Fragile Things (Folkestone Sins Book 1)

by Samantha Lovelock

  “Thank you, sir. I’m happy to meet you as well.” Holt’s deep blue eyes, so much like his son’s, show nothing but warmth and kindness, and I realize my statement is more than a platitude; I am happy to meet him. He’s a link to a side of my mother I never had the chance to know, and I’m hoping he’ll share some of their history with me.

  Cecily leans in and hugs me tightly, smoothing down my hair, and carefully examining my face for the truth.

  “You okay with this one now?” She jerks her head in the younger Halliday’s direction, making Holt and I both chuckle. Nodding, I squeeze Poe’s hand.

  “Poe, I think you know my aunt, Cecily Bradleigh? Auntie, this is Poe Halliday. My boyfriend.” He snorts.

  “Oh, sure, it’s okay for you to announce things without asking. What if I’m not interested in the position?” Able to hold a straight face for all of eleven and a half seconds, he finally quits trying. “Who am I kidding? Of course, I’m interested. That position is all mine.” He gives me a tight side-hug before leaning forward and kissing my aunt on the cheek. “Hi, Miss B. It’s good to see you again. To see you here.”

  Before I can ask where else they saw each other, a sharp voice dripping with cold venom cuts through the pleasant chatter in the room.

  “While all of this is just so nice, there’s a bit of a problem here.” Callum Torsten slinks forward, hands clasped behind his back. “I’ve been promised certain things, and the Halliday spawn is set to marry my Harriet.”

  Leaning into Poe, I whisper to his shoulder, “Who the hell is Harriet, and since when are you supposed to marry her?”

  “Hali is short for Harriet.” Unable to entirely swallow my laugh, I try to cover it with a cough.

  Yeah, that bitch isn’t getting anywhere near Poe, no matter what her name is.

  Callum swings his shifty gaze to land on me.

  “So, this little fling between him and the Bradleigh whore will be ending immediately.”

  Both Poe and his father snap their heads around at his use of the word whore.

  “I’ll have you keep a civil tongue in your mouth while you’re in my home, Torsten. You will not speak of any woman here that way.” He advances toward Callum. “There are no promises regarding our children. Poe and Stella are free to be together.” Holt Halliday has at least five inches on the Torsten patriarch, but that doesn’t seem to deter the smaller man from pushing into Mr. Halliday’s personal space.

  “Perhaps we should ask your wife, Holt.” His cruel mouth thins even further. “Eunice, darling, be a dear and get the fuck over here now.” Eunice Halliday looks like she would rather drown in her dirty martini than face the room full of people staring at her with a mixture of curiosity and disdain, but Callum has effectively removed any other option for her.

  Wobbling slightly as she crosses to stand beside him, she still manages to look mean as a snake when she leans in and hisses in his ear.

  “Callum, discretion, please. This is not the time or the place.” With a hateful squawk of perverse laughter, Callum shakes his head.

  “Oh, we’re long past the point of discretion, Eunice. The minute that trash set foot in Folkestone and was not only allowed to stay, but was welcomed, it was only a matter of time before your sins came to light.”

  “My sins? You had a pretty heavy hand in this too, Callum. You don’t think there will be a reckoning for you?” Poe’s mother’s face is growing paler by the minute as she tries in vain to figure out a way to reroute this conversation.

  My stomach starts doing somersaults as panic’s dark wings unfold around me.

  Something awful is about to happen.

  Going against everything my brain is telling me to do, I stand my ground and pray that I’m wrong.

  “I think one of you had better tell me what the hell is going on. Obviously, Callum believes he is owed something, Eunice, and I’m very interested to learn what it is and what exactly you got in return.” Holt’s clipped tone is frigid and leaves no room for defiance.

  The room around us is silent; the air strained and thick with tension as we all wait for the bomb to drop. Even Hali looks less sure of herself than usual. Cecily moves a little closer to me and takes my free hand.

  “Do you want to tell them, Eunice? Do you want to tell them what happened to the Bradleigh Heir, to their precious Catherine?”

  The entire gathering gasps as one, and the bottom drops out of my stomach.

  Holt takes a threatening step closer to Callum, the rocks glass in his hand in danger of being squeezed to death.

  “What did you just say?” He asks, his body vibrating and voice rigid with anger.

  “I remember how badly you wanted Holt back then, Eunice.” Callum’s voice takes on a psychotic, sing-song pitch. Like somebody who knows he’s fucked, and is going to take as many others down with him as he can. “You were obsessed, and he was promised to the Bradleigh bitch. Worse than that, he loved her.” My tears flow freely as he spits the words like little poison darts. “Did you get off on watching them fuck when you would follow them and hide in the shadows?” I gag, and Poe wraps his arm tightly around my shoulders as Cecily nearly crushes my hand in hers. “You tried everything to get his attention, and he ignored you. They all ignored you. You weren’t one of the Heirs; you were nothing. Just a pretty face with a daddy who had something old man Halliday wanted. Until the night everything changed.”

  Eunice Halliday bares her teeth in a feral snarl. Her drink forgotten, I watch the liquid slosh onto the soft, steel blue carpet in slow motion as she drops her martini glass.

  “Shut up, Callum. Just shut your fucking mouth for once in your miserable life!” She clenches her hands at her sides.

  “My miserable life? What about poor Catherine’s misery?” He sneers my mother’s name with the disdain of a jilted lover, and I want nothing more than to punch his veneered teeth down his throat. “At least I got to fuck her once, though, even if she did fight me the entire time. I owe you a big thanks for that, Eunice. If you hadn’t convinced her that Holt wanted to meet out at the old barn on his grandfather’s property, I never would have had my chance.”

  The blood pounding in my ears does nothing to dampen the roar that erupts from Poe’s father as he launches himself directly at Callum’s throat. Eunice tries to take a step back, to disappear into the shadows again, but Raff and Payne block her as they circle behind her.

  The men in the room race to separate Holt’s hands from Callum’s neck before he outright snaps it, while the women turn to help Cecily who looks like she’s going to pass out any second.

  From the corner of my eye, I see Sunday slip out of the room when Callum’s high-pitched crazy cuts through the noise.

  “Eunice promised she’d find a way into the Heirs, and that she’d take me with her, and she did. Poe and Harriet were promised to each other the minute they were born.” He laughs maniacally. “I would’ve broken Catherine for free, though. That self-righteous cunt deserved everything she got in that barn. Beating her within an inch of her life and then fucking her bloody was the best night of my life.”

  The barn. The barn. The old barn. My mother. Me.

  Realization slams home, and my throat threatens to close.

  Poe lunges after his father as the older man struggles to break free of the grip Heller’s and Payne’s dads have on him. The pain and grief pouring off Holt Halliday are drowning him. Drowning me.

  Standing silently in the chaotic sea of Callum’s revelations, my eyes are drawn to Mrs. Torsten. Sitting and staring straight at me, the horror and resolve on her lovely face are an apology her mouth can never speak, her tears mirroring my own. Slowly she stands, moving unnoticed by anyone but me, to Eunice’s discarded drink lying on the carpet. With her eyes focused on her half-choked and wholly evil husband, she picks up the martini glass and somehow snaps the stem off. With bloody hands, she calmly and deliberately walks to Callum’s side and jams the jagged end deep into the fleshy part of his neck, right beneath his
jaw. Pulling it back out, she drops it at his feet before returning to her chair.

  Hali starts screaming, followed by some of the other women in the room. Raff and Heller are holding Eunice upright, and I think she might have passed out at the sight of the bright red blood spurting from the sucking wound. Cecily looks like she’s going to vomit, but pauses long enough on her way out of the room to spit in Callum’s face.

  Something about watching another Bradleigh do that to another Torsten forces a sick sort of laughter from my throat. I feel numb and disconnected, like the scene playing out in front of me is happening to somebody else, and I’m watching dispassionately from the sidelines as her life crumbles again.

  Slipping from the room, I walk silently to the front door, paying no attention to the voice calling my name behind me.

  Sunday’s waiting in her Rover. When she sees me, she reaches over and throws open the passenger side door.

  “Get in,” she says quietly. Emotionless and exhausted, I climb in. Pulling the door closed behind me, I lean my head against the side window in time to watch in the side-view mirror as Poe runs out the front door. “Where to?” Sunday questions as she pulls away, leaving the beautiful, bloodied boy yelling after us. Turning away from my heartbreak, I look at my best friend’s worried face.

  “Ever been to New York?”

  Acknowledgments

  Well. Here we are. I had so much fun writing Fragile Things and I can’t wait to delve deeper in the mysteries of Folkestone Sins in book two, Fractured Things.

  I honestly can’t believe I finally did it, and I sure as hell didn’t do it alone.

  Steph, my wonderful alpha and friend, thank you for your unwavering support, both emotionally and physically (how many people can I legit say THAT to?), right from the night I told you and Brent, over chicken wings and beer, that I was going to do this crazy thing. You are my sister from another mister and I love you to bits.

  Brandi. Where do I even start? Meeting you changed the game. Editor, PA, shrink, kindred spirit. I would be neither published nor sane without you. Your friendship means the world to me and I can’t wait to see how much trouble we can get into. You’re stuck with me forever now.

  Siobhan, the tiny Spitfire. Thank you for all of your hard work and the kicks in the arse from across the pond.

  My betas! Gina, Sonal, Annah, Erin, Amber, and Mercedes - you guys are the best. Thank you for giving up your valuable time to help an unknown author get her first book published.

  Cassie, thank you for the beautiful cover, for listening to me ramble on about everything and nothing, and for giving me some of the best advice and recommendations I’ve gotten on this journey so far.

  Shales, you’re the bomb. You make it all so damn pretty and I’m so looking forward to the next batch.

  Rumi, thank you for catching what the rest of us missed. I apologize for not warning you about the damn spaces. Poe and Stella and I will do better on the next one.

  Mel, thank you for introducing me to the amazing group of people I’m working with. I am truly grateful beyond words.

  To all of the amazing authors I’ve met, your encouragement, advice, and kindness have been overwhelming. Thank you for being an inspiration, each and every one of you.

  Boo Radley, I would need a whole book in and of itself to thank you for everything, so I’ll keep it short and sweet. For every ‘I’ll be there in a minute’ that turned into hours, every peanut butter toast dinner, every panic attack, thank you for taking it in stride. You’ve been my rock and I am so thankful for everything you are and everything you do. Winnie and I love you very much. Side note - looks like I finally managed to snag your last name. ;)

  Mum. Thank you for instilling a love of books and music in me when I was tiny. Both are such a huge part of the fabric of my soul and that’s all you. And fast cars. Oh, and English muffins on Christmas Eve. Rescuing animals. Smoked salmon brunches. Cribbage. The list goes on. You taught me I could do anything I wanted to, so I did. And here we are. I love you.

  To all of my friends and family, thank you for your support, your love, and your tolerance of me being forgetful and absent.

  To my readers, thank you for taking a chance on me. I promise, the best is yet to come.

  About the Author

  Samantha Lovelock is a sarcastic cow with a decent sense of humour, darknesses hidden in mind-closets that occasionally Jack-in-The-Box her unsuspecting ass, and a love and loyalty for her friends and family that runs deeper than any ocean. Her guy means the world to her, and so does her cat; sometimes even in that order. Her Mum is her hero, hands down. She proudly wears the crown of a Queen of Innuendo, and of Name That Tune, and has never met a cliffhanger she didn’t like. She lives in the foothills of the Canadian Rockies with her British cowboy and their Norwegian Forest Cat, Winston Churchill.