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I prefer beer, but I’m thinking this requires something harder.
He lifts his glass but finishes his train of thought before drinking. “If Easton’s motive has something to do with the Carvers, then Pruitt was targeting Celeste that day and somehow knew where she’d be.”
I guzzle the drink in a single swig. My nerves are shot. “And also had a reason to contact the Noires, which Axel considered valid. I can’t make sense of that piece.”
“They’re coming here on Tuesday.” He swallows a respectable sip, far more collected than I am. “Had to push it back because of the baby.”
That’s unfortunate but necessary. The Noires were originally scheduled for today, but with Felicity’s arrival home yesterday, none of us are in any shape for that meeting.
“You think Frank knows anything?” I ask, soothing myself with the clink-clank of my Zippo. Nothing about this is sitting right.
He scrubs his fingers over his chin. “Doubt it. If he knew Easton had survived, he would’ve had a manhunt for him.” Shaking his head, he glances at me and sighs. “I think we should wait to involve him until we know more.”
I start pacing, too much anxiety to be quelled by the simple flame. “Agreed. I’ll work on locating Easton. In the meantime, I think it’s time for Gage to pay Pruitt that visit.”
“I’ll get him on it today.”
“I’m going too,” I insist.
“That’s not really where you’ll be best utilized, is it?” He’s asking something different, so I don’t answer. At my silence, he tries another route. “Why is it important for you to be there?”
My hands flail as my rant flies. “I’ve got all these moving parts and no fucking idea how they fit. The Noire piece doesn’t fit with the Skulls threat. And the Lancasters aren’t the type to be mixed up with the Skulls, but they’re linked to both the Carvers and the Noires somehow. And there’s that fucking black book that the thugs who broke into Frank’s house mentioned they were hired to find. But Frank knows nothing about it, and we’ve only unearthed nonsensical chatter regarding it. On top of that, Ivy has one of her weird aura vibes with Oliver Jensen, and we find out he’s related to the Lancasters. But shit gets even more convoluted because that’s not the only relation. Jensen’s aunt, who is also Easton and Pruitt’s grandmother, is the stepsibling of Johnny Balzano—the prick who makes every KORT meeting a nightmare for Ivy. It’s all connected, but certainly not linear. I’m losing my goddamn mind, trying to make sense of it.”
“I share that frustration,” he groans. His narrowed gaze trails the path of my irate pacing until he snaps, “Stop.” When I halt my frenzied trek and look at him, he stares for a long beat, fingers rubbing over his lips. “Is that it, Liam? Anything else I need to know?”
Wells is the one person I hate to lie to because he rarely does. Never does, is more accurate. He evades, but doesn’t lie. He tells us lying is the same as an apology because, on some level, we believe it isn’t something we should own. If you can’t justify your behavior, no matter how skewed that justification may be to others, you’re headed down the wrong path.
But that’s not where I’m at. I know the right path for me. No doubt in my mind. All roads lead to Celeste. But if I tell him about our night and that she doesn’t want me, he might tell me to walk away because I shouldn’t drag someone through Hell if they don’t want to be there.
And I don’t think I can handle that from him right now.
“There’s nothing else,” I say, and although his eyes flash with disappointment, he nods.
It’s Tuesday afternoon, and the Noire family will be here for a visit in less than a half hour. Their purpose is twofold: visiting the new addition to our crew and finally filling us in on Pruitt’s distant relation to them.
Unfortunately, Pruitt’s whereabouts are currently a mystery. It’s safe to say he’s aware of Easton being alive though. Otherwise, the sudden disappearance doesn’t jive. It’s a waiting game at this point. We have our eyes peeled for both. If either makes a move, we’ll know.
But at the moment, I don’t give a fuck about any of that. It’s been five days since Celeste and I have been together. Other than the occasional sidelong glance, she’s kept herself busy with Felicity and Ivy and editing her pictures.
And acting as though I don’t exist.
Now that I understand her better, I know it isn’t a snub. It’s her way of swallowing the future she’s choking on and avoiding the one she craves. At least, that’s what I’ve convinced myself to believe.
But today, I need to extend one of those subtle reminders, so when she sashays upstairs via the back staircase, I sneak up the front and run like hell to cut her off. Everyone else is preparing for our guests.
Her eyes widen in alarm when she catches sight of me hurtling toward her, but that does nothing to deter me. I scoop her into my arms, throw her over my shoulder, and tromp to my room.
She smacks my back repeatedly and whisper-yells, “What the hell, Graves? Put me down.”
Once I’m beyond the threshold, I kick the door shut, spank her ass, and comply by dropping her onto my bed. Where she fucking belongs. “There. That’s better. Something’s been missing.”
A smile climbs her cheeks, even as she crawls off and chastises me. “This isn’t keeping to our agreement. If someone sees us, it will open a whole can of worms.”
In a manner of speaking, the can was cracked open before I even kissed her behind the barn. The guys know all about the worms—Jesus, I really hate that analogy right now. Nasty. Anyway, they’re guys. We talk around shit sometimes, but they’re not fools. No sense in broadcasting that though.
“If you remember, I never agreed to anything of the sort, but no one saw us.” I pick her up as she starts to bolt and station her back against the door, my hand flattened firmly against it to keep it closed. “They’re all busy, and so are we for the next fifteen minutes.”
Her eyes close, that carefully curated mask faltering to reveal a fissure of agony. After a barely discernible sigh, she sets those brown beauties on me. “Ivy doesn’t miss things.”
