Origins (The Grimm Cases Book 1)

by Lyla Oweds

When we first arrived, I protested, saying it was too expensive. I felt out of place and wasn’t dressed appropriately. But Damen brushed off my concerns, stating that he’d add the meal to my tab. I had a feeling that my debt to them would grow alarmingly at this rate, and I suspected that they would not be keeping an accurate accounting going forward. I would have to find a way to keep track myself. I’d have to start off fairly high from the onset. No matter what I ordered from this restaurant, my meal was going to be extremely pricy.

  My focus drifted. There were a number of open tables in the spacious dining area. So we weren’t crowded. However, even with only a few patrons nearby, being around others made my heart pound.

  Unlike me, Damen was the picture of sophistication. The shirt he wore under his opened jacket visibly stretched over his chest as he lounged in his seat. His legs were crossed, and—for the first time—I noticed a gold chain around his neck. There was a charm on the end, but I couldn’t make out the symbol on it.

  As we waited for our fourth, Damen browsed the menu as he sipped on some hard-to-pronounce wine—even though it was only mid-afternoon.

  Occasionally, he’d glance up and grin at me, causing me to blush every time. Other than that, his main focus was entirely on the menu. Which was weird, because if he had been here before, why was he studying it so intensely?

  Miles, in the meantime, was a picture of rugged sexiness beside me. He managed to remain mannerly even as he savagely ripped a breadstick in half and savored it with almost too much enthusiasm to be polite. It appeared as though Miles’s weakness was food—something I mentally filed away for later.

  They both avoided conversation and refused to tell me who we were meeting. Because of their actions, I had a sneaking suspicion who our lunch-date might be.

  I brazenly stared at Damen—hoping that the power of my gaze would make him talk. In response, however, he merely glanced up and winked again.

  “Would you like to try some, baby girl?” He held out his half-empty wine glass in my direction.

  My spine straightened as I reddened in disbelief. And there was something else that I didn’t quite know how to take.

  He was offering me his used glass? That was almost like kissing!

  “N- No, thanks…” I managed to choke out the words. “I can’t drink. I’m not twenty-one yet.”

  “That’s all right.” Miles snatched the glass from Damen’s hand and taking a sip. “I’m not either—not for another two months. Not bad. This would be better if it were a Riesling, but I can’t complain,” he stated matter-of-factly before finishing the entire glass in two huge gulps.

  “That was rude.” Damen frowned slightly as he glared at Miles. But he didn’t appear to be surprised by his behavior.

  I was shocked that Damen would permit underage drinking so overtly and in public view. Didn’t he work for the police? How could he condone illegal activity? In fact, he was actually encouraging it! We could be arrested at any moment.

  “I offered it to Bianca, not you,” Damen chided Miles. “If you want wine that badly, order it yourself.” He accepted his emptied glass with a sigh as Miles handed in back to him.

  “I can’t,” Miles responded sadly as he tore apart another buttery breadstick.

  Of course he couldn’t! He was too young to order alcohol! He wasn’t of age, and Damen was basically a cop.

  I was a stickler for following the rules and would never dream of breaking the law. We could be imprisoned and kicked out of school for something like this. Our futures would be in shambles. Not only was I in big trouble with Finn, now I had this to worry about.

  “My sister is working in the kitchen today. You might be able to do what you want, but you know full well that she thinks wine is only an evening drink.” Miles sighed, staring at his breadstick with a look of longing. “She’d kill me if she saw me ordering some.”

  I had been sipping water as he spoke, and I ended up in a coughing fit at his words. Both men turned their attention toward me, concerned. Miles began to pat my back, trying to help me breathe while Damen uselessly held up a napkin in my face.

  I shot Miles an incredulous look the second I caught my breath. “Seriously?”

  Miles nodded, his expression grave. “Colette religiously holds to certain beliefs about proper food etiquette, like the way food and drinks should be paired. When it’s her turn in the kitchen—”

  “That’s not what I meant!” I poked his chest, too horrified at the corruption of our youth to consider the repercussions of my actions—or to dwell on the serious pectoral hardness beneath my finger. “You shouldn’t be ordering alcohol, anyway! You aren’t old enough, and Damen is practically police!”

  Damen raised an amused eyebrow, but didn’t respond.

  However, Miles smirked and leaned toward me—his brown eyes mischievous. “J’ai vécu en France pendant trois ans.”

  I pulled back my hand in disbelief. Miles was now speaking to me in French? This entire situation was getting even more bizarre by the minute. “What did you say?”

  “I lived in France with my mother from when I was twelve until I was fifteen.” Miles grabbed my retreating hand and kissed my fingertip. “My sister grew up there as well. But she studied culinary arts in Italy before moving to America. She’s the head chef here—this is her restaurant.”

  My eyes were large as I stared at him, and I distinctly heard Damen chuckle from across the table. Out of all the guys—even Titus—Miles was the one who had the stereotypical all-American look to him. I never would have thought he’d lived in a foreign country.

  Besides, what did that have to do with anything?

  I tried to get back on topic. “But that doesn’t make it right. You’re in America now. You can’t legally drink until you’re twenty-one.”

  “Relax.” Miles released my hand and draped his arm over my shoulders. “The drinking ages here are such an American rule. It’s not the end of the world. Who’s going to tell?”

  Could he be that naive? Visions of imprisonment and justice swarmed through my mind, and I couldn’t talk. Instead, I pointed toward Damen with a shaking finger.

  Damen shrugged nonchalantly as he accepted a refill from the sommelier, who apparently had heard enough of our conversation to find this all very funny. As the man left, I was left wondering what was wrong with these guys. Damen was involved with the police. Miles wanted to be a lawyer. This was a dis—

  “Bianca, relax. It’s not good for you to be so anxious all the time.” Damen lifted his glass, swirling it gently. “There is absolutely nothing to get upset about.”

  Miles pulled me close, trying to reassure me. “What are you worried about anyway? First of all, I won’t be ineligible for the bar exam because I had a sip of wine.”

  I wanted to point out that he had actually downed half the glass, which was equivalent to a large rather large ‘sip,’ but Miles moved on before I found my voice. “And no one is going to tell anyway. Everyone here is…” He paused briefly as he seemed to consider his phrasing. “A friend.”

  A friend?

  That certainly sounded suspicious. People weren’t friends with establishments. Only super-rich, snobby people were like that. These guys were loaded, but I didn’t think they were that influential.

  I narrowed my eyes at him, about to call him out on his lies, when a familiar silky voice cut in to our conversation.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Titus’s smooth baritone shot a shiver down my spine. A fraction of a second later he stepped into my view, unbuttoning the top of his shirt as he slid into the seat beside Damen. “I had to escape from Maria. She said I had other priorities this afternoon.”

  Damen nodded, as if that made perfect sense, and greeted Titus in return.

  Meanwhile, panic rose inside me. Even though I’d suspected Titus was the missing guest, the fact that he was actually here was entirely different.

  Titus. Lumberjack, Mafia Titus was here. And, why was he late exactly? Did he have mafia business to att
end to first? He didn’t appear to be covered in blood. And who was Maria—his girlfriend from a rival gang? That sounded so cliché.

  I stared at him with mixed emotions, but Titus barely spared me a glance as he nodded in my direction and greeted Miles with a grin.

  I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved by his lack of attention or be offended he was basically ignoring me. I didn’t like being ignored—that was the worst.

  So, he was mad at me. I should apologize.

  However, before I had a chance to make a fool of myself, the waitress returned— engaging Titus in small talk. So, he was a familiar face here too.

  Titus’s hands waved in the air gracefully as he spoke, and I couldn’t tear my eyes from him. Today, his hair was half up with loose curls falling around his shoulders in a wave. He was clean shaven, unlike the first time I had seen him, which made the masculine angles of his face stand out more.

  Instead of the plaid shirt, he wore a pinstriped suit. It only served to make him appear even more dangerous and refined. It was difficult to decide, though, which look worked better for him.

  Either way, now that I didn’t fear for my life, I could see why he’d been called by Forbes.

  I felt inadequate beside the three of them.

  Miles had a wholesome, boy-next-door vibe. He was devilishly handsome. Plus, he had spent his early teen years in France—so he had that romantic, foreign aspect going for him, too.

  Damen was pure seduction, with eyes that burned through your soul and consumed you.

  Meanwhile, Titus was irresistible—angelic with a dash of wildness.

  Then there was me—a blob at my best. And at the moment, I was far from my best. I hadn’t even brushed my hair this morning.

  I did, however, have my Burberrys on—that put me closer to their level, at least a little. I loved good shoes. They were the one thing that people would have to pry out of my cold, dead hands. I didn’t even care if Finn had gotten them for me. They were mine.

  But even so—being unable to make my own way sucked. I would have to Google ways to earn quick money. Surely the internet could help. I had to pay them back and keep up. I had no other choice.

  It took a moment for the silence to register. The waitress had left, and I still stared at Titus like an idiot. Miles was eating another breadstick while Damen swirled his wine thoughtfully. Titus ignored me as he frowned at his napkin—a petulant look on his face. No one seemed to want to break the silence.

  Yes, I would have to apologize to Titus.

  “Sorry about your face and balls,” I blurted out—feeling so ashamed I’d have to say such words in my lifetime. “I hope they’re okay now.”

  Miles choked, and Damen’s hand jerked so sharply that a splash of wine stained the white tablecloth. It took Miles a moment to compose himself, but once he had, he and Damen stared at me with wide, shocked eyes.

  But it was Titus who had the most extreme reaction. Instead of graciously accepting my apology, he stared at me as if I had said the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard in his life. Which was quite offensive, actually, because I was trying to make things right.

  I shifted my focus to the table—I had screwed this up too much. It was one thing to work with a scary Titus who was going to seduce and kill me. But it was worse to work with an angry Titus who hated me. “I guess you’re still mad…”

  Titus burst into laughter, and after a moment Damen and Miles joined in enthusiastically. I frowned at my place setting. This was terrible. I was awful at making amends, and this was proof.

  After a moment, the laughter finally died down, and Titus wiped his eyes with the napkin. “Why in the world would I be angry? I’m not angry.”

  I blinked at him, unsure. “But…You wouldn’t talk to me when you sat down.”

  “Damen said that you seemed to be afraid of me.” His gaze bored into mine. He ignored Damen’s protest as he continued, “I was trying to make you feel comfortable.”

  I was still scared of him, something ingrained. I couldn’t fathom why. But if the others thought he was fine, then surely he must be. However, his actions made no sense. “How does ignoring someone make them feel comfortable? That only makes you seem angrier.”

  Titus frowned slightly. “I wasn’t angry. You thought I was angry? I was trying to be cool.”

  “Well, you failed.” Damen’s eyes were closed as he touched his head. “Did you bring it?”

  Titus perked at the question and reached into his jacket, pulling out a small, glittery pink cell phone. “Of course! It’s the latest and greatest. I even took the liberty of installing some apps, wallpapers, ringtones—”

  “Why in the world would you do that?” Miles frowned, lowering his glass. “What if she doesn’t like what you picked out?”

  She? I eyed the bejeweled device. “Don’t tell me that’s for me.”

  Titus slid the phone toward me, shooting Miles a confident look. “She’ll like it. I have a sixth sense about these things.”

  “Are you sure it has nothing to do with you?” Miles muttered.

  I had no idea what Miles meant, but Titus’s confidence was rather assuming. Who was I to argue? I was getting a pretty phone—and pink was my second favorite color.

  I curiously picked up the device and activated it, gasping in surprise. Somehow, it seemed as though Titus had discovered one of my weaknesses.

  I grinned at the black cartoon kitten wallpaper. “Kutsushita Nyanko!” I sounded pathetically happy. He had also installed some games and other cute things. Finn had never allowed me to put personal stuff on my phone—stating that it was only necessary for research, calling, and texts. “Thank you so much, Titus. I love it.”

  There was no response, and I glanced up to see the three of them watching me curiously. But I was too excited to care as I flipped through my contacts. Titus had already pre-loaded all of their information—including Julian’s. And had assigned each of them a character photo.

  “Why is Damen ‘Beer-chan’?” I asked. It seemed like an odd choice for him to be represented by a drunk bear cartoon character. But then again, considering he was having wine before five o’clock, maybe it wasn’t…

  “You jerk!” Damen glowered at Titus, clearly offended. Something resembling another emotion outside of lazy flirtation and controlled anger crossed his face. His cheeks dusted as he pushed away his wine glass. “I don’t even drink that much.”

  Titus ignored Damen. Instead, he stared at me as if the world began and ended in my eyes. It was almost creepy—but for the first time, I thought I could really be attracted to him as well.

  “You know San-x?” he asked, his voice filled with wonder.

  I had made an idiot of myself. I set the phone back on the table and pulled up my turtleneck, hiding my face. I wondered if it was possible to disappear before dying of embarrassment.

  “Don’t do that.” Miles pulled my hands down from my sweater and lowered the neckline back to where it had been. His fingers brushed gently against my skin, and the contact caused me to blush even more. “It’s all right to like cute things,” he continued. “This situation works out like a charm—it gives Titus a reason to buy stuff without getting weird looks from the sales clerks. Spoiling you is the perfect excuse.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Betrayal

  I finished up my rounds in Professor Hamway’s private conservatory before Julian was to arrive. The boys had dropped me off after lunch—stating they had things to finish before tonight’s slumber party. They hadn’t wanted me to be alone in the haunted house, but I figured nothing dire would happen in the middle of the afternoon.

  Besides, I still had my house-sitting tasks to attend to. I had responsibilities and couldn’t avoid the place forever.

  There was also the fact that I needed to decompress. My social anxiety hadn’t acted up nearly as much around the boys. I had been more embarrassed by their flirting than anything. But all of the socializing and attention exhausted me. Being surrounded by na
ture had a way of calming me. It always had.

  When things became too much to handle when I was with my foster families, I usually hid outside. It was there—in my second foster home—where I met Sir. He had taught me the little that I knew about my abilities, and about the plants and wildlife in the surrounding woods.

  The last foster home…the woods had become a refuge.

  A chill shot up my spine—and not from a ghost this time. I refused to let my thoughts drift into those memories. I had enough to worry about at the moment.

  It was half-past six, and the boys were due soon. While I was thankful for my solitude, I was also excited about the prospect of being able to hang out with my new friends.

  They had everything planned. Apparently, Julian would bring take-out. Then we’d set up surveillance equipment in every room of the house—including two areas I hadn’t explored: the attic and the basement.

  There was enough time before they arrived to take a bath and freshen up.

  I was humming a song—a nursery rhyme that was often in my head but I couldn’t place—when the doorbell rang. I paused, in the middle of putting away the garden shears, surprised.

  I should have had time…

  The doorbell rang again, and I realized that I was just standing there, motionless. I shook myself out of my daze and trudged my way through the house until I reached the large, wooden door.

  Relief flooded through me. “Julian!” I pulled the door open the whole way, confused. I hadn’t expected any of them so early—had something happened?

  He grinned at me sheepishly. “Hello, Bianca.” He tugged at his navy blue scarf, and I realized that this must be as awkward for him as it was for me. “I think I might be early.”

  He sounded exhausted. There were heavy bags under his eyes; and with every second, they appeared to become more pronounced. His statement had ended with a yawn—which he had tried to cover, but failed. He noticed me watching him, and blushed. “Sorry, I’ll leave if you aren’t ready.”

  “No.” I gestured him into the house. “It’s completely all right.” I stepped out of the way so he could enter. I was nervous—I’d be spending the next hour and a half alone with Julian. I was also slightly disappointed, because he hadn’t brought the food and I had nothing prepared.