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)
If Phoebe Graves is considered stunningly beautiful, I don’t even know what you call her brother Oliver.
What I do know: he’s on the side of the street I need to be on.
Can’t avoid him forever.
With a deep sigh, I cross the road at an intersection, waving politely to Mr. Eddington, who stops his Mercedes for me. Picking up my pace in a slight jog, then I slow right beside Oliver on the cobblestone sidewalk.
I pry out an earbud.
Without looking at me or breaking pace, Oliver says, “The king has returned.” His smile inches upward.
I’ve stopped being surprised that the Graveses and Tinrocks have eyes in the back of their heads. They’re not just con artists. They are born and raised con artists. I’m still wrapping my mind around what that actually entails because they’re incredibly secretive about how they grew up. What they did. Where they did it.
“Quoting The Lion King?” I say, pulling out my second earbud, barely able to hear him over the heavy female vocals.
“You are the Disney prince.”
“And that makes you…what?”
He tips his head toward me. “Everything all at once.”
I find Oliver frustrating. At least I know that Grey (Rocky) is a raging, angst-driven asshole. I don’t know who Oliver is other than Phoebe’s brother and Hailey’s…friend with benefits, I guess.
“Everything all at once, huh?” I side-eye him while we keep a steady pace.
His smile slants higher. He twirls a set of keys on his finger. Keys to Hailey’s loft. Keys he shouldn’t have since she’s not supposed to make copies, and I know that because I’m her landlord.
She must’ve given them to him.
I take out the iPod Nano from my pocket to shut off the song.
He lifts his sunglasses to his head. Pushing back his thick hair, he sees the screen of the Nano. “Animal Alpha,” he names the band. “You thieve that from Hails or did she give it to you?”
“I wouldn’t steal anything of hers.”
“You should try.” He outpaces me, just to spin around and walk backward. He maintains complete eye contact. It’s impressive he’s not tripping or concerned he might bump into a chalkboard sign. “Hone your fledgling skills, Koning. Or would you prefer I pick up your slack?” He puts a hand to his heart. “I’ve been known to carry deadweight. Don’t take it personally, I like lifting heavy things.”
His biceps bulge in his short-cuffed black sleeves. I shouldn’t stare at his muscles—because it’s obvious he’s being fucking figurative. From what I know of Oliver, he’s all wit and charm, but I didn’t notice his strength—not until the night my mother died. When he shed his jacket and attempted to open a metal storm shelter at my family’s estate.
I try to hold his gaze and not outwardly size him up. “I didn’t realize I’ve been deadweight.”
“You didn’t feel me carrying you?” He cracks a smile.
“Just the opposite, actually.” My eyes flit down to his hands. His knuckles are scabbed over, some bandaged with butterfly tape. I’d been at that storm shelter…as he tried to break Hailey out with his fists.
He gives the keys one last spin before pocketing his battered hands. He jerks his head, making his sunglasses purposefully fall over his eyes. He’s a cool fucker, but I can’t tell if it’s just a front.
It shouldn’t spike my interest in Oliver, but I feel myself wanting to know more about him. Likely because he spends plenty of time with Hailey. I just need to know she’s being treated well.
He falls back to my side. “I’m guessing you heard about the letters.”
“Only because I got one, too.” I pull out the envelope from my back pocket and pass it to him.
He raises it to the sky, but the light isn’t bleeding through the paper to reveal anything inside.
I look him over. “Hailey said to wait to open it. We’re all doing it together?” I heard they each received one from Varrick. Oliver’s birth father.
We don’t bring up the relation or the sender.
“That’s the plan,” he confirms, reaching the apartment door beside Baubles & Bookends. He unlocks it, then gestures me forward into the stairwell with him. Once we’re inside, he whispers, “If you have the chance, always walk in front of the mark. It’s easier to eavesdrop when they’re behind you. Tips and tricks of the trade.” He pushes the envelope firmly into my chest, then pats it lightly.
I take the letter from his fingers, my muscles flexing. “Still trying to corrupt me?”
“Corruption or preparation?” He cocks his head in thought. “Or are they one and the same?” He hooks his sunglasses to his collar. “If Rocky taught Trevor even half of what he knew a whole lot sooner, then maybe our little psycho wouldn’t be straggling behind us, but like I said, I don’t mind picking up the slack.”
Rocky has offhandedly mentioned to me that he didn’t want his little brother to turn out like him. Which is likely why he’s been slow to teach Trevor the art of being a silver-tongue. He’s only just recently started taking him under his wing.