Vines (The Killers Book 1)

by Brynne Asher

  When I look back to Tobin DeCann, he tips his head to greet me from across the busy tasting room, and even that pisses me off. I hand Clara the Hatfield file and say in a low voice, “Do me a favor and call Morris. He’s probably out in the meadow looking at the fence. Tell him DeCann is here and I want him shown off the property.”

  It doesn’t matter how small Clara is or that she’s waddling around pregnant, she crosses her arms and glares at Tobin while hissing, “I’ll tell him to leave. He’s an asshole sitting on piles of money who thinks he can wave it around and people will suck his tiny dick.”

  “Clara,” I bite out. “Call Morris. Now.”

  “You want me to get Van? He’s in the barrel room,” she offers slyly.

  “Are you kidding me? He’d make more of a scene than you.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Fine. I’ll call Morris.”

  I turn back to the front door and square my shoulders, preparing mentally for the task ahead. I’m all of a sudden grateful for my exhausting meeting with the Hatfields to-be, I dressed up today and I rarely dress up. Even though it’s a simple fitted cream dress hitting me at the knees, it’ll do its job and act as my shield.

  He’s stopped right inside the front door. A show of power—waiting for me to make the first move. Damn him, this is my establishment. I’m the one who turned this business around. I’m operating in the black and started making money six months after I took over. I don’t need the likes of Tobin DeCann walking through my front door making a power play.

  Doing my best to make my face devoid of emotion, I walk in my spiked peek-a-boo blush heels, silently applauding myself. Not only do I pull off a look of pure boredom, but my shoes give me a boost, bringing me eye-to-eye with him. I’m standing at five-nine, maybe five-ten, and have to fight the urge to cross my arms. Crossing your arms is a sign of self-protection and I’m aiming for indifference.

  When I arrive, I allow an acceptable amount of space required for a business greeting, but decide to say nothing. Instead, I tip my head and raise an eyebrow in question.

  There. Silent, disinterested communication. Take that and shove it up your pretentious ass, Tobin-Fucking-DeCann.

  A slow smile spreads across his arrogant face and his eyes travel the length of me. I couldn’t care less and allow him the time to rake his light, sandy-brown eyes over my shield. If it wouldn’t crack my defenses, I’d roll my eyes, but it would, so I don’t. I remain perfectly bored, waiting on him to break the ice.

  When he raises his eyes to mine, he also brings up a hand to greet me, but not in the manner a business associate would. Extending his hand, palm up, he clearly doesn’t wish to shake mine. He wishes to kiss it.

  I persevere, tipping my head the opposite way and raise both brows this time, not accepting his gesture.

  His smile shrinks to a smirk as he runs his bereft hand through his floppy, dirty-blond hair.

  “You’re looking lovelier than your normal lovely today, Addy,” he purrs.

  It’s plain weird for a man to purr.

  “Lots of meetings,” I blandly inform.

  His eyes move around the room as he slowly nods his head in approval. “Business is booming, I see. I’m more impressed every time I visit.”

  “I’m pleased with the state of my company.” I meet his pretentious with my own brand of pompous.

  “You continue to astonish me, Addy. Not only is your business prowess exceedingly shrewd, but you’ve created an environment at Whitetail that is warm and inviting. Certainly you can think outside the box. If you’ve achieved all this in such a short time with limited funds, think of what you could do with a silent partner.” He waves his male-manicured hand around to accentuate his point.

  “Tobin, it’s sad your recollection is starting to fade.” My voice feigns sadness. “I do believe you should have that checked straight away. I’ll do you the favor of jogging your memory—I’ve no interest in a partner, silent or otherwise. I learned from the best and I know silent partners don’t always remain silent. Profits are exceeding my business plan. I’m pleased, my loan officer is pleased, and I could care less what anyone else thinks. My staff is hardworking and goal-oriented. I’m more than good with the state of my balance sheet. I’m thrilled.”

  “Your staff is incompetent,” he accuses.

  “I find my staff overly-proficient in their responsibilities,” I defend.

  “I have a new proposition for you. It would behoove you to consider it.”

  “No,” I return. “It would behoove me to get back to work. My schedule is tight and my time precious. You’re wasting it.”

  “Addy,” his voice lowers, as if he’s trying to calm me. He takes a step, closing the acceptable personal space between us, altering it from business to intimate. “This doesn’t have to be so formal. Let’s discuss it over dinner. Say, Claire’s On The Depot? Clams on the half shell this time of year come from close to home, very fresh. Her She-Crab soup is the best around.”

  And he does it again, but this time his intentions are more obvious than the last few. I hold my ground, fighting the impulse to retreat.

  Just as I was about to refuse him, yet again, I hear from beside me, “Time to go, DeCann.”

  I look to my side at my big, burly knight. He’s dirty, I smell the outside mixed with sweat, and he’s probably traipsed mud through the tasting room. Normally that would set me on fire, but not today. If it wasn’t an inappropriate moment, I’d reach up and kiss him.

  Instead, I smile. “Hi, Morris. Fix the fence?”

  Even if he is my knight, he still frowns. “Not yet. Gotta shop for supplies. Should be done in the next couple days.”

  “Harry’s going to get out again,” I point out.

  “She’ll come back, always does,” he goes on, both of us ignoring the headache in front of us.

  I look away from Morris and Tobin because the big wooden front door opens. The visitor is wearing an ugly, yellow polo shirt with the name of a courier company embroidered on the pocket.

  “Can I help you?” I ask, since he doesn’t look interested in wine or hosting a reception of any sorts.

  “I have a delivery for Addison Wentworth,” he says, holding a small envelope.

  “That’s me.” I quickly sign for my delivery, only to watch him leave as fast as he entered.

  “Addy,” DeCann calls for my attention. “Have dinner with me.”

  I slide my finger under the flap of my envelope. “No.”

  “Time for you to go,” Morris repeats, moving toward him.

  “I’ll stay for a tasting. You can look at the numbers,” he insists at the same time my eyes bug out at the contents of my envelope.

  “The nerve,” I mutter, looking at a check written out to me for ten-thousand dollars.

  “The only thing you’re gonna be tastin’ is gravel if I have to throw your ass outta here, DeCann,” Morris threatens him like I knew he would.

  “Addy—” Tobin tries again.

  Between Tobin DeCann hitting on me and trying to weasel his way into my business—not to mention the ridiculous check in my hand—I’ve lost it.

  “Don’t come back,” I snap, looking him straight in the eye. “I’m tired of this. I’m not interested in you or your money. Stay off my property.” I don’t wait for him to answer. I turn on my spiked heel and say to Morris over my shoulder, “Make sure he’s gone. I have to visit my new neighbor.”

  *****

  Crew -

  I make my way from the largest of the outbuildings where I’m working on the plumbing. Everything’s installed but the showers. I should be ready for the first round of recruits soon, Asa and Grady are working on a list for me to approve.

  My phone alerts me, the cameras have picked her up on the surveillance system. This is a good test—Asa just got it up and working a few days ago. He’s making adjustments, animals kept setting it off the first night. The system is intelligent enough to decipher between a deer and a human. Her Audi Q7 is easy to pic
k up. The system is more impressive than I thought—tracking and focusing in on the driver. I see the frown set in her deep brown eyes, but unlike yesterday morning when she was wearing her absurd boots and cut-offs, she’s done herself up.

  I don’t know what I expected, although I did expect something. I have to give it to her, she’s quick. The courier picked up the check less than an hour ago.

  I round the corner and stand at the base of the porch that spans the front of my old farmhouse and wait. I hear tires on the gravel before I see her make the bend. She looks even more frustrated in person than she did over the cameras. I let my face crack into a small smile, because for some reason, I find the woman interesting.

  She finally comes to a stop five feet in front of me. After throwing it in park and switching off the engine, her door is thrown open and a sexy as fuck pink shoe appears on the gravel. Then another, and when I look up, she’s rounding her door before flinging it shut. Because of the sexy as fuck shoes, she’s taller than she was yesterday and her hair is down, but now in the afternoon sun, hints of red shine through. As hot as she was in her university raggedy t-shirt and cut-offs, she’s leaving nothing to my imagination in that dress with every curve on display.

  “Mr. Vega—” she starts, but I interrupt.

  “No need for formalities. You can call me Crew.”

  She tips her head. “Yes, I was surprised to see your check signed as ‘Crew.’”

  “Why?” I frown.

  “Because it’s not a real name. I assumed it was a call name, like something given to a fighter pilot or some sort of preposterous nickname your man buddies gave you,” she spouts, waving my check toward me.

  I let my brows raise. “My man buddies?”

  “Whatever. Your friends, fraternity brothers, brethren, whatever support system you have,” she huffs.

  “I didn’t lie. Told you it’s my name and it is.” I cross my arms, looking down at her.

  “Okay, Crew,” she enunciates, her voice laced with frustration. “I explained to you yesterday, the fence isn’t a big deal. I also told you it wouldn’t be expensive. Further, I told you I need to keep my cows on my property so I’d take care of it. It won’t even be close to this amount, let alone double if we were to split it. I can’t accept this.”

  “I added some for labor.”

  “I told you I didn’t want anything,” she exhales.

  “That’s unacceptable.”

  Her eyes go big. “Unacceptable?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  She shakes her head, exasperated. “You can’t make me take your money.”

  “Sure I can.” I shrug back.

  “What?” she yelps.

  “I’ll find a way.”

  “What the hell,” she mutters, turning away from me and to the side. Now I get to admire her curves from a different view. I widen my stance, settling in for however long this takes as she keeps talking to herself. Finally, both arms flop to her side as she keeps on. “This is insane. Everyone wants to give me money. What are the odds? And on the same day.”

  I break in and point out, “You’re gonna ruin those shoes, stomping around in the gravel like that.”

  That did it. She instantly turns to me frowning. Bringing her hands up in front of her, she dramatically rips my check—once, twice and so on, before tossing it in the air between us like confetti.

  “The fence is on me. I’m not taking your money, let alone ten-thousand dollars,” she huffs before turning to stomp through the gravel back to her car.

  “We’ll see,” I call back.

  She huffs one more time.

  “Addison,” I call as she reaches for her door. When she turns, I drag my eyes up from her ass to her eyes. “Nice dress.”

  Now I’ve pissed her off because she hitches a foot, putting a hand to her curvy hip. “No one calls me Addison. It’s ‘Addy.’”

  That surprises me. I expected the dress comment to piss her off, not her name.

  I give her a half grin, repeating, “We’ll see.”

  That pisses her off more. She gives me a good glare before gracefully getting back in her car. I decide to stand here and watch her leave as she makes a quick U-turn, her Audi disappearing into the trees.

  I instantly feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. When I see who it is, I greet him. “Grady.”

  “Fuck me, who was that?” he belts in my ear.

  Then I do something for the first time in so long, I can’t remember the last time I’ve done it. I smile big, and hell, I like the way it feels.

  As I stand here in my gravel drive, watching the dust settle from Addison Wentworth throwing a fit as she drove off, I can’t remember the last time I was this entertained. It’s definitely been years since I’ve enjoyed anything as much as that.

  I turn, making my way back to the outbuilding to finish the showers and drawl, “Just getting to know the neighbors, Grady. I think I might just like the country life.”

  Chapter 3 – You Don’t Look Like an Addy

  Crew –

  “I don’t like him,” Asa declares.

  “What the hell’s wrong with this one?” Grady complains.

  “You’re shitting me, right? Did you read his background? What he’s been through, what he lost? We don’t need anyone with a vendetta. It creates emotion and emotion’s your enemy. Did I teach you nothing?”

  “That was a long time ago. Everything else checks out, Asa. He’s solid, dedicated, and a loner, which is even better. He won’t have to adjust.”

  “You’d know about that,” Asa mutters to Grady. “Some days I still can’t believe you made it through training. You were too fucking anxious for this job—I had you pegged as not surviving the second day of training. How you made it all these years, I have no idea.”

  I watch Grady shake his head at Asa before looking out the window of the downstairs bedroom I turned into a makeshift office. I dread it, but it looks like I need to go shopping for furniture. Leaning back in my folding chair, I study the last background Asa and Grady are arguing over. I’m used to them bickering, but today they’ve both made valid points. As valid as their opinions are, I’m sick of listening to them.

  “This guy’s outperformed top SEALs. The timing is right on both ends. We miss this window—we’ll never get another shot at him. Not everyone’s carrying around a fury of retribution, Asa,” Grady chides. “Look at Crew. He could’ve and didn’t.”

  “Enough.” I toss the papers on the rickety card table I found in the basement with a bunch of other shit the previous owner left behind. I’m done. I don’t need this conversation directed back at a younger me. “He’s in. We’ll see if his intensity works. If we think it’ll get him killed, we’ll cut him loose. That’s ten, they won’t all accept, maybe we’ll get five. If two make it through to the end, we’ll have a fucking tea party to celebrate. Get the communications started. If it’s all a go, we’ll start within two weeks.”

  Asa grumbles and stalks out, but Grady stays. He’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, looking back out the window saying nothing. I stack all the recruit profiles together and when I move to stuff them in a file folder, I hear him mumble, “Sorry about that.”

  “About what?” I ask even though I know.

  “Shouldn’t have compared him to you,” he sighs, not looking away from the window.

  “Not a big deal. We’ll see if this kid works out. He’s too qualified to overlook him.” I toss the file on the ever growing pile of papers and decide to order furniture today. There’s no time to go shopping and I need something with a drawer, not to mention a real chair. “You good out there? The air working okay?”

  “Yeah, I guess I need some furniture,” he huffs my thoughts. Finally looking away from the window, he looks irritated. “I sleep on the bed, eat on the bed and work on the bed. I should get a chair. Maybe I’ll go big and get a sofa.”

  I agree. “It sucks going from needing nothing for ten years to needing everything.
I need a desk. I’m gonna take care of that today. Get some shit done before they get here.”

  “Well, Mr. Homemaker, if you start decorating do me a favor and rip this shit off the walls. These flowers are gonna make you grow a vagina. If you show up with a desk organizer with highlighters and shit, I’ll know you’ve turned into a woman.”

  I barely look up to respond. “I’ll paint the walls black if that’ll make you sleep better.”

  “Black is good.” He finally moves to leave. “I’ve got recruits to approach and a sofa to buy. Can I bring you anything besides black paint?”

  “I’m good,” I call and look up to the walls around me. He’s right. I’m not sure how much longer I can look at this wallpaper. Maybe ripping it down will be punishment for the last man in.

  Just as I’m wondering how creative I can get with the recruits, I hear Grady yelling through the house, “Crew, get out here!”

  I make my way through the back hall and living room to the wide entryway. My front door is open and Grady is standing on my porch with his arms crossed, his back to me and facing outside. Before I have a chance to ask him what he’s yelling about, I hear a low, “Moo.”

  When I walk out the door to stand next to Grady, he looks over at me and states, “It’s a cow.”

  I narrow my eyes mumbling, “No shit.”

  Looking back at my neighbor’s pet, I cross my own arms wondering how I’m going to get her home.

  “You didn’t tell me there’d be a cow,” he accuses, irritated.

  “Kiss my ass, man. It’s not my cow.”

  “You know,” Grady starts and his voice goes conversational as we both look at our visitor. “When you talked me into retiring with you, taking on this shit and moving to Virginia, you knew there was no way I’d turn you down. Working together all those years, you knew I couldn’t say no, even if I wasn’t ready to quit. But fuck, you sure didn’t tell me we’d be livin’ in the sticks where I couldn’t get myself a furnished place to live. Now I’m on my way to buy furniture—and I don’t even know where to go lookin’ for furniture—for the glorified barn you’ve put me in. Don’t get me started about having to drive a fucking age to find a restaurant. I’ve been eating cereal and microwave dinners for weeks—I’m fucking hungry. I’m dealing with Asa on a daily basis, face-to-face, not from halfway around the world which was bad enough.” He pauses and I hear him move so I look over. He’s frowning with one arm extended, pointing to the cow when he finishes, “Now we’ve got a bovine caller on your doorstep. I think I told you once I’d walk through the depths of hell for you, Crew, but I didn’t mean it literally.”