Only for him, p.34
Only For Him, page 34
“How much time do we have until they head back?” I question as we walk downstairs, stepping over the broken glass of picture frames thrown off the walls. It didn’t take long to look behind every surface, nook, and cranny of this place.
His office is next, naturally.
“Another twenty but we need to get the hell out of here,” Jase answers, picking up his pace.
The smell of gas hits us the moment we make it to the first floor. Jase left the empty jugs by the front door and I don’t waste any time grabbing one.
“It feels like old times, doesn’t it?” he asks with a grin before taking one more look around and shaking out the last jug.
“It does,” Carter agrees, although his eyes never reach ours. He’s too busy looking over every inch in the last few moments we have.
Back in the beginning, when everything went to shit and Carter stood up for us, protected and fought for us, and we followed him into this life, it was only us.
For years it was just the four of us. No one knew a single move we made. We didn’t rely on a damn soul to get to the top. We fucking earned it.
My grip tightens and I nod, a hint of nostalgia easing some of the concerns.
“Good ol’ days,” I comment, remembering how different those times were.
There have been more than a few times in the past where we’ve had to bring the plans in. Shut out some people and limit who we trusted with our plans. It’s been years though since it’s only been us. Just the brothers. A grim smile almost pulls my lips up. It doesn’t quite reach though as I hold my souvenir from this trip tighter. A notebook, with every little detail the detective has on the case against us. Hopefully, it’ll include a name here or there or a hint at who the fucking rat is. Or rats. My heart beats harder and anger simmers. All I want is the name of whoever the hell set up my Braelynn. The name of the person who let her take the fall knowing full damn well we’d have her killed.
“He’ll know it was us,” Carter comments, interrupting my thoughts. Thank fuck.
I clear my throat and look down to the floor, nudging a chunk of ceramic from a broken vase as my brothers talk.
“No shit,” Jase answers and then adds, “he won’t be able to prove it though.”
I take another look around the house that doesn’t look like it has been updated since the ‘80s. This small town on the outskirts of the city is old, way off the highway. So it wasn’t surprising to see dated wallpaper in the cramped space and cigarette smoke clinging to the worn leather sofa. It was decently maintained for a single man like Mauer. I imagined he barely spent any time in this place until we got to his office upstairs.
It was a mess before we got there, with ashtrays and empty bottles scattered among filing boxes, but it’s trashed now.
And the photos of us from some PI are covered in gasoline…well all apart from the ones tucked away in this little notebook with handwritten details of our whereabouts and businesses. Within the first few pages were hypothetical dealings he suggested we were involved in.
And he’s right.
Which means tonight the house will turn to ash and he’ll meet that fate soon as well.
Better him than us.
At that thought, Carter opens the door and chilled but fresh air meets us. Jase is behind us and the window he opens creaks before he follows us out.
Even though the podunk town the detective lives in doesn’t have a house in sight, we still keep our faces covered as Carter and I climb into the unmarked van.
It’s a fair bit away and all the while my mind races. This isn’t tit for tat. This isn’t skirting around the law and lining pockets. This is war with only one side living at the end.
In my periphery, an orange light brightens and catches my attention.
Jase lights a firecracker and tosses it through the open window in what was once Mauer’s living room before running to the open door of the van.
He slides it shut as Carter pulls the car away. The door thuds, the gravel crunches beneath the tires and in the rearview mirror, the fire lights up the window, the flame immediately tall and bright.
Before I can exhale, the house explodes with fire.
BRAELYNN
Emotions are bullshit. I wish I couldn’t feel them. Especially when I’m alone.
I almost want to lie down and hide in the covers for the rest of the day, but that won’t solve anything. With Declan gone, there’s not much more I can learn. That doesn’t mean I have to sit here feeling like shit for hours.
I can face the day and feel like shit, too. It’s not the first time I’ve had to and I remind myself that I’ve certainly felt lower. Progress is a silver lining I suppose.
I get up and make the bed. It’s small, but it’s something I can actually accomplish. I take my time with it since I don’t know when Declan will be back.
Then I go into the bathroom. No need to rush this part, either. I take a shower, letting the hot water run over my muscles. I don’t think I’m sore from my short stint in the interrogation room at the jail. I don’t think it was the sex, either. I think it’s stress, which is the worst kind of soreness. The hot spray washes away the filth and every negative thought.
I work at it anyway. I get dressed and let my hair dry while I scroll through my phone. Careful not to comment on a single thing. I only watch for entertainment although I hardly feel a thing. It’s more of a distraction and with it, I scroll and scroll, thankful that my mind is not left to my own thoughts. That’s how I end up spending most of the day. It’s easy enough to click from one thing to the next. All the while, I listen for Declan. I’m all too aware that I’m simply biding my time until he comes back and the time is ticking by slowly.
The phone can’t keep my attention forever. Nervousness builds in my stomach as I approach the bedroom door. I’m afraid I’ll turn the handle and it’ll be locked, though I know it won’t be. He wouldn’t do that to me.
I count to three in my head. On three, I turn the doorknob and throw the door open.
The hallway outside is empty. There’s no guard waiting for me when I get to the end of it and open the door to the foyer. None of Declan’s brothers are waiting there.
There’s nothing but emptiness.
I wish he’d given me some idea of how long this was going to take. Then again, if he had, I’d be counting the minutes and worrying more if he was late.
My stomach growls loudly. I’ve been ignoring my hunger most of the day. That was a mistake. Now I’m starving and worried and emotional over what Declan said this morning. I force my feet to move and take me to the kitchen.
I stride into the kitchen with my head held high, remembering that he said he loves me. If any of his family is there, I hope I look more confident than I feel. I know I don’t really belong here. Everything is too uncertain. It would only set me up for failure if I got used to being here, and thought of this as…
Well, anything. It’s not my home. This place belongs to Declan and his brothers. To hear Declan tell it, he wants me to belong to him. That sends my thoughts right back to the memory of him getting dressed this morning and the look in his eyes when he spoke to me.
“I want you to marry me.” That one statement is the only thing I’m holding onto right now.
The saddest part of it is that I don’t know if he really meant it. He looked like he did. He sounded like he did. But he’s kept things from me before and lied to me before.
Hell, for all I know, it could be another test. There must be more to it. I don’t know what to think of any of this, really, and I can’t turn off the worries. I wish I could be one of those people who just puts things out of their mind. I open the refrigerator and feel a cool breeze in my face. There are a few things inside, like leftover takeout and a pasta dish in Tupperware, but none of it looks appealing at the moment. Honestly, I don’t know how I could possibly eat, just that I have to because my stomach hurts.
Mostly I just feel empty inside. It’s not a good way to approach making something to eat. There’s not enough food in the world to fill that space, so it feels a little pointless to go through the trouble of cooking, or even microwaving, anything.
God. Something has to change, and soon, because this isn’t any way to live. I have come around to the idea that escaping life forever was probably not the best plan, but what am I supposed to live for now? Nobody can look forward to staying a prisoner. Not having enough information to make choices is enough to drive anybody out of their mind.
“Food,” I say to the fridge. “Focus on food.”
“You should come hang out with us.” The voice behind me startles me so much that I jump. I whip around, the handle on the refrigerator door gripped in my palm. Aria stands there in a baggy burgundy chenille sweater and skinny blue jeans. Her perfectly polished toes are black. Without an ounce of makeup on, she’s still stunning. Then there’s me in Declan’s pajama pants rolled up and a tee shirt I refuse to take off because it smells like him.
We couldn’t be more different.
I put a hand over my racing heart and take a deep breath.
Her cherry lips perk up as if it’s funny. “So do you want to?”
I don’t know what she’s talking about. “What do you mean?” Even though she’s casual and friendly even, Aria Cross scares the hell out of me. Just like Carter. She is his wife after all.
Aria shrugs. “When they leave, it can give me an anxious feeling sometimes.” She reaches across me and opens the fridge.
“They?” I turn her words over in my head. “They left together? Carter and Declan?”
“All of them,” Aria answers me. I blink, surprised, and Aria smiles gently at me. “Don’t worry, Braelynn. We’re safe here. There are guards and nothing to worry about, but I think you’d like it better if you stayed with us.”
She purses her lips, shutting the door and apparently coming to the same conclusion I did. “Did he tell you what they’re going to do?”
“No.”
She hesitates only a moment before asking, “Do you want to know?”
“I...” She has a genuine look on her face, like she might tell me if I said yes. “I don’t know. I seriously don’t.” I don’t know why I feel so disappointed in myself. I’ve never wanted to know. I never wanted to be in this life. All I wanted was him. And look where it’s gotten me.
Aria nods, understanding as I swallow down my thoughts. “Do you want to drink?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.” She passes by me grabbing a bag of fruit and nut mix, and I blurt out what I’m thinking before I can stop myself. “He lied to me.”
This time it’s shame that passes through me.
She pauses, thinking, and looks me in the eye, her gaze a mix of understanding but also one of pity. “This world is fucked up, and so are our men.”
“I don’t know how to think straight if he’s lying to me. Or why I would want to know anything if I won’t even know if it’s true.”
“Given the state he’s been in, I doubt he’ll ever lie to you again.” She nudges me gently out of the way, opens the fridge, and reaches in for an open bottle of wine. She pours us glasses while telling me I should tell Declan how much it hurts. She says he’s a lost puppy. It's hard to imagine Declan Cross like that. It’s even harder to imagine he’d listen to me. She hands one glass to me, closes the fridge with her hip, and takes a long sip from hers. The chilled glass in my hand is tempting. “Come on. Carter told me it’ll be a little bit before they’re back. I have something I want to show you.”
She doesn’t wait for me to agree before turning her back.
I follow her through to the wing of the house where Carter and Aria live. It’s warmer than I imagined it would be. The walls are a soft cream but colorful paintings line the way. Giggles reach me through the hall. Children playing, somewhere in the house. I pause when I hear them and it’s Aria’s short laugh that brings my attention back to her. Aria smiles but doesn’t look for them.
“Addison’s with them. They’re supposed to be in bed, but she spoils them so I’m pretending not to hear it for now.”
I forgot there were children here. It’s a wonder how they keep their kids separate from all of this. No one ever mentions them. It’s as if they don’t exist in the real world.
She walks gracefully through the long hallway. All the doors are painted a dark navy blue and complement the gray slate herringbone floor. Where Declan’s wing is stark and cold, this wing is lived in. Every detail of this place is beautiful. I’m intimidated by how big this place is, but Aria belongs here. It’s hers. Aria’s beautiful, and she commands authority. I can’t imagine this woman ever being afraid. Even if everything turns out all right between Declan and me, can I ever belong here? I could never be a woman like her. I still can’t imagine myself in the world I know to be run by the Cross brothers.
I almost ask her how she does it. How she shuts out some parts and hides others. Instead, she gestures to me to continue, passing the open threshold that leads to her children and other closed doors.
She takes another sip of her wine. “There’s a therapist I’ve seen,” Aria mentions casually. “Carter mentioned you may want her info.” My cheeks burn. Aria turns to look at me. “Don’t worry about it either way. It’s good to have her info just in case you decide you want to talk one night. She comes here, so it’s all in person, and she can be here in minutes. Actually, she’s a lawyer for us, so you’re fine to tell her whatever you’d like.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”
Aria stops beside a door, takes a skeleton key out of her pocket, and unlocks it. All the while my heart races and I wonder what Aria knows. I imagine everything.
She smiles at me while she opens the door and I’m blown away at what’s inside it. Inside is an art studio, the thick dove gray curtains are drawn over the window. So it’s dark and a little intense, and…I like it. There’s an energy that radiates in the room.
“Do you like it?” Aria questions as if my opinion matters. I step into the room completely in awe. “I love it,” I answer her honestly. Art and canvases take up a lot of the space on one side. They’re mostly charcoal pieces featuring abstract adult figures, but there are also acrylic pieces with bright colors and watercolors that feature scenery and children. I can only imagine they’re her children. Apart from the art, there’s a long dark wooden table that’s littered with glass jars filled with brushes and cans of paint. It’s a very organized chaos. I can tell each part of it has meaning to Aria. It’s where it should be, even if it appears to be a mess.
Turning though, there’s another story to tell.
The other side of the studio is similar, but it contains completely different things. A slim shelf holds several decks of tarot cards. Colorful crystals glint on another shelf. There are glass bottles and candles everywhere. It feels much warmer than the art side, and I’m drawn to it.
There’s another long table parallel to the art station, but this one is a warm wood, lower with dainty chairs in gray velvet on either side and a matching sofa that’s tufted.
“I could read your cards,” Aria suggests as she lights a candle at the center of the table. She moves around the space, putting down her wine glass and picking up a silver tray. An expression of concentration crosses her face as she gathers candlesticks and some kind of oil from one of the shelves.
Just then, the door closes behind us, once again startling the hell out of me.
“Addison, have you met Braelynn?” Aria asks a bright-eyed younger version of herself. There’s a softer look about her face, though, and she’s a bit more petite.
“Now I have,” she comments and offers a beautiful smile. “It’s nice to meet the woman Daniel’s been telling me about.” My eyes widen slightly and she adds, “I’m Daniel’s wife,” as if that’s the part I couldn’t put together. And not that I’m concerned about what she’s been told. I’m curious how she met Daniel, but I don’t want to ask. What if the story is so different from mine that it only adds to this nervous feeling that won’t let me go?
Her dark hair falls in gorgeous waves as she comes in and takes the seat on the end easily. “Are you doing a reading? I want to read, too,” Addison says, her voice peppy. Reading tarot cards…my mother never liked tarot cards. I have a feeling she wouldn’t much like this room at all.
Aria’s at another one of her shelves, gathering some rocks for the tray. “Do you like crystals?” she asks.
I’m not sure if she’s talking to me or Addison for a moment. Then I realize they’re both waiting for my answer. All eyes on me.
“I do,” I tell them both. That’s the truth, anyway. “Crystals are very pretty.”
The one thing I remember about my great-grandmother were all her minerals and gemstones. She had shelves of rocks, more than Aria that’s for sure. When she passed, I was only left one. A dark blue one that I lost at some point in middle school. I keep my story to myself although I nearly tell them.
“I have these for you.”
Aria crosses to me and puts one of the stones in my palm. It’s smallish and a smooth oval shape with rich earth colors and a hint of blue flash to it. “This one is a que sera,” she tells me. She goes back to one of the shelves on the wall and opens a drawer beneath it. Aria takes out another stone, then brings it to me.
“And this one is called an Irish Hag Stone, don’t mind the name…it works. They help you live soundly and sleep soundly.”
“An Irish Hag Stone…” It’s a gray rock with a whole in it. “To help me sleep?” I question. I wish I could keep the skepticism out of my voice, but I can’t. It's just a river rock.
“I do have something stronger.” Aria doesn’t sound offended. “We call it sweets, and it’s not a rock…but its side effects might not be good for you right now.”
I swallow hard. Aria’s talking about my mental state, and she’s just used the name of an old street drug.
Addison leans closer to me and gestures for me to take a seat. “Even if it’s all in your head, it’s in your head, and that’s what matters sometimes,” she says, her tone gentle.
