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)
Oliver waves a hand toward the sea. “Just admiring the view,” he says.
“Ah, yes.” Varrick takes in the landscape, the colorful buildings in town, melting together as it becomes a distant landmark across the water. “Your mother loved this view, too.”
His words are a calculated slingshot. Nova stiffens and drills a harsher glare into Varrick. I’m sure he’s seconds away from telling him to keep our mother’s name out of his mouth.
I say quickly, “Loved. Past tense. Are you referring to when you knew her in the eighties? Was this even your boat back then or did it belong to your mother-in-law, Emilia Wolfe?” While my words are casual, it’s hard not to smother the flame from my eyes. My gaze is full of accusations. I hope it screams, Murderer. Sinner. Fraud.
I might be the latter two, but I’ve never killed for what I have.
We are not the same.
Varrick slips his free hand into his pocket while hoisting his champagne flute. “Very sharp.” He sounds…impressed.
I cage my breath, waiting for the punch line.
He tips his head slightly to the left, and his eyes pass over me so quickly, so indecipherably that I know for certain—he’s reading my body language. He’s reading me.
“I’m not making a joke,” he says. “You’re asking all the right questions. Yes, this was the eighties. No, it wasn’t Emilia’s boat. It was her husband William’s. I would say may he rest in peace, but he was a wretched old man who beat the shit out of his wife and daughter. So may he rot in hell.” He lifts his champagne to his lips and takes a casual sip.
Oliver glances nonchalantly around the sundeck, and I follow his gaze with the same indifference, but I’m checking for eavesdroppers, wondering how Varrick can talk so freely. Is it sheer egotism keeping his confidence unchecked?
“We’re alone up here,” Varrick confirms like he’s inside our heads. “But I have no qualms with repeating those words to the stewards or bosun. They know I have little love for my late father-in-law.”
My fingers grip tighter on my water glass. “Seems like you have little love for the entire Wolfe family.”
He shakes his head. “Not all of them.” And in case we couldn’t follow the insinuation, he adds, “I have nothing against Brayden.”
Nova narrows his gaze. “And you think he can say the same about you?”
Varrick laughs, light in his eyes. “Of course not.” He stares down at the honey-colored liquid in his glass. “No, he knows the worst pieces of me.” Varrick looks at us. “So do all of you. This summer, in part, is about changing that. I’m not the Big Bad Wolfe I’ve been painted out to be by Everett, Addison, and Beth—because I’m sure they had plenty to say.”
“News flash,” I snap. “You painted yourself that way with the creeping around. You snuck up on my car outside a grocery store. Real great Michael Myers impersonation, by the way.”
He leans against the railing, forearm on the cool metal, and his eyes trail down to the other guests on the main deck. “Most people wouldn’t have noticed me, but the fact that you did was a testament to how well you were raised.” He turns his attention back to me. “It’s why I’ve invited you all here. I’m not willing to work with just anyone.”
“We’re not working with you,” Nova says.
For the first time today, this catches Varrick by surprise. It’s a split second. Nearly unreadable, but I see the shock cinch his eyes before he eases it off his face completely.
Oliver lets out a deep exhale. “Nova—”
“No, I’m not entertaining this bullshit,” Nova growls. “He just wants to use us.”
Varrick scans him. “And you can use me. That’s what a team is. Mutually beneficial.”
Nova pushes away from the railing. “You can take your mutual benefits…and shove them up your ass.” He stomps away toward the staircase, descending it out of sight.
Oliver winces. “He’s, um…yeah.” My brother tilts his head, then raises his flute in cheers before sipping.
Varrick arches his brows at us. “I’m guessing he was never a principal.”
My blood goes cold. He’s using our terminology like it’s his. Then I realize…it could have been his before it was ever ours. I don’t love that we could share more in common with him than half his DNA.
Varrick’s eyes flit between Oliver and me. “That’s what you still call the lead in a job? Addy and Beth created a whole lexicon that we used. It was quite clever, to be honest.”
I try to bury my interest.
I didn’t think he had leverage over me, but I realize now this is it. I ache for information. History. I’ve never been able to paint a clear picture of the past. Our moms kept it vague and hazy on purpose, but maybe Varrick can fill in the holes.