Thomas is on his feet and out the door in a flash the second Dad leaves, without even looking at me. He doesn’t wait for Rip to catch up as he closes the door behind himself.
I point to the door. “Is he okay?”
Rip rubs the back of his neck. “He’s had a rough day.”
That’s it? Please, the man couldn’t sit still to save his life. Rip shakes his head, willing me not to worry about it. Then he gives the house a quick scan, and finding it empty, he snakes his arm around my waist.
“How was your day?” he asks smoothly.
I do a once-over myself. “Is this what we do now? We ask each other how our day was?”
With a gentle nudge, he presses his hips against mine, his body moving lightly against me. “Am I not allowed to ask you how your day was?”
This situation never started with him asking how my day was. He was a sexually conflicted man, while I, though touch-starved, recoiled from everyone but him. Now? It’s more than that, and it has been for some time.
Shawn was right; he’s got a bigger hold on me than I’m comfortable admitting. My heart never skipped a beat for Sylvie. The thought of kneeling to her and doing her bidding, of being controlled by her, was something that disgusted me. I may have been passive with her, but never submissive.
But Rip? The way he orders me around sends me over the edge. He’s always in charge, and I revel in it.
“It’s out of character for you,” I say simply. “For us. You’re too self-sufficient to care, and I never have the energy to ask.”
Rip’s face pinches, confused. I probably sound fucking crazy. Then he speaks softly, but firmly. “Tell me how your day was.”
“It was fine.”
“Just fine?” he presses.
Of course. Besides wondering if you’re the one behind this, like we first thought, and how the mere thought makes me feel even worse inside than I did when I lost Sylvie. Damn Shawn for putting this in my head again. I’m getting whiplash.
“Yeah,” I whisper. Rip doesn’t look convinced.
“Can you two hurry up?”
The voice makes us jump apart. Thomas is standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest as he stares.
Rip glares at his brother. “When did you come back in?”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s getting late, and we need to leave.”
Thomas’ tone is snippier than I’ve ever heard. Rip’s lips twist into a grimace, and I expect him to ignore Thomas, but then his shoulders loosen, and he nods. He scans the room before placing a fleeting kiss on my forehead, catching me off guard, and then leaves with his brother.
I stand like a statue in the middle of the room. “See you guys.”
Rip blows me a playful kiss, and I can’t help but smile. My eyes meet Thomas’s as he is leaving, and there’s a hint of something unspoken in his gaze. Not irritation, or the urgent need to pee, like I originally thought. No, he looks guilty.
I’m not sure if the Wright brothers are the moles yet, and I’ll know that in time, but in this moment, I do know one thing for sure.
They’re hiding something.
25
Rip
Thomas has been pacing nervously in front of me, and it’s driving me crazy. I’m about ready to knock him out so he’ll quit.
For the past two days, ever since we learned Thomas killed Kingsley’s fiancée a year ago, he’s been acting this way. He killed her right at the altar during her wedding, and nobody even realized. The guilt would be less if it were someone else’s fiancée he murdered.
Love it or hate it, these past four months have bonded us with King—much more than it should have. Killing the woman who was about to become his lawfully wedded wife really puts a wedge between people. Who would’ve thought?
