Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
“Fuck,” I curse.
Hailey flicks off the dim lights on the ceiling, and as darkness shrouds us, a face beyond the window comes into view. He’s crouched down to the height of the car door. And he must be holding an umbrella since he’s not wet.
“Get in the front seat,” I tell her, just as he bangs his fist again. We’re alone in a parking lot past ten p.m. in a sleepy little town. I’ve seen more than enough horror movies to know what happens next.
Hailey crawls into the front seat through the middle console, and I join her, plopping down in the passenger. Just as she starts the car, the man follows to her side window and knocks again.
“I-I think I recognize him,” Hailey tells me while the Honda rumbles to life.
I tighten my gaze at the window, but I barely distinguish his features in the dark.
“You okay in there?!” he shouts over a boom of thunder.
“We’re fine!” I yell back, not rolling down the window to welcome his arm in our car. No fucking way. Then I look to Hailey.
She mouths to me, Varrick Wolfe.
What the fuck?
“It’s late!” he shouts, jolting us again. “Two girls like yourselves shouldn’t be out alone on a night like this!”
“Thanks for the tip!” I mouth to Hailey, Drive. Then I yell back to him, “Have a good night, sir!!”
Hailey reverses and peels out of the parking lot.
TWENTY-NINE
Rocky
“You’re not talking to him,” I reinforce to my brother, who’s currently putting on the immaculate green of a members-only golf course. Without loaded pockets, you can’t step a pinky toe here—can’t even bring a friend, so yeah, I had to cough up Trevor’s country-club membership dues.
Thankfully Jake did pay me back for the most senseless purchase I’ve ever made. Kate has Bowie the horse. I have my money. Jake has his heart. Everyone is happy.
Speaking of the third-born heir, Jake is a few feet away, possibly in earshot, while he switches to a putter at the golf cart.
My brother wears all white. Can’t remember the last time I saw him in a fucking Ralph Lauren polo. But I’m trying here, I’m really trying to be a better mentor than the two he had. Our “father” never taught Trevor some of the most basic skills to infiltrate high society…like golf. My kid brother didn’t even know the correct form to swing a club.
“Talking to who?” Jake asks, returning with his putter.
“Varrick Wolfe,” Trevor says casually. It’s only us three out on the green. The sun is rising above the hills, casting an orange glow over the course.
It’s been three days since Varrick stalked my girlfriend and my sister. I don’t know what else to call it, because he had to have been casing the Honda. Why else was he out there past ten fucking p.m.?
“He could hire me as his assistant,” Trevor continues. “I could tell him I worked for the Prince of Wales. I literally studied everything about the British monarchy when I was ten. He’ll be begging to employ someone who’s been in royal circles.” He taps his ball, and it misses the hole by a foot, sliding down a slope and into a sandpit. “Shit.”
Jake grips his putter with a gloved hand. “Why would you need to know about the British monarchy at ten?” He rethinks immediately and holds up his hand. “Wait—I don’t want to know.”
I square up next to my ball. “How could you have worked for the Prince of Wales, Trev? You’re a nineteen-year-old in your third year at Caufield.” It was already a point of contention which grade we were enrolling him in. He wanted to be a fourth-year senior, citing the fact that he’s literally been taking college courses since he was fourteen. But there’s only so many grades we can say he’s skipped before people start poking into Boy Genius’s backstory.
“It could’ve been an internship,” Trevor grumbles as he walks down the hill for his ball.
With little effort, I hit my ball, and it slides across the green and into the hole.
Jake politely pats his hand in a subdued clap. He’s the one who asked me to a five a.m. tee time. As if I haven’t had enough crack-of-dawn golf games with his brother. But that was the reason he invited me here. I’d mentioned how I hated golf, and Jake asked, “Did you hate it before you started hanging out with my brother or after?”
I was quietly reflecting on that question when he said, “He has a habit of making you hate the things you like. Come play a round with me tomorrow morning.”
He didn’t hesitate when I asked if I could bring Trevor.
This morning on the course, I realize that I don’t really hate golf. Trent was starting to make me think I despised it.
Besides Phoebe, I’ve never had someone like Jake in my life. I hate so much about everything—and to be reminded that there are things still left to enjoy…