Genre: Dark Romance, Single Parent, Second Chance, Biker Romance
Word Count: 1005
Chapter Two: Shattered Glass
Luis
“Fuck.”
The damp fabric of my sweat-stained tank top clings to my body as I sit crouched beside the bike I’m working on.
Damn thing is a rush order, but the fuckin’ storm stole a big chunk of my worktime. So now here I am, the harsh SoCal sun beating down on me, the sickening humidity of the air post-storm making breathing a chore.
My eyes slide to the watch on my wrist—worn leather, cracked glass, and a U.S. Marines logo painted in enamel on the inside… it was my old man’s before he died, ten years ago.
But it’s mine now, and it tells me I can spare a couple minutes to break for a beer.
A long sigh escapes me as I sit back against my beat-up old toolbox—also my dad’s—and reach for the cooler sat beside me.
The ice is half-melted, but the beer is cold, and that’s what counts.
It still stings, knowing the old man is gone.
I’ve never been one to handle grief well. Never known how to deal with broken things I can’t fix with a wrench.
And my fucking downward spiral after my dad died cost me the love of my life.
If it weren’t for my brothers in The Angels, I’d be in the ground too. I’m sure of it.
My eyes flutter shut as I press the cool glass to my forehead, not bothered by the water droplets that roll down the bottle onto my skin.
After the day I’ve had, it feels good.
After a moment, I pop the cap against my calloused palm, the inviting scent of the hops immediately filling my nostrils.
I barely get the chance to lift the bottle to my lips before a shrill cry breaks the silent stillness of the desert.
Genre: Dark Romance, Single Parent, Second Chance, Biker Romance
Word Count: 2044
Chapter One: Breaking Through
Rose
The sound of my sneakers hitting wet asphalt echoes off the brick buildings that line the darkened alley. My sneaker lands in a too-deep puddle, soaking my jeans halfway to the knee, but I’ve got bigger things to worry about right now than wet denim.
“Mommy, where are we going?” Selena, my ten-year-old daughter, muffles as she buries her face into my shoulder, and I squeeze her a little tighter.
It’s hard enough running for your life, but to be carrying the only thing that makes your life worth living…
That’s a different hurdle to overcome.
“Shh. Baby, we need to be quiet. Once we find a safe place, I’ll explain everything.”
I can’t bring myself to tell her that her own father, the man that she cherishes, has sent his men after us to have us killed.
She’ll find out eventually, but…
Being dragged out of her bed at two in the morning is scary enough for her to go through.
I knew what I was getting into when I fell for Michael.
He was your run-of-the-mill bad boy type. Slick, black hair, dressed to impress… and he held the attention of everyone in the bar where I was working.
He caught my attention immediately, but looking back, the nervous excitement he made me feel should have been my instinct screaming at me to run far away from him.
I should’ve known better, just by his last name.
Vitale was one of the most notorious mob families, known for malicious killings and “deals gone wrong”.
But his baby blues put me in a trance. One that I couldn’t escape from until there was no option left.
There’s no love left between us, if it was ever truly there in the first place, but he’d rather have us both killed than risk letting what he sees as his go free.
If I can’t have you, then no one can…
It doesn’t matter that she’s his daughter. He’d kill her in cold blood just to hurt me.
Every threat he’s ever hurled at me scrapes against the inside of my skull as we find a dark and hidden crawl space.
If we’re lucky, it’ll keep us hidden until the sun comes up.
Luck hasn’t exactly been on our side lately, but it’s the best hope we’ve got.
“Now, can you tell me?” Selena whispers as she cuddles close to me.
All I want is to take her far away from all this bullshit, all this danger. But she carries the Vitale name, and that in itself is a lifelong curse.
“Do you remember what I always told you. If we were ever in danger…” I manage to spit out, holding back my tears, doing my best to remain strong for her even as everything in me is shattered.
Her eyes fall off me and land on the gravel beneath our feet. “Look for The Angels and run to them.”
The first time Michael threatened my life, I made it my goal to make sure that even if I didn’t make it out of this alive, my daughter would survive.
Away from that sonofabitch.
The last time I saw The Angels was ten years ago, when I was nineteen and the world was a different place.
I was young, I was stupid, and love wasn’t enough to make me stay with the best friend I ever had, my first love…
Luis.
When I lost him, my place amongst The Angels left with him.
But the sign of hope never left my heart.
Luis was everything I thought I wanted in life. We had been inseparable since grade school. Once we got older, the feelings grew deeper until he lit a fire inside of me that I thought died along with my parents.
He made me feel something other than dead inside, and I wanted so desperately to hold onto that feeling.
I was ready to throw everything away for him until he broke my heart.
After, I moved an hour away and never looked back. But I never gave up hope that if I needed them, they would be there for me.
Family is funny that way.
“Good job, baby. Don’t ever forget that.” Sighing, I wrap my arm around her and hold her tight. “I can’t say too much, but just know whatever I do, it’s to keep us safe.”
She’s seen the aftermath of her father’s handiwork. She isn’t a little kid anymore.
Selena is so bright, and she’s seen the bruises before I’ve had a chance to cover them.
She’s seen exactly what a monster her father can be.
But that’s still her father, and I can’t bring myself to tell her that it’s so much worse than she could ever know.
For the next few hours, we stay hidden, my arms wrapped around her to keep her warm as she falls in and out of sleep.
My eyes never leave the skyline, dry and red-rimmed from lack of sleep. The moment day breaks, we are on the run again.
If we can just make it back to Orange County, there’s at least a glimmer of hope that someone from The Angels can help us escape this hell.
Driving distance, it’s only an hour away, but on foot…
Who knows what could happen between here and there? Michael has boys posted all over this town and probably already has the order out to catch us if spotted.
I’m running out of options, and I’m terrified. For her, for me… For our lives.
If we do manage to escape, does that mean we’ll be on the run forever? Constantly having to look over our shoulders, worrying if he’s hunting us?
What kind of life is that?
A surge of bitterness twists my stomach into knots.
I’ve done nothing but bend my life for his and do everything asked of me, playing the role of the perfect wife, never complaining, always there for him...
And this is what I get in return.
The air is chilled, but the sun is finally breaking over the horizon. This is our chance.
With a jerk of my arm, I gently shake Selena awake. Her eyes flutter open, and the innocence in them is enough to make my chest tight.
It’s devastating that she has to be put through this trauma, especially at such a young age. I used to pride myself on how well I shielded her from that life, and now…
Now I wish I’d been strong enough to leave before it got to this point.
“Mommy, is it time to go now? I’m cold.” Her soft tone puts another crack in my heart.
“Yeah, baby. It’s time to go,” I whisper as I help her out of the cubby hole we’ve found shelter in.
My head is on a swivel as we walk out into the main street. I can’t shake the eerie feeling of every passing eye as the sidewalk begins to fill with people going about their morning.
People who can’t help but cast sideways glances at the clearly run-down woman clinging desperately to a scared, confused child.
I can’t let my guard down for a single moment, or it’s over.
As we make it to the corner of Main Street, we turn the corner to another alleyway. Without warning, I feel a set of strong hands on my shoulders from behind.
Before I can scream, I’m thrown against the brick wall of a building. The crash makes my vision blurry.
My grip around Selena tightens as I pull her against me and look up at the attacker.
“Jonah, please…” I begin to beg the moment I recognize him.
Jonah is Michael’s right-hand man. If there’s any dirty work that needs to be handled, he’s the one to take care of it.
Up until this very moment, he was always kind to me… or at least, what passes for kind in this life. There was always pity in his eyes when he’d see the bruises on me.
I held onto the hope that maybe I had him on my side. But when it comes to business, it’ll always come first.
“I’m sorry, Rose,” he responds in a deep, serious tone. “I have orders…”
His eyes are screaming a different tale, though.
My eyes well up because I know this is the end of the road for me. I just don’t want my daughter to see this.
I can’t.
Closing my eyes tightly, a hot tear streams down my cheek as I await my dreadful fate.
But just as suddenly, his grip tears away from me.
“Fuck!” Jonah shouts, causing my eyes to shoot open and see him on his knees. “You little fucking bitch!”
He’s curled in on himself, eyes squeezed shut with pain, hands protecting his groin.
It looks like Selena has taken matters into her own hands… or well, shoes.
“Selena, run!” I scream and shove her away from me. She looks back, frozen with terror, but I wave my hands for her to run. “Remember what I told you!”
She hesitates just a second longer before she pounds pavement, and my heart tears in half as she runs out of view.
I can only pray that she finds someone who can help her… Someone who can keep her safer than I can.
This is my chance.
Jonah can’t chase us both, so I take off in the other direction to lead him away from my daughter. I don’t make it far before he grabs my ankles.
My body crashes against the cold, wet asphalt, and pain shoots through my arm.
“Help!” I scream into the morning air, but it’s muffled as his hand slaps over my mouth, and I’m dragged deeper into the alley behind a large, green dumpster.
I can’t let this be the last time I see my daughter alive. I can’t let Michael win…
Giving it my all, my fist balls, and I swing, making contact with his mouth. Jonah stumbles backwards.
“Fine,” he muffles, wiping blood from his lip. “I was going to go easy on you, but fuck you, bitch.”
I have no time to dodge before his fist connects with my cheek. The impact rings through my skull, and I can feel it beginning to swell.
It’s becoming very clear that I can’t fight this man off just with my strength. I’m going to have to get creative.
My hand begins to feel around for something on the ground. Anything I can use as a weapon.
I gasp silently as my fingertips touch something cold and hard—a half-rusted tire iron forgotten in the empty alley. Without breaking my eye contact with him, I grab it and swing.
A small, satisfied laugh escapes me as I stand and stare down at the unconscious Jonah.
It actually worked.
A smile breaks across my face, and I begin to head back toward the main street again.
If I’m quick, I can catch up with Selena before she gets too far.
But a cold voice stops me in my tracks.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” The voice is deep, raspy, and rocks me to my core.
Fuck.
“Michael…” I whisper as I turn to face him. His blue eyes pierce right through me, sending a shiver down my spine.
There’s no one else on this planet who can make me feel so intimidated, so fearful with just one look.
Like I’m already dead, and my body just hasn’t caught up.
“Please… Please just let me go,” I cry out and begin to back away from him, but my back hits against something solid.
Looking up, I see another man, one of his thugs.
I’m not getting away this time.
This is the last time I’ll ever see Selena.
Tears roll down my face as a cloth bag is yanked over my head, leaving me blind to the world around me.
Two firm hands pick me up, and I’m thrown over one of the men’s shoulders as I thrash and kick my legs, doing everything in my power to break free.
Before I have a chance to scream, something crashes against the side of my head, and everything goes black.
Heel to toe slamming the pavement, Ben and I tore through the night as fast as our legs would carry us.
I hadn’t expected a rescue.
I learned early in life that the only person you can count on is yourself. As much as I hated to admit it, though, I was well into the frying pan before he intervened.
All I could do now was trust him and hope I hadn’t jumped straight into the fire.
Before I had a chance to react, he grabbed my wrist and turned down an unlit alleyway, nearly yanking my arm out of socket in the process.
Any other situation and he would’ve ended up with a black eye for his trouble—never in my life had I let a man put his hands on me without making him regret it, but if there’s one thing the bastard had going for him it was his mind.
He had a plan.
“Careful, stairs,” he grunted as he stopped me in my tracks.
I only nodded as he took his hands off of me.
I wanted an explanation, and I wanted to cuss him out for the ache in my shoulder, but that could all wait until we were safe behind locked doors.
He was too focused to notice the way my face screwed up with skepticism, but the situation only got weirder when he pulled a somewhat sticky key from beneath the insole of his worn-out boot.
When the tumblers clicked into place, he breathed a sigh of relief and pushed the door open.
He stepped in, motioning for me to follow, and against my better judgment…
Well.
It’s not like I had better options.
I let him lead me into a small studio apartment, my eyes scanning the room, looking for anything I could use for a weapon in case this went south. Ben saved me, but I still didn’t know his intentions—for all I knew, he could be working for a higher bidder.
Much to my surprise, the living room at least seemed fairly nice, save for the near jungle of potted plants that looked about as desperate for a drink as I was. Much to my delight, Mr. Barrett came strolling out of the kitchenette with a bottle of good whisky and two glasses.
My Hero.
“Nice place ya got here,” I mumbled awkwardly, taking a seat when he’d gestured toward the too-plush sofa.
Benjamin Barrett and I had spent most of our working relationship either at each other’s throats or avoiding each other completely. The domesticity of the moment felt alien, especially in contrast to what he’d just saved me from.
“S’not mine,” he’d said, so casually as he effortlessly popped open the expensive bottle with his roughly calloused hands. “This is my ex’s place.”
An unwelcome pang of jealousy made my heart clench at the mention of another woman, and I looked anywhere but him as he leaned over to pour my drink. “So… you come here often?”
He cracked his signature stupid smirk, but it didn’t meet his eyes this time. “Only when she’s not around.”
That was one more Red Flag.
“Hey, didn’t I just save your life? Don’t look at me like that,” he scoffed, however, the amusement that threatened to split his face into a full-on grin put a scowl on mine.
“Oh, my bad. Didn’t realize one good deed is supposed to cancel out you being a fucking creep.”
I could have knocked his eyes out of his skull the way he rolled them at me.
“See, that’s your fucking problem,” he sneered.
“My problem? I’m not the one breaking into my ex’s house to drink her booze with another woman!”
“There you go again, twisting the details!” He knocked back the remainder of his glass before slamming it back down onto the table with a loud clack. “You open your mouth and judge people before you know the whole damn story. Bratty little girls like you think that you can hide behind your pretty face and nothing you say has consequences—”
“Girls like Me?” I scoffed, my shoulders tense with annoyance and disbelief at what had just come out of his mouth.
“Yeah, girls like you.” He poured himself another drink. “But you know what? Maybe you’re right, because you’ve been nothing but a bitch to me since the day we met, and I still risked my ass to save you.”
My chest was heaving mad, but all I could do was sit there in stunned silence across the couch from Ben, who had sunk back into the overstuffed cushions to sip his whisky and brood.
A minute ago, I had wanted to tear his throat out, but the fact of the matter is, he did save my life.
“Why?” My voice wavered, my best attempt to be calm sounding strangled in my throat.
He grunted, shifting on the couch somewhat awkwardly, eyes suddenly preoccupied elsewhere.
“Why did you save me?” I demanded more than asked, conviction building in my voice.
He let out a deep sigh before fixing his gaze on me. “Because you didn’t deserve that.” He sets his glass on the table, much more gently this time, his hands shaking with what looked like rage. “I don’t like you, and you don’t like me, but what that piece of human garbage was going to do to you?” He looked lost, like he wasn’t used to being the good guy. “Nobody deserves that.”
It was a lot to swallow.
Benjamin Barrett was not a good man, and everyone knew that.
Hell, he knew that.
But lucky for me, even he had to draw the line somewhere.
“Hey.” He stood, pointing his finger at me. “Don’t you go thinking we’re friends now. Not five minutes ago, you essentially accused me of stalking my ex. There’s no whisky fueled heart to heart that’s gonna make things any less antagonistic between us.”
It was a strange kind of relief to hear him snip at me again, a splash of normalcy in this porcelain bowl of a night.
I smirked at him. “Okay, Scumbag, since you brought it up again… why do you still have the keys to her place?”
Bottle in hand, he leaned against the wall with an amused scoff. “Look, I’m not gonna sugarcoat it. I had this made shortly before we broke up.” He saw my mouth fall open and gestured for me to let him finish. “She’s gone an awful lot—lot of vacations. I keep tabs on when she’s gone so if I need a place to hide out for a while, I can sneak in here.”
Shifting uncomfortably in my seat, I took a nervous sip of whisky. “You’re not worried about her finding out and calling the cops?”
The fucker who thought he owned me had half the city’s police force in his pocket. I really couldn’t afford a run-in, and frankly, neither could Ben in his line of work.
He laughed, and I barely opened my mouth to cuss him out before he cut me off.
“Ash, this is my ex we’re talking about. Do you really think the kind of people who can call the cops hang around me?”
“No. No, they don’t.”
I let out a sigh of relief, finally letting my head fall back against the cushions.
I’d been running on pure adrenaline for so long now that having this time to relax made me aware of the heavy exhaustion weighing on my bones. It was tempting to settle in for a nap, but I couldn’t help catching my new accomplice staring at me.
“What are you looking at?”
He shoots me a smirk before knocking back a few glugs of the booze. “Maybe it’s the whisky talking, but you’re kind of cute when you’re not at my throat.”
My cheeks burned hot, but I’d also blame that on the whisky.
Barrett had a way of getting under my skin, but whatever this feeling was… I knew it didn’t mean anything.
I’d been through enough in life to be familiar with trauma bonding, and it never went well.
Both of us, clothes plastered in our own sweat and blood… We were out of place in this cute little apartment.
Domesticity didn’t suit us.
Still, the sour taste of an adrenaline-drunk fantasy was hard to shake from my mouth.
Almost as if he could hear my thoughts, Barrett handed me the bottle, resting his hands on the back of the couch behind me. “Don’t worry about it, I’m not letting that sick fuck get his hands on you.”
After a good long chug, I let the bottle rest in my lap and laid my head back between his hands. I gazed up at him. “How did I get here, Barrett? How’d I wind up this way?”
He froze for a moment, and I wondered if his chest was as tight as mine. When he finally spoke, it nearly broke me.
“I dunno, Ash, how do any of us?” He backed away from the couch, eyeing me in a way that was more gentle than I’d have thought the man was capable of. “Sometimes life just fucking sucks, and we don’t ever get to know why.”
In spite of myself, a sob tore its way through my throat.
I hated it.
I hated looking weak, and more than that, I hated looking weak in front of him.
Instead of mocking me, however, Ben just grabbed a pair of beers from the fridge and handed me one.
When I tried to take it, though, he didn’t let go immediately.
“We’re in this together now. We’ll figure this out, Ash. You just need to trust me.”
The car hums in idle as my eyes comb over the invitation one more time. This wooded, isolated drive doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.
The vellum is fine, with the invitation itself handwritten in red ink in a swooping, calligraphic style. The envelope itself was even sealed in a rich, red wax.
The address is more plainly written, and assuming this isn’t some kind of a trap—which I haven’t ruled out—I’m headed in the right direction.
Straight on the path to Briarton Manor.
My ginger curls cling to my neck in the humid Georgia air, but even wrangling them into a ponytail does little to ease the oppressive mugginess that makes me work just a little harder for every breath.
The real question is, why was I invited in the first place?
At first, I assumed it must have been some kind of mistake, but my name is unmistakably there, handwritten in those rich, swirling letters.
Abigail Cross.
I’m no stranger to mysterious letters, and my natural inquisitiveness has taken me to many strange places in my work as a private investigator, but there was no cry for help in this message, no promise of work.
Just an invitation to a party, signed by Camille Briarton herself.
Briarton is a name I’ve heard before, but only in the sense that the Briarton rosefields are the most prestigious supplier of roses across the United States—the kind of name a person hears a lot around Valentine’s Day, along with fancy jewelers and chocolatiers.
Staring at the wooded path in front of me, my lips curl into a frown.
It seems… odd that the nation’s premier rosefields would be through a path like this.
Typically, I’d expect that any business doing regular shipments would be on wide, clear roads.
Compared to my little car, I guess it’s not a stretch to see how shipping trucks can fit here, but still, even if the Briartons do have a system in place for keeping the roads clear, it’s still weird for a major national company.
An odd choice, sure, but it’s nothing compared to Camille Briarton inviting me, a complete stranger, to some sort of party at her family’s ancestral manor.
I’ve heard the woman is nothing if not eccentric.
Setting the letter in my passenger seat, well within reach in case I need it to explain what I’m doing on the property, I shift my car back into drive and head down the wooded road, each rotation of the wheels carrying me further and further from anything resembling civilization.
After nearly a half hour of driving, my mind starts to wander.
Maybe I’d taken a wrong turn after all.
Maybe this is going to turn out to be an ambush—lord knows I’ve racked up enough enemies over the course of my career.
But all doubt goes out the window when the woods open up into what can only be described as a vast sea of bright, ruby red roses, broken only by the stunning old mansion standing at the center.
My jaw hangs open in pure awe of it, my chest tightening with an almost eerie feeling of unreality as I take my time, driving slowly in case any of the field workers happen to cross the road.
The closer I get to the road though, the more I notice how strange the place feels.
How empty.
I’d have thought a place like this would be swarming with employees, but I haven’t seen a soul, not even when I get close to the building, where I’d expect someone to tell me where to park.
There is, however, a painted wooden sign directing me to a small parking lot, so I join the five other cars parked there.
Only five.
Either I’m early, or this is an awfully small gathering to be inviting a stranger to.
Outside of my car, dark clouds crowd the sky—it’ll rain soon, no doubt. My shoulders sag with relief that I got here before I had to drive in it.
Clutching my invitation against a gust of wind, I make my way toward the gates.
Still no one.
My hand hovers over the latch, before, out of the corner of my eye, I catch a small path leading off from the main house.
I shouldn’t follow it.
I know that.
But my feet move as if of their own accord, and soon, the gorgeous carved stone of a private cemetery comes into view, vines creeping along the ornate wrought iron fence.
My hand rests on the gate, used to letting myself into places I don’t belong, and my body jerks like I’ve been electrocuted when I’m startled by a man’s deep voice.
“Friend of the family?” He steps out of a big mausoleum, tall and broad-shouldered, with intense eyes.
He must be the groundskeeper.
“Not… exactly,” I admit, fully aware of the way his intense eyes narrow on me. “I was invited, though.”
“Invited to poke around the family cemetery?” He asks, taking a few steps closer to me. “Or are you just drawn to places you don’t belong?”
My lip threatens to twitch up into a grin—he has no idea.
I’ve made a career out of getting into places I don’t belong, and gathering evidence of things people would rather never see the light of day.
“Occupational hazard.” I smile, extending a hand for him to shake. “Abigail Cross, Private Investigator.”
He doesn’t take my hand.
In fact, his honey-brown eyes never leave mine, his stare searching for something that he’s not finding.
Maybe he’s more of a security guard than a groundskeeper.
That would make sense, with the muscles that stretch the fabric of his black shirt beneath the leather jacket.
“Well, Private Investigator… ” The words roll over his tongue, almost like an insult. “I’m not sure who invited you, but you’d best be careful.”
“Is that a threat?” My eyes light up with near manic excitement, noting the way the corner of his mouth turns up into something almost resembling a smirk.
“It’s a warning.” He turns the knife-edge of his hand toward the house. “Briartons have always kept secrets, lot of which they don’t want to see the light of day.”
“Well, it was a Briarton who invited me here,” I challenge him, holding up the letter for him to see.
“Camille Briarton,” he reads, shaking his head. “Can’t believe she’s hosting a damn party in the old place.”
“Is it that odd?” My brow raises, and I lean my weight onto one hip, trying to look casual, like I’m not salivating at the chance to unravel old family secrets. “I thought it was pretty standard for rich people to throw mansion parties.”
“Maybe for other families, at other mansions, but this place?” He shakes his head, staring at the Antebellum architecture with nothing but pure disdain. “If you knew even half the story of this place, you wouldn’t set foot in that building.”
“And how do you know so much, if the Briartons are such a secretive bunch?”
He lets out a scoff, with what I think is an edge of humor, before he extends his hand for me to shake.
“Name’s Beauregard Briarton,” he tells me as I take his hand, and he exhales through his nose—just shy of a laugh, when my eyes go wide with recognition. “Yep, this is my family, for what that’s worth.”
“Wow.” I swallow, feeling like a bit of an ass for making assumptions when I’m the one trespassing at his family’s resting place. “That’s quite the name.”
Beau Briarton, black sheep of the Briarton family.
He may be a Briarton, but it’s just as strange to see him here as it is me.
The media was all over Beau Briarton’s supposed fall from grace, but he’d disappeared almost completely from the public eye soon after, despite building his own empire on innovations in farming equipment.
It sounds like he didn’t know that Camille was throwing a party here… but that only makes me more curious to find out what he’s doing here.
He grins fully this time, like he’s taking some kind of sick amusement from my discomfort. “Yeah, that’s why most people who know me call me Beau.”
“Should I call you Beau?” I look up at him through my lashes, swaying on my feet just enough to look non-threatening, maybe even a bit flirtatious. Getting on someone’s good side has always worked out well for me when I’m working a case… Okay, so this isn’t a case, but there’s definitely a mystery here. “Beauregard is a bit of a mouthful.”
“Do you know me?” He asks, taking a step closer, close enough that he could touch me if he wanted.
“Maybe I’d like to.”
He leans in, so close that I feel his breath against my skin when he speaks. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”
Beau
“Maybe you shouldn’t,” I breathe into her ear, my blood boiling at the way her heart beats rabbit fast.
She doesn’t take a step back like I expect her to, but I’m not sure if it’s bravery, or if she’s rooted to the ground by nerves.
Instead, I step back, shocked by the amused curve of her lips, and the interest in her pale green eyes, rather than the intimidation I was going for.
Which isn’t necessarily a good thing.
This place, with its elaborate columns and many coats of restorative paint—now chipped and worn by the elements, has never been friendly to those inclined to stick their noses where they don’t belong.
If she sees that as a challenge rather than the glaring red warning sign it really is, she’s liable to end up hurt.
Or worse.
“If you’re Beau Briarton, then it’s my turn to ask what you’re doing here.” She grins like the cat that got the cream. “I have an invitation, but I and the rest of the world were under the impression that you’d broken off from your family.”
An answering grin tugs my lips at her audacity. “I have an annual engagement to keep.” I gesture toward the mausoleum behind me. “I come back here once a year to pay respects to my mother’s grave.”
Her eyes go moon-wide, and she has the grace to realize she’d intruded on a sensitive moment. “I’m so sorry—”
I can’t have her thinking too highly of me, though.
It’s dangerous, a woman like her getting involved with a man like me.
Briartons have always been wolves in sheep’s clothing.
A blessing and a curse I can’t shake, even after all these years.
“...And to make sure my old man stays in his.” My voice is low, rumbling in my chest with pure disdain and anger that I don’t have to pretend.
“I… Strained relationship, I take it?” Her tongue darts across her plush pink lips, discomfort evident on her face as she tries to avert her eyes from both me and the old graves around us.
“My father was the worst man I ever knew.” No sense in sugar coating it. “That’s why I left the family in the first place. Thank god Mom didn’t live to see it.”
Her lips press together into a thin line, and she nods, as if beginning to piece some puzzle together. “I lost my parents when I was young too.”
“I’d imagine that’s about where our similarities stop,” I huff, and she recoils like she’d been scalded.
I’m not such a dickhead that I don’t feel bad about the look on her face, but I’m not wrong.
For most people, the death of a parent is one of the worst things they go through in life—hell, it probably was for her.
For me though, as hard as it was to lose my mother, I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that the world is a better place without my father stealing breath.
I wasn’t kidding when I told Abigail that the Briartons keep dark secrets.
She probably thinks I mean the more traditional dark secrets of rich families whose wealth was established in the Antebellum South—racism, slavery, all associated abuses that southern estates like to gloss over.
But it’s different for us.
I tried to put a stop to it, but all it got me was blood on my hands, and a bad taste in my mouth.
The pressure of her hand on my arm makes me flinch back, and the concern on her face tells me I was doing it again.
Drifting so far off into my own world that I can’t hear what’s going on around me.
“I—Sorry.” My eyes focus back on her. She’s almost too bright, after falling down the rabbit hole of my inner demons. “I didn’t hear you.”
“I asked if you’re okay,” she repeats, her pale brow creased with worry. “It was like you weren’t here for a minute.”
“Sorry.” I clear my throat, my eyes flitting to the house I spent so much of my life in. “It’s this place—it has a way of bringing back memories.”
“Not always pleasant ones.” She swallows hard, giving me a small nod. “I get that, I really do.”
Do you really? I think, with no small trace of sarcasm, before I catch myself.
It’s not like I have a monopoly on pain, but it’s hard not to focus on my own when we’re standing in the place where all my family’s sins are dead and buried.
Including my own.
I nod, and if she thinks we’re sharing a moment, that’s alright.
What’s not alright is that she, with her inquisitive nature, is about to be thrown to the wolves.
What Camille was thinking when she invited a private investigator to the old house, I have no idea, but I do know that I can’t in good conscience let her go in there alone.
I’m inviting myself to that damn party.
Thunder cracks, and once again I’m pulled back into the present, and Abigail’s pretty face staring back at me.
“We should go inside.” I gesture toward the dark clouds filling up the sky, no doubt ready to burst into a summer downpour. “Unless we want to get caught in the rain.”
Abigail
“We should go inside.” Beau gestures toward the dark clouds filling up the sky, very obviously deliberately trying to draw my attention away from the expression on his face. “Unless we want to get caught in the rain.”
Beau Briarton, a mystery of a man, made that much more interesting by virtue of hiding things from me.
If there are dark secrets to be found behind those storied old walls, then it’s in my nature to sniff them out.
My eyes linger on him, studying as much as appraising as I gesture down the path back to the front gates. “Lead the way.”
In a shocking show of chivalry I hadn’t expected from him, Beau offers me his arm, brow half raised as though he’s challenging me, like he’s testing me somehow.
I wish I knew more about him, but as much as the media tried to theorize why Beau left the Briarton family, the man himself managed to fly under the radar.
Narrowing my eyes, I slip my arm through his.
There’s not a doubt in my mind that Beau intends to keep an eye on me, but that will only give me more of a challenge.
Where’s the glory in plundering old family secrets if there aren’t tight-lipped descendants trying to stop me?
A small smile slips onto my lips as Beau leads me toward the front doors—Nana and Nessa would absolutely love this, Ness for the aging but still sturdy architecture, and Nana for the promise of a good mystery.
While my cousin doesn’t share our love of discovery, our grandmother passed her insatiable hunger for the unknown to my mother, and to me.
Especially when she took me in after my mother’s accident, and my father’s… well, his untimely death. Nana’s stories about her fantastic escapades stoked a fire in me.
Once I get to the bottom of the Briarton family secret, Nana will be the first person I call.
Beau hesitates when we reach the doors to the manor, his eyes set into a hard stare that makes me wonder if he isn’t off in his own world.
My lips curve into a frown, recognizing that look of vacant dissociation. “Are you alright?” I ask, giving his arm a light squeeze.
“No,” comes his blunt response, before he exhales sharply through his nose. “When I left, I had no intention of ever setting foot in this place again.”
My brow furrows. “Then why now?”
He’s keeping an eye on me, of course, but will he say that outright?
“Need to know what Camille is up to.” He rolls his shoulders before taking my arm again. “Let’s go.”
As Beau reaches for the door, it occurs to me just how this looks.
I’m showing up on the arm of the Beau Briarton, who hasn’t set foot here in decades.
Whether or not I was hoping to make an entrance, I’m damn sure making one now.
Heads turn as Beau and I walk into the foyer, and I recognize all four faces staring back at us. What really stands out though, is that Camille Briarton is not among them.
Her husband and daughter, Joseph Millworth and Cassandra Briarton are here, and Cassandra’s eyes widen when her father whispers something to her.
“They’re talking about me,” Beau scoffs under his breath, the corner of his mouth turning up into a grin. “Can’t believe Camille’s little girl is all grown up.”
My eyes linger on Cassandra—dark brown hair, and a timidness to her that probably comes from a lifetime of living in her mother’s shadow.
She may not have her mother’s platinum blonde hair or her unabashed confidence, but besides that, she’s Camille’s spitting image, every inch the Briarton.
“You’ve never met her?”
“She was just a baby when I left the family.” Beau shakes his head, and Cassandra quickly looks away from us. “Not surprised she doesn’t remember me.”
“And Joseph?” It’s hard to believe someone as bland and borderline pastoral as Joseph Millworth could be married to a woman as eccentric as Camille, but aside from his nervous demeanor, he seems to have nothing in common with his daughter, not if his wisp of straw blonde hair is anything to go by. “What’s the story there?”
“He married Camille for the Briarton family fortune, that’s for sure… his family was old money, but these days, they’ve got nothing but influence,” he explains. “Turns out, influence doesn’t pay the bills.”
“But why would Camille marry him?”
“You know, I never was sure.” He lets out a rasp of a laugh at that. “But I think it might have something to do with how easily she could control him. She’s always been like that—has to have things her way.”
“Aren’t most rich people like that?” I flash him a challenging grin, and he returns the gesture.
“You may have a point,” he concedes, his eyes sliding to the tall man, dressed in all black, his long dark hair hanging wild beneath his cowboy hat.
“That’s Elijah Dean Elkwood, isn’t it?” I watch the man take off his hat to run his calloused fingers through his receding hairline.
Even approaching sixty, the famous folk singer still cuts a starkly handsome figure—there’s no way I can leave here without his autograph. If Ness found out I met the legend himself and didn’t bring her back a souvenir, she’d kill me.
“Not surprised he’s here.” Beau nods. “It’s an open not-so-secret that my cousin has been in an on-again, off-again affair with him since they were young.”
“Oh,” I gasp, hand flying to my mouth. “So that song, ‘The Grave I Call Home’, is about her, isn’t it?”
“More than likely.” He turns his attention to the mousy woman standing near the staircase, tightly clutching her laptop. “Not sure who she is, though.”
“I can answer that—that’s Jennifer Castle,” I explain, a little too loudly, apparently, since her head snaps in our direction.
“Sure is,” she beams, striding over to the two of us. “Award-winning horror novelist, Jenny Castle, at your service.” Her eyes narrow as she leans in just a little too close to me. “And you’re Abigail Cross—a private detective of no small renown with none other than Beau Freaking Briarton on your arm! The plot thickens.”
“Investigator,” I correct her. “Detectives work for the police—that’s not my job.”
“Is that the only difference?” She asks, propping her laptop up in her arm, seeming to take notes.
“Well, I’ll get arrested if I get caught breaking and entering.” I shrug, earning a rumble of humor from Beau. “I’m more into solving mysteries than catching criminals.”
She raises a brow, turning her attention to Beau. “Like the mystery of what happened to Beauregard Briarton?”
“Apparently,” he scoffs.
Jenny nods to him, before looking back at me. “Maybe next, you can solve the mystery of exactly where our enigmatic host has disappeared to.”
“Not much of a mystery.” I tilt my chin toward the overlook atop the magnificent double staircase. “There she is now.”
A hush falls over the foyer as none other than Camille Briarton saunters over to the railing, draping her bony hands across it as her billowing white dress settles around her like a ghost.
She has the same honey-brown eyes as Beau, but there’s a chill in her gaze that sends a tremor down my spine.
“A pleasure to see that you all made it.” Her painted red lips split into a smile that doesn’t seem like it suits the harsh angles of her face. “How good of you to join me.”
This isn’t what I had in mind when my boss said that I was going to be working in New York. I’d pictured cities, high rise apartments, and claustrophobic, unwalkable streets that somehow, thousands of people managed to walk anyway.
The Big Apple.
But no.
Somehow, Mr. Jason Richards came up with the incredible plan to send me out to the middle of bum-fuck nowhere.
I can’t even see any civilization through all the trees when I see the sign boldly claiming that I am now entering Cain’s Hollow.
Calling Cain’s Hollow, New York a small-town would be a touch too generous, I think as my car cruises down the winding forest road. Never in my life have I seen a sign marked “Bear Crossing”, but I suppose it’s a matter of practicality when one’s path is in danger of being completely swallowed by the dense growth of woods.
Honestly, how Mr. Richards can picture our clientele making this journey is a mystery to me, unless he envisions building a direct flight hanger. Secluded country retreats are all the rage until the patrons actually have to drive to them. These people are used to city streets. All it would take is one downed tree, or an animal in the road, and suddenly they’ll think twice about coming out here in the first place.
The first building I see is an old barn, and I let out a weary sigh.
These are not going to be the kind of people eager to share their town with tourists, that’s for damn sure. And they certainly aren’t going to be thrilled that someone like me is driving my flashy rental car into town and trying to buy property.
My phone rings, disrupting the GPS display, and I huff as I tap the icon to put Mr. Richards on speaker phone.
“Jason, I swear to fucking god, if whatever toothless hillbilly you managed to get in touch with about selling this property tries to marry me off to his daughter, I’m turning right around, and the deal’s off.”
“Easy Eli, do you really think I’d send you across the country if I didn’t think this was a good business opportunity?”
His laughter on the other end of the line does nothing to ease my temper, but even so, I know he’s right. Even if Jason Richards can be a bit of an asshole sometimes, he doesn’t play around when it comes to his money and investments, so the cost of sending me out here to deal with the property owner in person isn’t something he’d bother with if he didn’t see the potential for profit in it.
“Yeah, maybe not,” I sigh. “But Christ—you could have warned me what a hick-town this place is. I’ve passed nothing but woods and acres of farmland so far.”
“Plenty of space for quiet contemplation,” he cuts in, and I can practically hear his smugness on the other end of the line. “It gets wild in the city, all the hustle and bustle… plenty of people just want to get away from it all.”
“So, what? You’re just gonna buy a plot of forest land and develop it?” There’s a healthy dose of skepticism in my tone—not too many people dare to tell Jason Richards how to spend his money, but we’ve been in business long enough not to bother with the pleasantries. “That’s a big financial hit if you don’t get much return on it.”
“See, that’s the beauty of it, my nitpicking friend. I’m not just buying a plot of land—the seller happens to be the proud owner of an old hotel, a few miles out of town. Used to be really popular back when this place was a tourist destination in the early 1900s.”
My stomach practically flips. “You mean to tell me that you’re buying some dilapidated old hotel, sight unseen—”
“Not ‘sight unseen’, ye of little faith,” he hastily assures me. “That’s what I’ve got you for.”
“Great,” I force out through gritted teeth. “Jason, I know you’re paying me a lot to do this, but I’m gonna be really fucking pissed if this turns out to be a—Fuck!”
As I round the next corner, a big black blur jumps out into the road, and I’m forced to swerve to avoid colliding with it head on. Shouting more obscenities as I’m tossed around, I try to protect my head as best I can until the car comes to a stop… lopsided in a fucking ditch.
“Eli! What the fuck was that?” I hear Jason shouting through the phone. “Are you okay?”
“No I’m not fucking okay,” I snap, waiting for the feeling that I’m about to lose my lunch to pass. “A whole damn bear jumped out into the road and I had to swerve to miss it.” Peeking out the window, I can see the creature meandering through the forest on the other side of the road—just great. “The rental car is in a fucking ditch, so I hope you’re paying for that—”
“Eli, breathe,” he insists, but to his credit, he does sound genuinely worried. “Look, let me call my contact. He’s got a truck—I can have him come give you a tow, and at least get you into town so you’re not sitting in the woods.”
“Yeah… that’d be great,” I sigh, trying to get comfortable in the now-awkwardly positioned seat.
He hangs up the call, and the first thing I try to do is scroll through my phone to kill some time, but with only a couple of bars of service, everything wants to load at a snail’s pace. Of course, out here in the middle of nowhere, I’m lucky I get enough service to call Jason, much less scroll through social media.
After about a half an hour, the silence outside is broken by the rumble of a truck, and I let out a sigh of relief. “Took him long enough.”
When the truck pulls up next to the rental car, the first thing I notice is how old and beat up the thing is—I don’t even know if it can tow this car without ripping the back bumper off of the truck. If this is the kind of vehicle Jason’s contact is driving, I’m definitely not excited for what that says about the hotel I’m supposed to be taking a look at.
The next thing I notice is that it’s not some old hillbilly that climbs out of the driver’s seat—it’s a woman. She’s not the kind of woman I’m used to seeing in the city. Her pale blonde hair is pulled into a long, loose braid, and she’s dressed modestly in a white, lace trimmed sundress, the color a little dingy with time.
When she smiles at me, the first thing I notice is her eyes. Such a pale gray that they’re almost white, with a sharpness that doesn’t quite match up with the sweet curve of her lips.
“You look like you’re in a bit of a jam,” she drawls when I roll the window down so I can speak with her. “I’ve never seen you around these parts before. Not used to country roads, I take it?”
“There was a bear,” I point off in the direction it had gone off in, but if it’s still nearby, I can’t see it anymore. “It just jumped out into the road. It was either swerve or hit it head on.”
She nods, like she understands, but if the patronizing look in her eye has anything to say about it, she probably thinks I’m some clueless city boy for winding up in this predicament.
And even if she is right about that, it burns being caught off my game like this.
“Well… my old truck’s not much good for towing, but if you’d like a ride into town I’d be happy to oblige,” she offers, running her fingers along the bed of her truck. “Not much out here but farms and forest, so I’d bet you’re going to the Hollow.”
“Meeting someone.” I nod, not wasting any time climbing out of the car, and head toward the trunk to grab my luggage. Between my wardrobe and laptop, my things are expensive, and I’m not about to leave them on the side of the road. “My boss says his contact is actually on his way down here to tow the car, but since I have no idea how long that’s going to take, I’ll take my chances hitching a ride with you.”
Her hum of amusement turns into an almost unnerving giggle as I load my things into the back of her truck. “Oh… I’m just a delicate little thing, what kind of danger could you be in with me?”
Alarm bells go off in my head at the way she says that, but I push them into the back of my mind as I climb into the passenger seat. After all, I’m not exactly a small man, so statistically speaking, she’s in a whole lot more danger picking me up than I am accepting her ride, especially since my GPS still shows that we’re going in the right direction.
Still… people are either really kind out here, or lack any sense of self-preservation, because inviting a total stranger into an enclosed space like this really isn’t the safest bet, especially this far from civilization.
“My name is Elijah, Elijah King,” I offer, hoping to at least assuage a little of my own unease by extending her some basic courtesy. “Thank you again for the ride.”
“I’m Adelaide Barlow—Addie, if you please—and it’s no trouble at all.” She pats my arm as she talks, before putting her hand back on the steering wheel. “So, Mister King… are you planning on staying in the Hollow long?”
I’m not used to strangers being so friendly right off the bat—women at clubs, sure, but not just random people I met literally on the side of the road—and her easy familiarity puts me at a social disadvantage.
There are different rules out here.
“That depends… see, I’m here on behalf of my boss to close a business deal,” I explain, careful not to tell this random stranger too much. Small-town folks can be extremely protective over their territory, and I don’t want to end up with a town-wide anti-tourism protest on my hands. “If it doesn’t go the way my boss is hoping, I’ll be driving right back to the airport and catching the first flight back home to Nevada.”
“And if it does go how your boss wants?”
“Well that… ” What is Jason going to want? Is he going to ask me to stay out here and oversee the renovations? That’s just what I need… “That’s a bridge I’ll just have to cross when I get there.”
Adelaide
“That’s a bridge I’ll just have to cross when I get there.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d think that Mister King here is hiding something from me. But it’s no matter—gossip travels fast in small towns like these, so I’m sure it won’t be long before I find out what he’s really up to.
After all, he’s wearing a suit that probably costs more than my truck, and men like him don’t come to places like this unless they’ve got irons in the fire, that’s for damn sure.
“Well… whether you’re here for just a few days, or a more… extended stay, I hope you find our little town hospitable.” The corners of my lips pull into a smile, and it seems to put him at ease.
“I hope so too,” he agrees. “I’d hate to have come all this way for nothing.”
“Oh, it’s not for nothing.” I pat his knee innocently, my hand lingering just a little too long, satisfied by the way his breath hitches. “There’s plenty of beauty here in the Hollow. I’m sure you’ll find something worth your valuable time.”
His tongue darts across the seam of his lips as he shifts in his seat. “I just might.”
It’s a good response, and I can tell by the way he not-so-subtly studies me from the corner of his dark eyes that my… friendly demeanor is a welcome surprise.
He’s a good looking man, with his dark hair, sun-kissed skin, and strong, rounded features. Certainly, he’s not from the Hollow.
And that’s just what I’m looking for in a man.
Whether or not Mister King is sticking around, I intend to sow my oats while I’ve got the chance.
He sits up a little straighter as we roll into the town proper, streetlights just starting to flicker on as the sun dips a little lower in the sky.
“So, there is a town out here.” He almost sounds shocked as his eyes remain glued to the windshield, getting his first look at the heart of Cain’s Hollow. “It’s… quaint.”
“Quaint,” I let out a laugh, startling him. “That’s city folks’ favorite word when they’re trying not to insult us hill-folk.”
“Was it that obvious?” He scoffs, but there’s a gleam of humor in his eyes, and his lips curve into a reluctant grin. “I promise, I was only trying to be polite.”
“And I thank you for it.” I squeeze his arm as we stop at the town’s one and only red-light, feeling the meat of his bicep. His eyes flick to my lips, before he forces himself to look back into my eyes. “I might feel some type of way about it if I gave you a lift, and you started openly badmouthing my town.”
“Your town?” He parrots, his voice just a little lower.
Men are too easy.
“I’ve lived here all my life,” I explain—but not too much. “Just like my father, and his father before him.”
He openly stares at me just a little longer before suddenly clearing his throat, turning his attention back to the road in front of us as the light turns green. “Yes, well… Jason—my boss—said I’m supposed to meet the contact at someplace called the Red Heron Inn and Tavern.” He speaks slowly, with just the barest hint of disdain as he recalls the name he’d been told. “Could you take me there?”
No doubt he’s used to five star hotels with the latest modern amenities… ain’t nothing like that around here. Other than the Heron, there’s only been one other hotel around these parts, and it hasn’t been open for business in a long time.
“Of course, it’s just around the corner from here.”
We ride the rest of the way in silence as I take him to his destination—a beautiful old building, emblazoned with a big wooden heron affixed to the exterior, freshly painted in a nice coat of red just last week.
“The Heron has always been a welcoming place for travelers,” I tell him as I park the truck in the lot around back. “We don’t get a lot of visitors, so their patronage is usually just locals having dinner or drinking downstairs.”
“Why bother keeping up the inn, then?” He asks, not-so-subtle scrutiny in his eyes.
“We do still get the odd tourist when the leaves turn in the Fall, and come holidays, people with family from out of town’ll put them up for the visit,” I explain. “It’s a real homey place.”
“Homey.” The word almost sounds like a curse on his tongue.
“Can’t imagine it’ll be what you’re used to,” I admit, the tension increasing as we sit together in the heavy silence of my truck’s cab. “But I’m sure we’ll be able to keep you entertained during your stay… one way or another.”
“Oh, I can imagine.” His voice has taken on a bit of a husky quality as his eyes linger on me, and I can’t help but smell the blood in the water. “You said your name was… Addie, right?”
“Addie Barlow, yes.” I nod, cracking open my door. “I should escort you in. Some of the folks ‘round here are… wary of outsiders. People will know to treat you right if you’re seen with me.”
There’s a sharpness to his eyes—the wheels turning in his mind, like he’s trying to figure out just how important I am in this town. He doesn’t know yet, I know that for certain. If he did, the name Barlow would have had more of an impact.
In any case, I doubt it will be long before he figures out on his own who I really am around these parts. I’ve got nothing to lose by keeping humble for now.
“How does the town usually handle outsiders?” His hand is on the passenger side door-handle, but he doesn’t open it, and his eyes narrow conspiratorially, like he thinks I might tell him some grim secret.
In time.
I doubt he’s ready for the extent of what the Hollow could offer him, not yet, anyway.
“Some folks just ain’t as polite as they could be.” Shrugging my shoulders, I hop out of the truck, and he follows. My eyes trail down his body, and back to his face, taking stock of just how out of place he is out in these parts. “And you… you stick out like a sore thumb.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he scoffs.
My lips curl into a demure grin. “Be careful who you say that around if you want a comfortable stay, Mister King.”
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