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)
We only chose to gather in one of the mansion’s bedrooms since it’s doubling as the surveillance area. Monitors, keyboards, and audio equipment are spread over a wooden desk and pushed against forest-green wallpaper.
Oliver spins on the office chair in slow, relaxed circles and slides a ballpoint pen behind his ear.
When I catch his gaze, I slip him a look like what is this?
He raises his hands, telling me, No need to panic.
Am I panicking? I’m staring at my best friend, who is death-clutching an old, musty hardback to her chest like she’s Gollum hoarding the One Ring to rule them all.
Thinking about The Lord of the Rings washes me with a wave of sad nostalgia, because we all binged the trilogy together at a Four Seasons, and Hailey and I agreed that Legolas isn’t nearly as panty-droppingly hot as Aragorn.
Simpler times.
Yet, still chaotic, considering we were in Chicago to dupe a trust-fund baby and his misogynistic friends.
Now, I’m here. Sitting beside Rocky after the hottest hello of my life. It feels like he’s still inside me, the ache and tenderness a weird comfort, and I’m simultaneously ready for everyone to find out we’re together and also terrified it’ll cause serious friction.
“Who’s we?” Rocky asks his sister.
Hailey draws a circle in the air from her to Oliver. Then to Nova, who’s bent over the desk, clicking a mouse, and checking the status of the camera footage. I’m shocked when her finger veers to Trevor. He’s practically hugging an antique dresser while wearing black Bvlgari sunglasses and a slim black suit. I watch him wobble.
What the hell? “Is he drunk?” I ask everyone.
“Are you drunk, PG?” Trevor retorts lamely.
“Uh, no. I’m sober.”
“Could’ve fooled no one.” He sways, about to fall over, but he catches a drawer and straightens himself up. Rocky is about to rise off the bed, but Trevor extends an arm to halt his older brother. “Stop. I’m perfectly proficient at standing.”
“Could’ve fooled no one,” I mutter under my breath.
He hears, somehow. “Go flash a crusty old man—”
“Knock it off,” Rocky growls.
Nova could’ve broken his neck with how fast he whipped his head back at Trevor. I’m not bristling at that stupid dig, but Nova narrows his gaze on him for an extra beat. With Trevor’s dark shades, it’s impossible to tell what he’s staring at.
Really, I’d bet his eyes are shut.
“And, ladies and gentlemen,” Oliver says, “that is what consuming half a handle of vodka in an hour looks like.”
Rocky lances a glare at him now. “And how did he come by a handle of vodka?”
“I had to stop at the liquor store.” Oliver opens his hands like there was no choice. “Trev was in pain and refused to take a pill.”
Trevor rests his face on his arm. “Do you know how much a Percocet sells for? I’m not swallowing money.”
“You shouldn’t be selling any drugs,” Nova says sternly, returning his attention to the computers.
“I’m not selling in Victoria.”
“I meant anywhere.” Nova clicks through the cameras again, checking for motion near the portico outside. “You don’t know who you’re getting hooked on that shit.”
“So?”
“I think we should focus,” Hailey interjects while squeezing the book. Her black nail polish is chipped. “We don’t have much time left before the godmothers and godfather get here.” Her cargo pants hang loose on her bony waist, and her cheeks seem more sunken since yesterday.
“Nova, do you have a protein bar?” I ask him.
He crouches down to a duffel bag.
“We-we need to focus, Phebs,” Hailey says, sounding frantic. “This is more important.”
Rocky is biting his tongue, because the last time he chimed in after me, Hailey acted like we were ganging up on her, and he has an easier time pretending not to care. I can’t hide my worry. Not for her.
“It takes two seconds to eat something,” I say gently.
“Please, just listen to me,” Hailey pleads, distraught and blinking rapidly like she’s struggling to see what’s up and down.
“I am, I am,” I say fast.
Oliver rises casually from the chair and rolls it over to Hailey. Her wide eyes land on him, and as he holds the seat out for her, she mechanically sits down.
“Leave her alone, Phoebe,” Trevor warns with no inflection in his voice. I get he’s protective of his sister, but I’m not actively trying to cause her more distress.
Rocky shoots him a hard look. “Stay out of it, Trev.”
He backs off.
I retreat, too. I nod her on and clutch my kneecaps, prepared for whatever bomb she needs to drop. “Let’s hear it, Hails.”
From behind her, I see Nova handing Oliver the protein bar.
“I’ve done a lot of digging about our births.” She pulls at her fishnet sleeves, a cropped black Metallica shirt over them. “And there is so much that doesn’t make sense.” She speaks to me and Rocky. “Like how our parents said the triplets were born in Dallas. I checked the birth records of every hospital in the city on the day Phoebe was born. No triplets,” Hailey concludes. “Then I expanded my search to the month. There were multiple full sets of girl and boy triplets born in May around Dallas, but none with two boys and one girl. Which means they’re lying, possibly about more than we can imagine.”