Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 234
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
Charlie has plopped down on the couch to read Far from the Madding Crowd—as if this isn’t a team activity. Tom thinks the color of the books matter and is meticulously rearranging hardbacks on a bowed, wobbly shelf. Eliot and Beckett hover over an ink-blotched map spread on the antique desk, while Harriet and I comb through the apothecary cabinet for clues.
“That went really horrible, sorry,” Harriet whispers fast, her gaze darting to the bookcase where Tom balances on a chair to reach the highest shelf.
“I think it actually went well.” I give her a slanted smile.
She crunches down on a hard candy. “You’re full of shit.”
“No, really.” I rifle through the glass vials in the apothecary cabinet, not sure what I’m looking for. “You stood up for yourself and you didn’t piss off any of my other brothers. Honestly, it couldn’t have gone any better.”
She expels a deeper breath.
I eye her. “That was weighing on you?”
“Noooo,” she draws out with thick sarcasm. “I totally came in here expecting to start a fight with Tom.” She makes a lackluster hoorah motion. “I even brought ammunition. Bombs. Knives. Brass knuckles.”
“Okay, Killer,” I say into a laugh.
Her lips quirk in an almost-smile. It’s hard to look away. Hell, it’s hard not to pull her away somewhere more private so I can try to eke that smile out more. I don’t get a chance to imagine it further because Eliot sidles near and hangs an arm over my shoulder.
“How are we doing?” he asks.
“Terrible,” I say seriously since we’re no closer to finding a key than we were fifteen minutes ago.
“Terribly amazing,” Eliot rephrases. “We’re Cobalts, brother. We can solve anything.” He gives my broad shoulders a motivating squeeze, then picks up a leather-bound book. He acts like its yellowed pages carry the answer for point-two seconds before chucking it disinterestedly over his shoulder.
It thumps to the ruby red rug. Beckett trains his eyes on the discarded book, then the crooked shelves where Tom repositions texts, then the several papers scattered over the antique desk. With tension in his hand, he lights another cigarette and leaves the mess to sit on the sofa beside Charlie.
I watch Charlie rise while reading, and without looking, he scoops up the fallen book and slides it on one of Tom’s shelves. “Your theory about the color isn’t going to amount to anything,” Charlie says. “Move on to—”
“Don’t tell me,” Tom whisper-hisses. “Dude, you promised you wouldn’t help until an hour in. What gives?”
“You’re taking too long,” Charlie sneers. “Hurry.”
Tom doesn’t see me staring, and Eliot has uncorked a cabernet. He drinks from the bottle of wine while making leisure laps around the parlor.
Yeah, only Harriet seems intent on figuring out how to open the padlock. She’s filling vials with a glittery pink liquid from a carafe, then balances them on a brass scale.
“We just got here,” Tom tells Charlie, not quietly enough. “You can’t solve this in under five minutes flat like last time. A—it’s no fun, and B—this is literally the only night we’ve gotten him to come out with us.”
Guilt returns like a sledgehammer.
Charlie is glaring at Tom like he’s the problem now.
“Chill, dude,” Tom retorts. “We’re all doing things we don’t want to do tonight. You think I love being locked in a room with her?”
Harriet isn’t listening. She’s now pouring liquid out of a bulbous glass vial.
My pulse beats harder in my ears.
“Your issues with her can be resolved in a handful of different ways,” Charlie says, “but you choose to harbor animosity because you don’t enjoy life without conflict. You and Eliot thrive on strife.”
“You are the main supplier,” Tom quips with an impish grin, never letting Charlie dig under his skin. “You hear that, Eliot Alice? Charlie’s got us clocked. We thrive on strife.”
“Trouble is empty without us,” Eliot decrees, then swigs wine and flips another book onto the floor.
Charlie looks thoroughly annoyed. Which causes Tom to grin even wider. “Don’t start a war you can’t win, Charlie Keating.”
“There is no winner in a war against brothers,” Charlie says plainly, and briefly, so very briefly, his eyes reach mine. It knocks me back a step, and I shift around, not sure what I feel other than this amalgamation of guilt, hurt, longing, and fear.
“Truer words,” Eliot golf claps against the wine bottle.
I move out of Harriet’s way so I don’t impede her pursuit of a new vial. My chest is tight, especially as Beckett shuts his eyes. Charlie sees him, then tells Tom, “Let me solve this—”
“Charlie, I’m fine,” Beckett cuts in, massaging his temple with the cigarette between two fingers. He opens his eyes on him. “We don’t need to rush out of here.”
“Isn’t that the point?” I interject, feeling their attention redirect on me. I glance from each of my brothers. “We should want to escape.”