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)
Jake smacks a hand to his chest. “We’d be more bonded if you stopped by more often.”
“Places to be. People to see.” Carter plops down on the cushioned seat beside me. I wish he’d sit five fucking hundred feet away. The urge to punch him is a desire I’m wrestling with. He reaches for my beer like we’re besties, but I pull away.
“You mean passports to forge,” I add bitterly. “Papers to counterfeit.”
Jake freezes midway into taking off his own peacoat. “You two know each other?”
“You know about his extracurricular activities?” I question with furrowed brows. What the fuck?!
“Yeah, of course,” Jake says. “He was counterfeiting money in school.” He pauses, then decides to share, “And he helped get Kate a new name, a new passport. She lives in the countryside in France. Once I pay you back for her horse, I’m hoping to send her Bowie.”
I want to inwardly groan, but I’m thrown at how much Jake is sharing. He’s hoping I’ll do the same, but the truth is glued to the roof of my mouth.
Carter claps his hands. “Koning, grab me a Koning, would ya?” He nudges my shoulder. “I love being able to say that.”
“You’re in a good mood for someone who just signed their death warrant,” I tell him coldly.
He gives me a look. “Who’s going to kill me? You?” He blows a raspberry. “Bruh, try to find someone who can make a better fake. I’ll wait.”
Jake doesn’t move toward the fridge. He folds his peacoat over the granite counter. “Is no one going to explain this?” He waves a hand from Carter to me like it doesn’t compute.
I take a bigger swig of beer. I’m on the bow of the Titanic and I see the black depths of the water ready to pull me under.
All because I trusted Carter.
I’ve never blown my own cover to anyone. I can’t even will the words to do it now.
“You think he needs to know,” I say to Carter, “then you tell him.”
Carter gives me an annoyed look like I’m the asshole. “You can trust Jake.”
“I don’t even think I can trust you anymore,” I snap at him.
Carter shakes his head, a flash of genuine hurt crossing his face. “You think it’d be better if I gave your sister a brochure to Antarctica?” he questions. “I know Victoria. I know the people here. I know Jake. Here I was, thinking if she wanted to risk pulling away from your parents, it’d be better to do it in a place with allies.”
He had a hand in this? He purposefully sent Hailey to Victoria? “Did you also give her a link to Jake’s loft?”
“I said it was a good place to rent. I knew the landlord.”
So it wasn’t random. This place. He led her here, knowing Jake would be here.
Does he also know why our parents wouldn’t want us in Connecticut?
I shake my head repeatedly. “Why not be up-front about it? What’s with this layer of deceit?”
“I was honest with Ailey.” His accent drops the H of my sister’s name and pretty much every other word with the letter. “Just didn’t tell her everything about Jake. Just like she never tells me everything about anything. We’ve got a system. It works. I knew she wanted a fresh break. She knew I had ties to Victoria.” He nudges my arm. “I even tipped you off that she’d be coming here so you could join her, too. Though, I think she knew I’d do that.” He grins. “Ailey’s too smart for the likes of us, really.”
I can’t picture their reactions at the loft. Nova is probably cursing at his steering wheel, though.
I knew my sister reached out to Carter to get new licenses for their new start. I didn’t know he was the one to suggest Victoria.
When my phone buzzes again, I’m more careful to check the text with Carter beside me.
Phoebe: Hailey is confirming his story. It’s all true.
She’s fast with another message.
Phoebe: Don’t be upset at her. She didn’t think it was something we needed to know.
Hailey withholding more than I assumed—it’s not an earth-shattering revelation. It’s not the first time she’s thrown us crumbs when she has the whole loaf of rotten bread. I can’t even be angry. Not when it’s what she was taught to do.
Give selective information to us.
She was our mom’s little protégée in planning and logistics, and she worked closer with the godmothers than she did with me and Phoebe. Now I wonder if they kept her close because they were afraid she’d figure out what they’ve done.
Unable to type out a lengthy response, I send a thumbs-up emoji.
Then I run a hand through my hair while Jake passes his friend a beer. He’s waiting patiently for his turn for answers. It’s almost annoying how, even under this amount of mindfuckery, he’s not bum-rushing to cut the line for an explanation.