear, I’ll walk out of here. I’ll leave and you’ll never see me again because I can’t go there. I can’t.”

  * * *

  Jarvis

  What the hell?

  It’s like she flipped a switch.

  No. It’s like I’m the lightning bolt that caused a surge through her system, as if I haven’t done enough to cause her pain. Even with everything she’s been through, I’ve never seen her like this.

  “I can’t go back to that place,” she goes on, her voice throaty and rough. “It’s not Grady’s or my sisters’ or my fault that our father was an alcoholic. It’s not my fault he decided to lose it one night over a mess of toys and take it out on me. It’s not Grady’s fault I almost died because he wasn’t there to stop it before it escalated. And it’s not my fault Grady has to live with the fact he killed our father.”

  I move to get to her but stop when she steps back in unison. It cuts through me because she’s never done that. “No, baby. None of that was your fault. You were a child.”

  “Exactly,” she agrees, standing her ground, even though it’s unsteady and feeble. This isn’t about me. Right now, I don’t know who she’s trying to convince more with her black-and-white philosophy—herself or me. “Whatever state I’m in, I’m lucky to be here and need to be content. I’ve worked really hard to be content, Noah. You didn’t beat me up,” she adds, almost flippantly and a tremor jolts through me at the thought. “You didn’t drug me, threaten to rape me, give me a concussion, or split my head open. So see? Not your fault.”

  “You’re right.” I soften my tone and hold my hand out to her. “I didn’t do any of that.”

  She doesn’t come to me but she does keep rambling. And, fuck me, from the day we met, it’s the most she’s shed of that veil she uses to shield herself. “I knew you’d think it was your fault but it’s not. It just happened. Shit happens. I was trying to keep you from feeling that way because nothing is worse than that guilt and I didn’t want you to have any over me. But I didn’t know it could be a threat to everyone else. I had no idea.”

  “Everyone knows that, Gracie. No one is blaming you for anything.”

  She closes her eyes and shakes her head quickly, frustrated and agitated. “No. No one would blame me for anything. They’re too busy feeling sorry for me.”

  I don’t know what that means, and right now, I can’t worry about it. I step closer, my hand still extended in a plea. Coming home has been a shitshow from the moment we touched down in the Commonwealth of Virginia. “Baby, please. Come here.”

  She shakes her head. “I’m tired. I just need you to understand why I didn’t say anything and that I never would have kept it from you had I known it was that big of a deal.”

  “We’ll get to the bottom of it and figure out what happened. That plan is already in motion.” Her face falls and now I’m not sure if that made her feel better or not. But she’s now in the know and I’m determined to keep it that way.

  “What does that mean?” I was right. Her tone is more anxiety laced than before.

  I don’t get a chance to answer before thunder rumbles in the distance. Shit. Bev’s bones were right.

  Gracie looks out the window quickly before rubbing her good eye. “I’m going to take a shower and go to bed. I don’t have my stuff but I’ll figure it out.”

  “I’ll get our bags. Wait for me—it’ll take five minutes, tops. There’s enough security on this land, you’ll be fine here by yourself.” We’ve showered together ever since I found her in Istanbul and I’m not anxious for that to change anytime soon.

  She shakes her head. “I’ll be fine. Go take care of your truck. Bev was right, it can’t get wet. I’ll be here when you get back.”

  She disappears around the corner, and before I can get out the door, I hear the shower, which might as well be another sucker punch.

  I know one thing for certain. She’s not leaving this house until I can at least get us back to where we were in Paris. She’s not going back to Ohio now or anytime in the near future.

  Chapter 25

  Water and Oxygen

  Gracie

  The skies turn as dark as the mood that has fallen over everyone I know on the east coast. Well, everyone but Bev. I’m not sure anything could cloud her sunny outlook on life.

  The summer storm beats down on the little bungalow nestled deep in the woods on Addy’s property. Besides Asa showing up for about two-point-five seconds with enough food that we won’t have to step outside for days, it’s been just Noah and me again. And as much as I want us to return to the bubble that it seems only Paris can provide, we can’t find our way. It’s dark and gloomy.

  Thank goodness Addy keeps her little bungalow ready for company. The bathroom was stocked with body wash, shampoo, conditioner, and anything else a girl needs to wash away the shit raining down on her life. As nice as it was, I tried not to think about showering alone for the first time in more than a week.

  At first, it was only about Noah taking care of me, but by the end of our week in Paris, it turned into so much more. Desires and cravings turned into basic and uncomplicated essentials for survival.

  Water. Oxygen

  Noah. Gracie.
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  Simply put, I needed him and it felt like he needed me. We lived in a pretend world where time didn’t matter and everyday felt like easy Sunday mornings.

  Then we came back, reality set in, and everything feels like that early Monday morning alarm—shrill and dreadful, like the most depressing nonfiction memoir to hit The New York Times.

  By the time I flipped the water off, Noah had dumped all our bags in the corner of the small bedroom. I hadn’t seen my things since I left Uganda and couldn’t bring myself to unzip my massive suitcase, so I opened Noah’s and opted for a soft T-shirt he bought me.

  I hear him in the small kitchen, banging around, probably putting away all the food left for us. I didn’t eat much, even though Keelie’s baked ziti was the best I’ve ever had. Noah ate enough for both of us and then some. Now, I’m in bed and willing myself to fall into a deep sleep before he joins me because I’m just lame enough that the only thing in the world I want right now is silence. As long as I’m awake, I know there is no way Noah will allow this. He’ll even remind me of my promise not to shut him out again and I’m not sure I can handle that right now.

  He showers faster than the lightning cracking down on us, and here I am, wide awake and alert, enough so I could probably ace my finals if I were still in college. When I feel the bed dip behind me, I would actually prefer the hardest test compared to the questions he is certain to press me with.

  “I know you’re awake.”

  Shit.

  “I’m not,” I lie.

  He curves his muscled body around mine the way I’ve become addicted to, slipping his hand up the front of my shirt, resting it on the hem of my low-cut bikini panties. When his lips hit my wet-hair, he asks, “How’s your head?”

  “Muddled and heavy,” I answer truthfully even though I know he’s worried about the tiny headaches that come and go from the residual effects of my concussion. “Just the I feel guilty kind. Not the achy kind.”

 

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