Pull You In (Rivers Brothers Book 3)

by Jessica Gadziala

  "I hope we don't have to do a lot of the team-building exercises in there," she said, backing out of the room, eyes sad. "I don't like that. Heads on the wall," she added, grimacing.

  "Can't say I'm much of a fan either," I agreed cringing at the endless glass eyes, leading her into the next room, a game room of sorts with a pool table and a stack of board games. "More up your alley?" I asked, waving toward the board games.

  "I, ah, no. I don't, you know, have a lot of friends. And you kind of, well, need them to, you know, play games. Oh, a hot tub," she declared, desperate to steer the conversation away from her personal admission. As though it was any kind of shock.

  I barely knew the woman, but it didn't surprise me that she tended to be alone. Everything about her suggested she was introverted and shy.

  I had a sort-of in-law, Dusty, who was similar. Kept to herself, riddled with anxiety, getting overwhelmed easily in family gatherings. She was someone who thrived in small groups where she didn't feel judged or pressured.

  While nothing about Katie suggested she was agoraphobic, there were hints of those same anxiety issues that had her tripping over her words, avoiding solid eye-contact, changing the conversation away from anything personal if she bothered to speak at all.

  It wasn't like I imagined she hosted a weekly game night or went out drinking and singing karaoke with her closest friends.

  "Did you bring a suit?" I asked, following behind her to look out at the hot tub on the back porch, big enough for six people comfortably.

  "I packed for five days in Washington state in mid-fall, so, ah, no," she said, shaking her head, seeming to notice I had moved in behind her shoulder, jerking away like a startled rabbit, moving further to the side. "I, ah, I wonder what is keeping everyone else," she said, making a wide arch around the room, going back into the hall.

  From there, we went up the stairs, peeking into all the rooms, each of us deciding the two toward the back of the cabin were the best, overlooking the woods out back instead of the driveway and what appeared to be an old outhouse out front and to the side.

  Having her space, Katie seemed content to curl up there and never leave, going around the space, tidying up, setting extra blankets on the bed, then carefully putting away all her belongings once I'd brought her things up.

  Not wanting to insert myself in her space, I went over into my room, a simple space just big enough for the queen-sized bed, a single nightstand, a closet, a small bathroom with a stall shower I was seriously worried I wouldn't be able to fit in, and a fireplace. The only one, it seemed, in any of the bedrooms. Each of the rooms in the floor below had them, making me wonder if power outages were common in this area, if we were going to have any issues on this retreat with keeping warm and entertained. Especially since the wifi seemed nonexistent.

  I guess that was the reason for the board games as well as the collection of books on a shelf in the great room.

  I didn't plan on spending much time indoors anyway. But at least I knew how to build a fire so I could keep warm, if necessary. The women, if needed, would likely all have a giant sleepover in the great room. Though how anyone would be able to sleep with all those glass eyes glaring down at them, I had no idea.

  After putting a few basic things into the bathroom, leaving most of my shit in the suitcase since that was how my siblings and I had always lived—out of suitcases—so it was what was most natural to me, I decided to follow my growling stomach to the kitchen, hoping someone had stocked the fridge and pantry for us.

  "Hey," I called after knocking on Katie's door, hearing something drop inside before her feet shuffled across the floor. "Don't worry. Just me. No cannibals. Though, before I turn into one, I am going to see about raiding the kitchen. Want to come?"

  The door flew open, and there she was, inexplicably with a big sweatshirt over her t-shirt and sweater. I was starting to suspect she was the reason the office always felt like the thermostat was set at hell when I arrived.

  "I haven't had anything since the airplane snack," she told me.

  "Hopefully, we can do better than that," I said, heading down, hearing her more tentative steps following behind. "It's our lucky day," I declared, opening the fridge, finding it so stocked that it would be a game of Tetris to get things out and back in when we needed them. At least for a few days. "Let's see. I can make... sandwiches. Eggs. And passably edible hot dogs."

  "How can you mess up a hot dog?" she shot back, making me turn to find her a little wide-eyed, like she was worried she'd offended me.

  "My siblings tell me you're not supposed to fry them in a pan with butter."

  "That's because you're not," she agreed, shaking her head. "I, ah, I think eggs will work. If you don't do anything weird to them. I mean, I will eat whatever. I'm not picky. I just—"

  "Hey, Katie?" I asked, cutting her off.

  "Yeah?"

  "How do you like our eggs?"

  "Um scrambled. Or in a basket. But make them however you like them. It's fine. I will ea—"

  "In a basket it is," I cut her off again, and I couldn't be sure, but she seemed relieved that I stopped her from rambling.

  I set to cooking while Katie attempted to sit at the island only to jump up, putting away the egg carton, then sitting down, then jumping up to grab glasses when I went to get some orange juice.

  She either didn't know how to relax, or she had too much nervous energy about being away from all her creature comforts.

  I made the food, and plated it up, both of us sitting down at the oversize island.

  "Christ, it's quiet," I decided, hearing every bite and chew from the two of us, the rustle of the trees outside, the scratching of a branch against the side of the house. "No wonder you were so freaked being here alone." To that, I got no response. "I guess we should enjoy it now. Once everyone else shows up, it's going to get loud."

  But after eating and cleaning up then roaming around while Katie curled up with a book in the game room, I was starting to wonder if we would be having any other coworkers joining us this night. It was certainly seeming less and less likely.

  Maybe they had booked evening flights so they could get to the cabin in the morning or early afternoon, giving them time to explore outside before being cooped up all together inside.

  "I'm going to go take a walk around outside, see if I can find a signal anywhere, call Fee. See when everyone else is coming. Then we will know if we should lock up for the night and head to bed, or wait to help everyone else. Don't worry," I added, giving her a smirk as she reached up to flip her glasses down from the top of her head to see me, "if I come across toothless, cannibalistic, mountain men, I will be sure to lead them away from the cabin."

  "It's not too much to ask," she quipped, giving me an uncertain smile.

  With that, I moved out to the front path, taking out my phone, walking around like some idiot in a horror movie, trying to call someone, anyone for help.

  In the end, though, I'd walked around for an hour to no avail, sighing as I tucked my phone away.

  If nothing else, we had food, shelter, warmth, and neither of us were alone in the middle of the woods. It could be a lot worse.

  Sure, Katie wasn't much of a talker, but I imagined that had a lot to do with the fact that she needed someone to bring that side out of her.

  "Looks like we are out of luck," I told her as I walked back into the game room, dropping down on the far end of the couch from her. "Hey, that ones's not bad," I said, nodding.

  "That what?" she asked, brows pinching at me, and I couldn't tell if it was confusion or because she couldn't see me now that her glasses were on top of her head again.

  "That book. It's not bad. I mean, it's not great either, but not a complete waste of time."

  "Wait," she said, bookmarking her page then pulling her glasses down on her face again. "You... you read this book?"

  "Yeah. Couple months back."

  "This is a romance book," she said, eyes scrunching up.

&nb
sp; "That explains why I found it in the romance section. And why there was so much screwing in it," I agreed, smiling when a flush crept up across her cheeks. You never really saw a woman blush anymore. It was sweet.

  "Wait... no," she said, shaking her head. "You don't read romance."

  "I do, actually," I told her, shrugging. After years of ribbing on the topic from my brothers—as well as the Mallicks in my extended family—I had long since gotten over the embarrassment over the topic that used to have me exclusively ordering the books online or reading on my phone, so no one knew what I was looking at. "It's good research."

  "Ah, research?" she repeated, not getting it.

  "For the job, baby. You'd think my work would be easy, but after a while, you start to run out of new ways to phrase the same things, new fantasies to sell the callers. That's where the books come in. My family gives me shit about it, but if you ask me, if you want to know what women want, you should read a romance. Written by women for women, giving them exactly what they want. Though, I am more of a fan of the kinds with action plots. MCs, mafia, shit like that."

  "Because you don't like the, ah, you know, the romance part?"

  "The romance part is fine. I just like when shit blows up, or someone gets shot, or there is a car chase." She would understand that more if she knew about my past life, but you didn't bring up armed robbery to practical strangers. Especially since we'd never been caught, and the statute of limitations might have still been ongoing in a few of the cases.

  Back in Navesink Bank, it was common for a lot of the people you brushed shoulders with to know about your criminal past, and not to judge you for it, since so many of them were in the same boat.

  That said, the normal people, they didn't know all the dirty details. Clearly, they simply didn't want to. They wanted to put their head in the sand about it. Otherwise, they wouldn't have settled down in a place like Navesink Bank in the first place.

  Katie was as normal as normal came. She went to work, she did her best, she never got into trouble. The woman probably never lied or did anything shady in her entire life.

  It was admirable.

  But it also meant she couldn't truly understand my still-intact adrenaline-junkie tendencies.

  "They're like a late-night, premium-channel show," she said, pulling me out of my thoughts that, inexplicably, had turned to thinking it was sweet how her giant glasses slid down her small nose.

  "What?"

  "Romantic suspense books," she supplied, gaze skittering away. "You know... like we were talking about," she added. "They're like a TV show with all the suspense and violence and the, well, you know."

  "I do," I agreed, shooting her a smirk. "I do know."

  The "you know."

  What a kind of prudish way to put it. Especially given where we both worked. I knew for a fact that she heard a million things nastier every day than the average person would likely ever hear in their lifetime.

  That was one of the main differences between the women I worked with and myself. The ladies who called phone sex lines were typically just sad or lonely or stressed. It wasn't so much about getting off, about saying nasty shit, as it was feeling desired and hearing a man's voice. The orgasm, when they happened, were really just the cherry on the pie as far as I could tell. They wanted the intimacy. I gave them that.

  But the men who called the lines to talk to the women? Shit. Quite frankly, I didn't even know so many kinks existed before. And I had known my fair share of screwing around in my time.

  The men, typically, even if they were sad or lonely, they wanted the filthy shit. They wanted to hear these women say things they would never have their wives say, would never have the balls to ask for if they were face-to-face with an actual flesh-and-blood woman.

  Granted, being willing to hear raunchy shit, and being able to say it were two completely different things. I knew several women who were around foul-mouthed assholes—many of whom I called family—that barely ever cursed themselves.

  "I, ah, yeah," she agreed, shaking her head, gaze going to the doorway as if she was expecting someone to walk in and save her. Hell, I was pretty sure she would be thankful for the cannibal mountain people at this point.

  Interesting.

  "I am going to lock down the house," I said, moving to stand. "Double check the windows and shit since they don't seem like the most careful of caretakers, leaving the door unlocked like they did. That way, we can haul off to bed anytime."

  "Oh, yeah. Good. I, ah, I am going to go turn in now. Thanks for, you know, dinner. And, um, company." With that, she rushed toward the doorway, half turning back, giving me her profile, but her gaze wasn't on me. "I'm really glad I don't have to be here alone," she added before rushing off.

  I could hear her feet running up the stairs almost as if she was trying to get as far away from me as fast as she could.

  She might have been thankful for the presence of a familiar face around, so she didn't make herself sick with horror movie scenarios in her head, but I was getting the feeling she wasn't exactly relieved it was me she was stuck alone with.

  That, yeah, that was a gut punch to my ego, I had to admit. I didn't typically have that response from women. I mean, we all struck out from time to time, even if we are good-looking and charming, but unless you were a complete creep, women didn't tend to fucking run away from you as fast as they could.

  As I did the rounds checking the windows and locks, I racked my brain, trying to figure out if there was a time when I had said something to Katie that might have thrown her off, that might have upset her.

  I knew a thing or two about badass women thanks to my family, but I also knew some shit about softer, sensitive women too. And they often didn't let it show that you said something that upset or pissed them off. They buried that shit. But they never forget. And they never quite feel the same way about you again. Unless you somehow get the truth out of them, explain, apologize.

  I guess I could make that tomorrow's mission, I decided as I made my way up the stairs, checking the windows in the other rooms just for the hell of it.

  Apparently, Katie was making me paranoid about being alone in the middle of nowhere too.

  When I made it back to my bedroom door, I could hear sounds from inside Katie's room.

  Running water, a soft, lilting voice, all sugar-sweet, the kind of voice meant for slow indie songs like the one she was singing. I didn't know it, but I could make out some of the lyrics as she moved around her room, likely gathering items for the bath she was running, and it seemed to be about unrequited love, about wanting someone who didn't know you existed.

  Sad songs.

  Christ, I remember my sister, Scotti's, bout with those in her teens. Every single song was a track to cry in your pillow to.

  Katie didn't sound upset, though, as the water cut off, making her voice more clear. She almost sounded hopeful.

  Then there was a splashing sound I knew a little too well.

  Her body slipping under the water.

  That should have been the end of that.

  I should have turned back into my room, gotten ready for bed, caught up on the sleep I'd missed on the plane because I'd sat next to a middle-aged lady on her first flight ever, going to visit her first grandbaby, nervous and babbling the entire time.

  Did I do that, though?

  No.

  I stood there for a long moment, my mind going places it had no business going.

  Through the bedroom door, into the bathroom, over to the tub, stripping down, getting in, reaching for her.

  "Christ," I hissed, raking a hand down my face before making myself turn, going into my room, closing the door, taking a couple deep breaths.

  I didn't know where the fuck that came from.

  Exhaustion.

  Forced close proximity.

  The fact that while I sold fantasy sex for a living, I hadn't been laid myself in a couple of months.

  The perfect cocktail to create the swirling sensa
tions inside.

  I didn't let myself play them out though, not even if my cock was throbbing as I changed for bed, not even if it was preventing me from sleep once I got into bed.

  I didn't have a whole hell of a lot of rules in life.

  But not fucking your coworkers was one of them.

  Which meant that fantasizing about such a thing was off-limits too.

  Katie wasn't even my type.

  I tended to go for somewhat loud, opinionated, confident women who told me what they liked—and what they didn't. No guesswork.

  That was, and always had been, my type.

  Why, then, was I laying there in complete silence, waiting to hear Katie make her way back into her room, into her bed, listening to her letting out a soft sighing sound.

  Half contentment, half defeat.

  And every part of me wanted to go across the hall and ask what the latter part was about.

  But I couldn't

  So I stayed where I was.

  And I prayed to hell that someone showed up bright and early the next morning.

  THREE

  Kate

  The storm clouds rolled in early the next morning, making the woods—already so darkened by the dense canopy of trees—even more dreary, almost a little oppressive. It felt like they were closing in around me.

  I woke up around six, as was typical for me, never being able to sleep in much. I had a neighbor who had an early day and a snooze button habit, so his alarm trained me to wake up an hour or so before I needed to be up well over two years before. Even when I wanted to sleep in, I never could. It worked out, though, because it gave me a head start to my day, more time to read, maybe even get coffee with my mom before she was off to school.

  I tip-toed around my room, feeling the chill creep in through my skin, getting into my bones, as I was getting dressed, planning on taking my book and a heavy blanket, and maybe sitting on one of the Adirondack chairs I'd seen from my window to get some fresh air before the storm came through.

  But when I got down to the main floor, the rich scent of fresh coffee met my nostrils, making me peek into the room to find it empty, but half a pot sitting on the burner with a large metal travel mug sitting there waiting for me.