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)
“How long have you two really been together?” Jake wonders. “Were you ever actually divorced?”
I think he believes we’ve always been married—that there was no breakup.
I tense. “It’s complicated.”
“It’s not that complicated,” Rocky says curtly.
I glare. “But it is.”
“Watch me explain it then.” He sets his gunmetal gaze on Jake. “She’s been everything to me for too many years. It’s been a marriage of both convenience and inconvenience. Of pure love and pure hell, and I wouldn’t give up one to have the other. They coexist unnaturally, but nothing about us has ever been normal. So you don’t need to scrounge around for a fucking term for what we are together because there isn’t going to be one bone-deep enough that fits.”
My eyes burn with emotion. My lungs swell. I bite the corner of my lip to keep a smile at bay, especially while Rocky has a dark threat in his eye toward Jake.
“Is that good enough for you, sweetheart?” Rocky asks him. “Or do you want me to throw her diary at you, too?”
“Like you would let me read it,” Jake quips back.
“I don’t have a diary,” I cut in. “That’d be careless in our line of work, and we have to be careful. Even now.”
“We’ll be careful,” Jake assures me. “You two have history, and I know I’m in the middle of it. So you give me the boundaries. I won’t cross them.”
Rocky and I share an intense look, and my pulse will not slow.
We’re really doing this.
“We’re not even sure how long this job will take,” I tell Rocky.
He adjusts his tight grip on his umbrella, staring deeper into me. “It could take a really long fucking time.”
“And you still want to do this?” If it’s torture for him, I’ll say no to Jake. We can find another way. I’d drive myself over the edge watching Rocky be physically close to another person that’s not me. Hell, that’s all we’ve done in the past. Torment each other to no end.
So I’m not surprised when he says, “Yeah, it’s what I’m used to.” After a crack of lightning, he tells me, “Some things are bigger than us, Phebs. But I am always, always with you. There’s never been a moment where I haven’t been.”
I breathe in the sentiments. “I know.” It’s why I’m also very willing to agree. This is about my best friend, his brother, and my brothers. And who am I if I’m not a team player? Who am I if I’m not even part of the team?
It’s been clear all six of us want what Jake is offering when we complete this job. And the idea of turning Victoria into a “fun zone” where we can pull a con had Trevor foaming at the mouth on the car ride here.
I don’t love being in the same camp as Rocky’s brother, especially when I’ve been toying with quitting a life of deception—but diving into a job and screwing someone over, it stokes a giddy anticipation, like I’m tiptoeing to the edge of a cliff.
“I might be an adrenaline junkie,” I tell Rocky.
His smile inches up. “You think?”
I smile back. “You aren’t going to say we’re one and the same?”
“Some things between us have never needed to be said.” That’s more than true, and even though we can’t touch in this cemetery, in this second, I feel Rocky all over my body in ways only he can be.
There is an electric feeling that yes, this will work between us. If not, we’ll beat against the obstacle until it does work. Come hell or high water.
We like living in that, too.
TWELVE
Rocky
The Berkshires.
It’s where our parents agree to meet us. We stagger our arrivals out of paranoia. Phoebe will be there first.
Then me.
Ditching the McLaren for this getaway, I ride a motorcycle I purchased not long ago, and I come upon a modest-sized mansion with white siding and black shutters. It’s situated in a thicket of orange trees. Farmland and rolling hills landscape the overgrown, weed-ridden grounds. No other house in sight.
A month ago, Nova Graves bought this seven-bedroom estate on five acres of land under an LLC he created from scratch. It’d been designated as a home base for him, Oliver, and me since we never agreed to Phoebe and Hailey’s path of virtue.
It’s an easy place to gather and plan a short con, so we agreed it’s a perfect location to meet the godfather and godmothers for dinner. All without the entire town getting a whiff of it.
Inside, I’m caught at something in the foyer.
“Jesus Christ, Nova,” I mutter under my breath.
It’s not stained or peeling wallpaper. The early 1900s mansion is in decent condition with scuffed floorboards and a musty old-house smell. It’s a fixer-upper, and maybe if it was used as more than a safe house, we’d collectively spend money to polish the brass.