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)
“BRB?” I arched my brows at her. “What are you—fifteen?”
She diverted her gaze from mine and sprinted to the bathroom, tugging my younger sister behind. “Be right fucking back,” she said too urgently, too rushed. The heat of her words flamed out. “Don’t follow us.”
Concern bludgeoned me. “Phoebe.”
“I’m serious, Rocky.” She slammed the door, but I caught her brown eyes right before she disappeared from sight. No hostility in them. She seemed panicked. It’s been bothering me, coupled with the fact that something has felt off with Phoebe this past week.
At times, she’s been more withdrawn. While other times, she’s hung on to me as if we’re in shark-infested open water together, drowning in the raging deep blue sea. Desperate, needy, starved affection—to ensure I’ll never let go.
I won’t release my grip on Phoebe. I can’t. If someone tried, they’d need to hacksaw both my fucking hands.
Her clinging tighter to me—not unusual, especially since we’ve been together for real.
Feeling her pull away afterward like she never meant to hold on in the first place—that’s new. I get the sense she’s scared about something, but Phoebe was taught to be emotionally brick walled and iron willed. Being vulnerable isn’t as easy for her.
I know this.
I know her. (Too well.)
Ignoring Nova, I take a harsh swig of beer. Replaying the past thirty minutes, I wonder what the fuck I missed before my sister and my girlfriend evacuated like the floor was lava. I hadn’t been dissecting them. I’d been glaring, stewing, over how Elizabeth Graves took it upon herself to share information about the Koning job with Varrick.
It even angered Phoebe, which honestly surprised me. I thought she would’ve made excuses, saying we need her mom’s help. But Phoebe has been really struggling to reconcile the Elizabeth who cares for her and the Elizabeth who betrayed her. Our parents would have to reconstruct the Titanic and hope it doesn’t sink to row their way back to me.
To reach the others, it’ll be much easier now that the truth is out and our parents are acting like this is some fresh start while they assist us in finishing the Koning job. It’s exactly why I’m more on guard. Protecting Trevor, Hailey, Oliver, Nova, and Phoebe is ingrained so deep in me, and the wider they open their arms to our parents, the more I want to step in front of them and take the blows.
But I can admit that Elizabeth, Addison, and Everett have been crucial for this con. Hell, Everett is still the staff manager at the Koning estate, and now that Claudia is gone, the godmothers have swooped into her social circle to take advantage of her grieving friends. Becoming closer, gaining more influence in the town.
I’ve accepted that the godmothers are assets to us as much as we are to them. Because if they weren’t involved in the recent job to screw over Claudia Waterford, then she would’ve never added Jake, her thirdborn son, to her will before she died.
Jake’s insufferable prick of an older brother only inherited half of the Koning estate, half the Koning properties, half the Koning fortune. There was a path where Trent could’ve owned everything, and if we walked that road, staying in this town would be a specific circle of hell I wouldn’t want to reside in.
I just hate that we might be playing this game from behind now if Varrick knows as much as we do. I hate that the godmothers can’t defer to us, even when we’ve been adamant they need to.
More than that, I hate that I might’ve let my aggravation for them cloud my awareness for the people I truly love. I hate that I’m standing here while something is clearly going on with Phoebe.
It’s driving me insane.
“She’s allowed to have some space from you.” Nova turns a page of his comic. “So give my sister some fucking space.” It’s a protective brotherly threat.
And I’m not nice. “Your sister who prefers to be choked out and superglued to me until my skin tears off—that sister?”
His glare is violent. “She wants to talk to her best friend privately for a minute. Let her.”
Jesus Christ. He’s still so wound up around the idea that I could be bad for Phoebe. I eye the bathroom, then him. “And that doesn’t worry you?”
“They’re friends and women, Rocky. We don’t need to always be a part of whatever they’re discussing.”
“I’m dating Phoebe.”
“So?”
“So, if something were wrong with her, I’d expect her to fucking tell me.” I grimace up at the ceiling light. “That’s not true, because your sister would prefer I morph into one of your silly little comic book characters and read her mind.” I flash him a tight smile.
His brows harden. Then he shuts the comic. “What do you think is going on? Is it Varrick?” Visceral heat blazes off his pinpointed gaze. And I thought the Big Bad Wolfe’s name pissed off me and Phoebe. Nova has been irate since learning he’s Varrick’s son. I doubt he ever wanted a father who’d be capable of murder. Nova loved Everett. Obeyed Everett. My so-called dad, who I would’ve traded in for a cardboard cutout of Shrek or Donkey.