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“Yes,” I sigh instead of telling her the ugly truth. She doesn’t need to know the lies I’ve told and the crimes I’ve committed. “I’m working it.”
“Okay,” Cassia says and then drops the subject. “Are you going to see Lindee and your dad soon?”
“Probably not. They’re in Cancun.” Now that my dad is retired, he and my stepmom spend most of their time traveling. They come home for holidays and major events but otherwise live like nomads. They love it.
“Well, tell her to give you a big hug from me next time you see her,” Cassia demands. She and I don’t share a dad, but my parents love her. I think they would have adopted her themselves if they could have done it. It certainly would have been better for Cassia than growing up under our mother’s thumb.
I have as little to do with our mother as possible. She may have given me life, but she didn’t raise me. My dad and my stepmom did. She’s never been a mother to me. She’s never cared about anyone but herself. My loyalties lie with Cassia. She didn’t have a choice in how she was raised. Our mother did. She was mentally and emotionally abusive to Cassia for most of her life. I fucking hate that I didn’t know sooner. I hate that I wasn’t there to protect her. I’ll never forgive our mother for the shit she put Cassia through or for the scars and insecurities Cassia now carries. She deserved better. She still does.
Thank God my stepmom sees it. It’s taken Cassia a long time to open up to her, but my stepmom is determined to make sure Cassia knows that she’s loved and that she’s a welcome and wanted part of our family. She may not belong to my dad and Lindee, but she’s my sister. As far as they’re concerned, that makes her family for life.
“I will,” I promise Cassia, pulling out a chair at the long farm table that stretches the length of the back wall.
“Call you later,” she says. “Love you, Rhys.”
“I love you too, baby sister. Behave.”
Cassia laughs, which I take to mean she intends to ignore that order and then hangs up. I drop my phone on the table beside me and then ease myself down into the chair. For a long moment, I just run my eyes over the various pieces of information spread across the tabletop, trying to make sense of it.
“Who the fuck were you?” I mutter, picking up a photo of Brant. He’s on my fishing boat, a beer in one hand, a smile on his face, his skin bronzed from the sun. He was a handsome SOB, I’ll give him that, with light hair, blue eyes, and that all-American look that drove women crazy. They were constantly hitting on the bastard. Didn’t care that he was in love with his wife. Didn’t care that he had a kid their age. Women flocked to him.
I set the picture aside and pick up one of him and Raven. She has his eyes and his height. I never met her mom—she and Brant were over before they ever began—but I’m guessing Raven got the rest of her looks from her. She’s five-ten or five-eleven but still looks short next to Brant. Hell, she looks short next to me too. I’m six-five.
My cock stiffens in my pants, stirring as I stare at the photo of her. As I remember the feel of her in my arms, her soft curves pressed to my body, her vanilla scent wreaking havoc on my system.
“Jesus Christ,” I growl, dropping the photo to scrub a hand down my face. If I weren’t already going to hell, lusting after my best friend’s daughter while she cried in my arms would undoubtedly do it. I couldn’t help it, though. Trying to purge her from my mind is impossible. I’ve been trying for three years. She’s stuck like a song playing on repeat. The lyrics play on no matter how often I try to focus on something else.
Another clap of thunder rattles the windowpanes. It fades to a soft tap echoing through the house. I pick up another photo, determined to put Raven out of my head and try to figure out how deep Brant’s connection to the mob goes. I need answers, if for no other reason than to unravel this fucking mess and find a way out of it.
I’m juggling a house of cards here. But I can’t let it fall. Raven has no one left. Her mom died right before her nineteenth birthday. Her dad is gone now. The only family she has left is the sibling growing in her stepmom’s belly. If the truth gets out about Brant, they’ll lose everything. Wasn’t that Marnie’s threat?
I’ll tell the world who he really was. Will he still be a hero to her then, Rhys? Will you?
The soft tap echoes through the house again. It takes a minute to realize it’s not thunder at all.
Someone is knocking on my front door.
I toss the photo down and stride that way. Storms can be deadly on the island, especially to unsuspecting tourists. They explore a little too far and get caught in dangerously precarious positions. They slip and fall, plunging into water frigid enough to jolt the human body into cold shock or rile the wild animals who call this island and surrounding waters home. Accidents are a fact of life around here, especially on days like today. And I’m a certified diver. I get called on frequently to assist.
I throw the front door open, prepared for anything.
Except for the woman standing on my doorstep.
“Raven?”
Water drips from the ends of the dark hair plastered to her face. She’s so pale; her ivory skin is nearly translucent. Every inch of her clothing is soaked through, and she’s trembling, her lips tinged blue. Her hands, clutched tightly around a single rolling suitcase, are stark white.
“H-h-hi,” she says through chattering teeth. Her attempt at a smile trembles and falls before it ever fully forms. She sways on her feet, shivering uncontrollably.
“Jesus Christ,” I growl, leaping forward to grab her before she plummets to the ground at my feet. I wrap an arm around her waist, hauling her up against me. Her skin is ice cold, water still sluicing from her curvy body. “Are you trying to get yourself killed out there?”
“I-I-I…” She gives up trying to explain when she can’t get the words out through her chattering teeth and shivering body. She’s too fucking cold, too pale.
My heart pounds, fear for her coursing through me with every heavy beat. I scoop her up, suitcase and all, and carry her into the house, kicking the door closed behind me. Her suitcase falls to the tile floor with a thud. I step over it, charging toward the bedroom as fury churns through me.
What the hell was she doing out there?
Did she walk all the way here from the ferry terminal?
