Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 162520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
I stare her down. She grips my gaze with the same molten intensity. Leaning closer, I whisper, “Liar.”
This would typically draw a smile out of Phoebe, but her lips noticeably flatline. I see her intake a subtle, sharp breath. Hardly even combating me, her brown eyes strangely soften on the cigarette between my fingers. “I’ll just take a smoke.”
My stomach clenches, but I slip the cigarette between my lips, then seize her hips with two hands. “Come here,” I mumble, drawing her into my chest. Her arms break apart, her body releasing a deeper breath, especially as she rotates and rests her shoulders against my sternum. Her back to me.
I brace myself against the fridge. Because Phoebe sinks her entire weight into me while I wrap my arm around her chest. I cage her to my body, holding her to me. With my free hand, I pluck the cigarette out of my mouth and keep it pinched between two fingers. I bring it down to Phoebe’s lips.
She sucks in, blows out, but I can feel her body tense more than relax. She reaches upward and clutches my forearm with two hands like she’s gripping a life vest.
I stare down at her and see her eyes shut. Observe her slowing, easing breath pattern. I dip my head closer to her ear. “You feel okay?”
“Horrible.”
“Seriously, Phebs,” I snap.
“I’m fine, Rocky,” she murmurs softly, heat extinguished. “Really, I’m okay.”
She’s never lied to me before, and I don’t believe she is now. But she’s not being completely honest either. I can’t make sense of this. I keep thinking she’s scared, but what the fuck is scaring her? There is so very little that frightens Phoebe.
I grit my back molars. It feels like an animal is crawling out of my rib cage, but I just hold her as tightly as she’s clutching on to me.
I look up.
Hailey is watching Phoebe with wide eyes. She startles when she catches my gaze. I mouth, What’s going on?
My sister shakes her head stiffly, then flinches at the sound of a door opening. Oliver and Nova return to the kitchen.
“The whole gang is almost here,” Oliver says, staring around. “Where’s our little psychopath?”
“On his way from the boathouse,” I say.
I’ve been renting the two-bedroom boathouse for almost a year—and we’ve outgrown it long before then. Trevor has been sleeping in the fucking wine cellar on a cot. Not ideal, but our lives have been more stable here than when we crash at Four Seasons and multimillion-dollar penthouse suites for weeks at a time.
We’re not burning through cash at a vicious rate. So we’re not in dire need of pulling short cons for quick payouts.
Nova slides back on a barstool. “Are you sure that’s where he is?”
“Yes,” I force out. “He should be here in five minutes, and if he’s not, you can lay into me.”
Not even a second later, Trevor strolls through the unlocked front door. My lanky dark-haired nineteen-year-old brother looks nothing like the Caufield University student he’s supposed to be posing as in Victoria.
No collegiate tee.
No collared polo that the preppy nepo kids would sport around here.
He’s wearing shit that makes him appear older, more sophisticated. Crisp black button-down, black slacks, shined loafers, white-gold rings. If it weren’t for the hoop earring and shaggy hair, I’d say he wouldn’t fit in with his peers.
But this is Trev. This is what my brother likes to wear. If I pulled that at his age, Everett would’ve told me to change immediately and reminded me of who I was supposed to be in this town. I’m not doing that to my brother.
He’s more used to being himself. His role as a kid was to remain in the shadows and use sleight of hand. He wasn’t trained in face-to-face manipulation, even if he wanted to be right beside me.
“What’s up, losers?” Trevor greets.
Oliver bows forward, elbows on the counter, pear in hand. “You’re very confident for someone who slaughtered a feeble old woman.”
“She wasn’t feeble. She was the mark.”
Jesus.
Nova shoots me a hard look, like Get your brother in check. Trev has felt like my responsibility, my kid, for I don’t know how long. He’s also proof that I’m not equipped to be raising another fucking human being.
“Remember Jake?” I question. “Claudia’s son? He’s right here, shithead.”
“Hi, Jake. Sorry,” he deadpans, sounding not remorseful at all. Wonderful.
“It’s fine,” Jake mutters, more attentive toward Hailey, who flips through the envelopes.
Oliver straightens up. And that’s how I know he cares that Jake is interested in my sister. Body language. I would do stupid things to bury my head back into scalding desert sand if I could. I hate being this perceptive over shit regarding my sister’s sex life. I want nothing to do with it.
“Is that a hickey?” Phoebe asks.
Yeah, Trevor has four massive red welts on his neck. And now I’m thrust into my brother’s sex life. Perfect.