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)
We summered at Stonehaven to get closer to Varrick. So he’d believe we were desperate for his help with pulling the rope with Trent. So he would never suspect that we’d want to kill him.
The explosions in the sky, the commotion, the booze, the accidents—it’s all around us like it was ten years ago at a lake house somewhere outside of Boston.
The first time we buried a body.
We knew tonight we’d try to drown one instead.
FORTY-FIVE
Phoebe
“He’s going to be okay,” Oliver says.
“Are we sure about that?” I frown deeply. We both stand on the paint-chipped back porch of the seven-bedroom 1900s mansion in the Berkshires, the property Nova bought months ago. The same property the guys have used as a meetup spot for small jobs outside of Victoria. Morning light breaks across the rolling hills. Tranquil. Almost peaceful.
I’d say it’s picture-perfect pastoral imagery, if not for the six-foot-one brooding Nova Graves standing in the backyard with a canister of gasoline. He runs a hand over his buzzed head and cranes his neck back toward us.
“You know I can hear you both,” he says into a deep scowl.
Oliver steps off the porch onto the soft grass, and I follow him to our brother’s side. A large painting with an ornate gold frame sits on a pile of wood.
“We weren’t trying to whisper behind your back,” I tell Nova.
“Yeah, we’re not assholes.” Oliver stuffs his hands in his pants pockets, a smile in his eyes.
Nova blinks between us. “I’m fine.”
“It’s okay if you aren’t,” I tell him. “It’s only been three days since our dad died.”
Varrick Wolfe’s death was ruled an accident. No foul play. A final notch in the morbid fate of the Wolfe family. He was quietly buried in the plot next to his late wife.
Nova’s grip tightens on the gasoline canister. “You mean since I killed him.”
My heart skips. “We promised never to say those words out loud.”
“First and last time.” Nova turns to the painting. It’s not just any art. The oil painting is an original by William-Adolphe Bouguereau. It depicts the fight between a demon and a man who’d been a fraud. An imposter. Dante et Virgile was Nova’s favorite painting after he sold a fake to the Musée d’Orsay.
For him to wake up this morning and want to burn it panicked both Oliver and me. We forced ourselves into his car, and he complained the entire drive here.
The reality is that Nova protects all of us. Has protected us from the dawn of time. Every escape. Every last-second recovery. He’d been behind the wheel to drive us away from danger.
And three days ago, he was willing to die for us.
Rocky told Oliver and me what happened on the boat. How Nova was finishing the job in the only way he knew how. But if Rocky hadn’t pulled him out of the water…
My eyes burn and my throat becomes swollen. I just—I need Nova to know that we’re here for him. Whatever he goes through next, we’re going to protect him.
It’s our turn.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask as he untwists the cap to the canister.
Oliver pops a piece of gum in his mouth. “We could wrap it in cellophane. Bury it.”
Nova exhales and shakes his head before he dumps the gasoline onto the painting.
Oliver whistles. “Just so we’re clear, I don’t approve of lighting several million dollars up in flames.”
Nova doesn’t stop. “It’s too risky to try to sell it, and Rocky thinks it’s cursed.”
A gust of wind blows through. I hold down my minidress with one hand to keep myself from flashing my brothers. “Is that why you’re burning it?” I ask in confusion. “Because of Rocky’s superstition?”
“Maybe he has a point,” Nova says. “It’s a bad omen.”
“Rocky has a point?” My mouth gapes.
Nova sends me an instant glower. “You’re not telling your husband I said that.”
Emotion pools through me so viscerally. So suddenly. My heart swells.
Nova tilts his head at me, our eyes latched. “Phoebe…”
“You called him my husband,” I say softly, tenderly, holding on to this moment.
Nova sighs. “Let’s not make it a thing.”
“Oh, it’s already a thing,” I say.
“A big thing.” Oliver smiles.
Nova forcefully tosses the empty canister to the ground. “Isn’t that what he is to you?”
I inhale the crisp morning air. “Yeah, he is. I just didn’t think you’d acknowledge it.”
“I have two eyes.”
“And apparently a heart.” Oliver grins.
Nova scowls at the ground. “Maybe somewhere in there. But I don’t know…I don’t think someone with a heart would feel what I’m feeling.”
“Which is?” I ask in a soft whisper.
Nova lifts his head to meet my eyes, then Oliver’s. Sudden emotion hits him and his face breaks. “Relief.”
Oliver grabs the back of his neck, pulling him into his chest. I wrap my arm around Nova’s waist, and he spreads his arm across my shoulder. Our little sibling huddle is indestructible. Powerful. I feel ten years old again in the backseat of a car, smashed between them as we flee a city in the middle of the night.