Page 57 of XO Karma

Oliver laughs, coming to crouch beside me, then bumps me out of the way with his hip. “Watch.” He makes quick work of the rope, and a moment later, the sailboat is secure. “See? Not so hard.”

He grins, ruffling my hair, and I shove him away. “Show-off.” I don’t admit that my hands were shaking because of the conversation we desperately need to have.

“Want to ride with me to the office?” he asks, reminding me of the one place I hate more than home. The one place that’s become a prison I fear I’ll never escape. I have to escape. We have to escape.

“Oliver.” I pause on the wooden dock, and he stops, turning to face me. Water droplets land on his face, and he looks up.

“Come on.” He grabs my arm. “We can talk inside.”

“No.” I tug him to stop, glancing towards the house, then find his eyes. “Not there.”

His brows furrow. “What’s going on?” I shift in place. “Spit it out, bro.”

“I know that you know.”

A beat passes between us. “Know what?”

“About Dad’s shady business dealings.” His eyes widen. “The countrywide increase in gun violence lately. It’s not a coincidence.”

“Aster.” My brother grips my arm, tone hushed. “Drop this.”

I shake my head. “I can’t.”

“You have to.” His eyes bore into mine. “You have to trust me.”

“Give me a reason to.” I yank my arm away. “Tell me you’re not a part of it.”

“As if any of us have a choice.”

His words cut through me like ice. “There’s always a choice.”

I just wish mine wouldn’t have cost him his life.

20

LILY

The water droplets on the table make excellent paint as I draw tiny hearts in the moisture. My eyes are heavy, mind melting like the polar ice caps, and I’m trying to find the willpower to drag myself off this chair.

“Girl, what is going on with you today?” Amara asks, and my gaze finds hers.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Yes.” She pulls out the seat to sit across from me, her natural brown curls bouncing as she does. “Also, you were here when we opened, and girl, I love you, but you look like you were clubbing till six a.m.” I glance at my outfit from the gala. I’d meant to walk home but wandered the streets for hours instead, lost in thought, until a coffee called my name. “You are not a clubbing-till-six-a.m. type of girl.”

“I was not clubbing.” Leaning against the seat, I force a smile. “There’s just a work project I can’t quite figure out.”

“If you ever need a wall to bounce ideas off”—she waves a hand at herself—“I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener.”

I take a long pull of my third coffee of the morning, then set it back down. “I’m not sure you can help with this one.”

“What’s it about?”

A delicious-looking man who’s assumedly a serial killer.

The rich and suspicious.

Relocated corpses.