“Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing?”
I spin to my right to see an older gentleman grinning at me like a snake ready to strike.
“Would you like a drink?” I offer, knowing good and well by the color in his cheeks that he’s already had more than enough.
“No, no, that’s fine. I was actually just admiring you.”
Pasting on a smile and tossing my shoulders back, I try to keep my voice even. “Thank you, sir. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“I was thinking,” he says, cutting me off, “how about you and I take a little stroll? Do you get my drift?”
“With all due respect,” I say through clenched teeth, glancing at the wedding ring sparkling on his finger, “how about you take a stroll with your wife?”
I swivel on my heels and head off as calmly as possible, blood roaring in my ears. I can hear his cackle behind me and I really want to turn around and slam my fist into his beefy face. It’s behavior that’s typical of people like this, thinking they can get away with whatever they want with the bourgeoisie. I just so happen to have an overdeveloped sensitivity to it, being that my husband did the same thing to me as soon as he got a little power.
Lola catches my attention as I pause to settle down. She points discreetly to the other end of the room and mouths, “Over there.” The gleam in her eye tells me she's spotted the mayor, but I can't see him.
I shuffle through the crowd and finally spy the man of the hour walking out, his arm around the waist of a woman that's been acting crazy all night. Her head is leaning on his shoulder, her hand resting on his backside. Laughing, I catch Lola's eye and nod to the exit.
"Bitch," she mouths as she approaches the same man that approached me earlier. I want to warn her, but don’t. For one, I know it won’t do any good, and for two, I can’t take my eyes off Landry.
People literally part for him to walk through. It's like he's Moses. They're more than willing to be led through the Red Sea, divided by his power and influence, and into the Promised Land.
I’m off in space about what precisely that land might entail, when my shoulder is bumped, rustling me out of my Landry-induced haze.
"Excuse me," I say. When I realize who I've just ignored, my cheeks heat in embarrassment. "I'm so sorry," I stutter, handing Camilla Landry, one of the Landry sisters, a glass of champagne.
She’s even more beautiful in person, a textbook example of poise and sophistication. In the media a lot for charity work with her mother, her face is easily identifiable with her high cheekbones and sparkling smile.
"Don't worry about it," she breathes, waving me off. "I can't take my brothers anywhere without women getting all mesmerized. Especially that one," she laughs, nodding to the doorway Barrett just went through. "Although, between me and you, I don't get it."
Her grin is infectious, and I can't help but return it.
"I'm Camilla," she says, extending her long, well-manicured hand like I don’t already know.
I balance the tray on one side and take her hand in mine. "I'm Alison. Alison Baker."
"You helped clean up a sauce spill earlier. You put the lady that had the accident at ease when you took the blame and kept the attention off her. I wanted you to know I saw and respected that."
"It really was no big deal.”
"In this world, everything can be a big deal. Trust me. You probably just saved my brother a couple of votes."
"Just doing my part," I laugh.
She smiles again, her chic sky-blue dress matching her eyes and heels. "Well, on behalf of the mayor, thank you. He seems . . . occupied, at the moment."
I wink. "I have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn't see a thing."
She nods, looking a touch relieved, and thanks me again before turning away and greeting the older lady from earlier, the one that spilled her dinner all over me. Camilla takes her hand and helps her into a chair.
Her elegance is breathtaking and she has a charm about her, an easiness even though she’s clearly blue-blood, that I’ve never seen before. It’s exactly what the kitchen is buzzing about with Barrett—a charisma you can’t quite put your finger on.
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Crew
The slush crunches beneath my boots, my breath billowing away from my body.
I bow my head deeper, pulling the hood of my sweatshirt out from under my jacket to cover more of my face. I toggle the paper sack in my other arm, hoping nothing spills out on the wet asphalt. Remnants of the last snow are piled beneath the trees and mound in the shadows of the large apartment complexes looming above.
The neighborhood is alive despite the bitter cold. People sit on the porches of their apartments and duplexes, some toking shit that sure as fuck isn’t tobacco. Smoke rolls from the chimneys of the few single family houses in the area. Most of them are dilapidated, nearly rotting to the ground.
I grit my teeth.
I hate that they live here.
The apartment comes into view. A wooden chair is placed at the right of the door, a faded red and yellow striped pillow sitting on it. The steps of the porch are piss-poor and I have to sidestep the second one. The right side has a gash splitting the wood and I’m pretty certain if I stepped on it, I would fall through. I grimace and make a note to call her landlord. Piece of shit might not give two fucks about this place now, but he will.
I’ll make sure of it.
I bang against the door with my knuckle. It is a cold fucking day, even for Boston at the end of February. It made for a long day unloading cargo at the shipyard. The afternoon warmed a little, but now that the sun is going down, the chill is biting through my Carhartt jacket. I bring my hands to my mouth and rub them together, blowing on them to warm them up.
I knock again, getting impatient. I hear music playing on the other side of the wood, the John Mayer stuff she’s always loved.
A loud commotion, something like a piece of wood smashing something followed by a scream, comes from the apartment next door. Cold and irritated, I turn the handle to give it a flick, thinking the jingle will make her give in and open it. My jaw tenses when it begins to swing free. A chip of paint from the door falls to the tile below.
What the hell is she thinking?
I walk in, brushing the hood off my head and scan the kitchen. The music is playing from her phone on the counter and a pot of something bubbles on the old gas stove. I notice that she’s got a sink full of dishes, which isn’t like her. She’s normally spot-on when it comes to details, taking care of everything she can control. It can be annoying as hell, but I figure it’s some kind of reaction to all the shit she’s not able to control in her life.
I plop the bag down on the table, rattling the basket of apples that sits upon it. When she comes around the corner, her brown eyes go wide as she grabs at the doorframe, obviously not expecting me.
“Damn it, Crew!” Julia says, clutching her chest with one hand. Her shoulders relax and a small sigh escapes her lips. I’m cautiously optimistic that maybe she’s relieved to see me, but it’s short-lived.
She throws her shoulders back and narrows her eyes. I don’t know exactly what effect it was supposed to have on me, but it’s a good thing I don’t really care.
“Lock your fucking door,” I growl, returning her glare. “You’re lucky it’s me and not some asshole from one of the apartments across the street.”
“Lucky it’s you.” Sarcasm is thick in her voice as she shakes her head, her long black locks swinging side-to-side. She walks toward the stove and shuts off the music.
I crack the paper bag with the back of my hand, making her flinch. “I brought you some stuff.”
“Stop bringing me stuff.”
She keeps her back to me, picking up a lid and slamming it on a pot. I know she’s not happy to see me because she never is.
Tough shit.
“Where’s the monkey?” I ask.
“In the living room.”
Her words come out flat, but I’m used to it. I don’t expect anything more from her.
I can’t.
“Everleigh! Come here, baby girl,” she calls.
It’s such a natural thing, a mother calling her kid in for supper. It seems like just a normal part of an ordinary life. But I know the truth.
Appearances can be deceiving, but I enjoy the moment of deception. I’ll take what I can get.
A few seconds later, the sound of little feet come running into the kitchen. “Uncle Crew!”
I kneel on one knee as she runs to me, her black hair flowing behind her.
“Uncle Crew!” she yells again and falls wildly in my arms, nuzzling her face into my cold jacket. I grab the zipper and yank it down, afraid the frozen metal will sting her little face.
My lips find her forehead as she wraps her arms around me. I hold her close, brushing back her hair, breathing in the smell of bubble gum that I’ve come to associate with my little niece. “How are ya, monkey?”
“I’m good,” she giggles, pulling back and looking at me expectantly. “Did you bring me something?”
“Everleigh Nicole!” Julia reprimands her. “Have some manners!”
“But it’s Uncle Crew.” She bats her eyelashes at her mother, who rolls her eyes in response. “You did bring me something, didn’t ya?” She looks at me again, a grin splitting her cheeks.
I could never say no to this kid. She could ask me for the fuckin’ moon and I’d figure out a way to get it.
“Come on. You know I brought ya something.”
Everleigh giggles and bounces up and down, her arms folded across the front of her Tinkerbell shirt. I reach in the bag and fish through the groceries and pull out a coloring book and a box of crayons. I really have no idea what the pictures are about, but it’s the only one they had at the store.
“Yay!” she squeals, holding them up in the air so Julia can see them. “Thank you! I’ll color you something beautiful and you can hang it at your house.”
“You’re welcome.” I hold her gaze and give her a little nod to let her know our routine was still on. She tries to wink at me, but both eyes just flutter a few times. It takes everything I have not to laugh.
As soon as Julia turns her back, I slip her a banana Laffy Taffy and she kisses my cheek. She does her best sneaky walk back into the living room to avoid being caught with candy before supper.
I watch her go. Her long dark hair, just like her mother’s, almost touches her waist. She’s so much like Julia. She has the same heart-shaped face with high cheekbones, and the same graceful way about her.
Even so, there is so much about Everleigh that is like my brother. She’s tall, like Gage, towering over most of her five-year-old friends. Her eyes are the same color, like the sky over the harbor on a really clear day. But the thing about my niece that reminds me most of my brother is her soul. Just like Gage, Ever is wise beyond her years. She’s ridiculously smart and more mature than I probably was until I was in my twenties.
My brother loved her so damn much.
I release a sigh and lean against the battered refrigerator and feel it settle against my weight.
Julia ignores me, working at the stove. She’s tied her hair back and I can see the stress in her shoulders, her posture defiant. She used to look that way in high school when she’d come to the house after a fight with her asshole parents. I hate seeing it now as much as I hated seeing it then. The only difference is now I have no one to blame but myself.
“You okay?” I ask, wondering if she will even respond to me. Sometimes she does. Sometimes she doesn’t.
It’s been a long two years since our worlds fell apart, but we’ve come to some sort of unspoken understanding. I’ve accepted that she’s gonna hate me for the rest of her life. She’s accepted that I won’t go away. We’ve made some progress over time. She doesn’t threaten me with a restraining order anymore. I don’t get pissed at her refusal to cooperate. I just do what I’m going to do and she huffs but accepts it. Progress.
“Jules?” I ask again, watching her warily. I normally don’t press, just drop off what I have and dash. Today, though, she seems more beaten down. I know she’s probably missing him this week even more than usual, because I am, too. That makes me want to go get a drink, but I can’t leave her without making sure she’s all right. I owe her that much. “You okay?”
I see her set the spoon down and bow her head, and I brace myself for the unknown.
“Peachy.”
Her voice is so low that I can almost not even hear her. She grasps onto the counter on either side of the stove and doesn’t move.
I chew on my lip and watch her, wait on her to give me some indication as to what she’s thinking. She gives me nothing to go on. “Need anything?”
“No, Crew,” she says, whirling around on her heel, “I don’t.” Her eyes are on fire, blazing with some emotion I can’t pinpoint. “And I didn’t need my tires changed this morning either.”
“What are ya talkin’ about?” I ask, feigning ignorance. I know she’s gonna bust my balls, but it’s not like I had a choice. I couldn’t take the chance of her driving Everleigh around on the roads with bald tires.
“So you didn’t send Will to my office this morning to get my car? Nice of him to ask for my keys in front of half the department. Well played. How was I supposed to argue with him without causing a damn scene?”
I shrug.
“Stop doing this. Please. I can take care of myself.”
We have a standoff, our gazes having the conversation neither of us wants to have. She’s telling me she’s not the little girl I once knew. But it’s not like I don’t know that. She might’ve grown up, but the woman she’s turned into has a helluva lot to do with the decisions I’ve made.
There are so many mother fucking things I’d change if I could figure out how.
But I can’t.
“How is she?” I ask with a nod to the living room, trying to change the topic.
Julia sighs, exhaustion flashing across her face. “She’s okay. She wasn’t feeling good this morning, so she stayed with Mrs. Bennett.”
“Olivia? The neighbor lady?”
“Yes. She seems better tonight, though.” She gives me a hint of a smile before her gaze drops to the floor. “Ever loves when you come by, so I’m sure she’ll be happy tonight. She likes you.”
The insinuation smacks me hard in the chest.
“She’s been missing him a lot lately.”
Our conversations don’t normally make it to discussing Gage unless we’re already arguing. The fact that she just brought it up shocks me and I’m not comfortable with it. I don’t know how to take it. I feel my jaw pulse with frustration and scramble to change the subject again. “Why is it so chilly in here?”
Julia’s smile disappears and she tugs her sweatshirt nervously. “I didn’t know it was.”
“How can you possibly not know?” I start to the thermostat across the room when she clears her throat.
“The heater isn’t working right. I asked my landlord to come by and look at it earlier this week.”
“And he hasn’t been here yet?” I shoot her a look and she shakes her head. “He’ll be here tonight.” I dig my cell out of my pocket.
“Crew, don’t. Please. The last time you called my landlord he was a complete jerk to me for a couple of months. I just got on good terms with him again.”
I scroll through my contacts list, looking for his name.
“Crew . . .” I know her doe-eyes are pleading with me. I also know if I look up at her, I’ll be somewhat inclined to give in.
So I don’t.
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USA TODAY AND AMAZON TOP 10 Bestselling author Adriana Locke lives and breathes books. After years of slightly obsessive relationships with the flawed bad boys created by other authors, Adriana has created her own.
She resides in the Midwest with her husband, sons, and
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THANK YOU TO THE CREATOR above for blessing me with so many things, none of which I deserve.
To my family, Mr. Locke, the Littles, Mama, and Peggy and Rob: I love you. Always.
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My PA, Tiffany, keep me organized, laughing, and on my toes. Thank you for always having my back and being two steps ahead. You're one of the best decisions I've ever made.
It's simply amazing some of my betas will even speak to me at this point. You all know who you are. Thank you for your patience. God knows I've tested it with this one.
To my admins, Jen C, Jade, Tiffany, and Stephanie: You four keep the wheels turning (and laughs coming!). Thank you for your time monitoring my groups and keeping things running like a well-oiled machine.
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Swear (Landry Family #4) Page 23
