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 all do.
“I’m saving for someone else,” I tell him, like this childish shit is beneath me. “Have fun with Jake.”
Whispers and commotion thunder around us, along with a wave of gasps and speculations.
“Who is he bidding on?”
“It has to be Valentina de la Vega, right? Isn’t she friends with Grey?”
Weston grows red in the face.
“Eight thousand,” Jake bids quickly.
Weston quietly shrinks back.
“We have eight. Do I hear a nine?” Katherine asks, and a wedge of silence eases tension in my muscles. It’s going to end soon. It’ll all be over.
“Going once. Going twice—”
“Nine!” All heads swerve to the new bidder, and I must be hallucinating. I have a mental Rolodex of townspeople here in Victoria.
I know all the main players.
All the people who’d have enough loose cash to throw nine grand on a fucking scavenger hunt to win a cheap trophy.
I’ve memorized names and faces and more information about this town and its inhabitants that would exceed a Wikipedia page.
And yet, the man who just bid on my girlfriend…
I don’t recognize him.
TWENTY
Rocky
“He’s back.” The hushed phrase has traveled from ear to ear, and I don’t need to ask Jake who the hell has caught everyone’s attention like the Queen of England dismounting from a Thoroughbred.
People whisper his nickname, one that was formed after Emilia’s death.
“The Lone Wolfe,” a lady says behind me.
“Is that really him?” her friend asks.
Jake shares a hesitant look with me. He leans in to whisper, “That’s Varrick.”
“I figured.”
“I can’t believe he left Stonehaven,” Jake says in a labored breath like he’s running a 5k. “Twelve thousand!” he shouts over the commotion, and I hope that’s the gavel. The end note.
“Twenty-one,” Varrick Wolfe says, too casually.
People shuffle away from him. His self-assured stance reminds me of every Wall Street broker I’ve ever met. His shit doesn’t stink. He could buy half the street. Nothing here fazes him.
He’s next to a marble planter filled with reddish-orange poppies, and a gaping path opens from him all the way to Jake, who’s beside me and the lamppost.
Everyone has a better view of this face-off.
Unlike Weston, Varrick has trained his focus solely on Phoebe.
My instincts buzz, and my blood boils. I do my best not to tense while I scan the length of him.
He’s white. Likely between forty-five and forty-eight. Fit, as if he wakes obsessively at five a.m. for a treadmill sprint and barbell presses. Clean-shaven. He’s well groomed with wavy, dark brown hair and moisturized, fair skin. Everything about him screams rich.
The fitted blue sports coat is designer. The matching slacks look tailor-made. But his wealth isn’t just in his custom wardrobe or the Patek Philippe watch on his wrist—one that reminds me of my father.
It’s the superiority he exudes—the calm arrogance as the commotion never disturbs his desires—and it has the town collectively holding their breath.
He is as magnanimous as they fucking envisioned him to be.
“Twenty-two!” Jake calls out.
“Twenty-three,” he states. He’s closer to the country-club tent, and in the shade, I see Claudia. I see Stella Fitzpatrick and a handful of other ladies huddled and sipping proseccos with newfound interest.
“Twenty-four,” Jake counters.
“Twenty-five.”
“You do know you’re bidding on my girlfriend?!” Jake shouts with bubbling ire across the square. He’s trying to protect Phoebe.
Varrick pretends not to hear.
I swear he’s fucking smiling.
My muscles are on fire as I root myself in place. I’ve stuffed my white-knuckled fists in my leather jacket.
Jake twists to me, and fear is ejecting from his gaze. He only shows me. Jake isn’t half bad at being secretive, and if he weren’t so in touch with his morals, he’d make a great lifelong con artist.
I’ll give him that.
Fear—he feels it because it’s not just the Konings who hold power in Victoria. It’s the Wolfes, and up until this moment, I doubt there was any person that could rival a Koning boy.
I slip him back a hardened look. We’re not letting this prick win Phoebe.
She looks disturbed on the steps of town hall. She’s avoiding Varrick’s intense eye contact and whispering to Hailey beside her.
“Is there another bid?” Katherine asks, eagle-eyeing her godson, Jake, for a response. She’s encouraging him to not give up, despite not being fond of Phoebe herself. Katherine genuinely loves him, maybe more than his own mother does.
“Twenty-six!” Jake shouts.
“Twenty-seven thousand,” Varrick counters. The low hum of whispers roars louder.
Leaning into Jake, I whisper, “Did you tick this guy off?” It feels personal somehow. Like a vendetta.
“I’ve never spoken to him in my life,” Jake says with a cautious side-eye. “Twenty-eight!”
“Twenty-nine.”
“Thirty!” Jake calls out, and as Varrick continues to stare down Phoebe, more unease crawls beneath my skin.
“Thirty-five thousand.” Varrick hikes up the price. It’s higher than anticipated, and Jake’s funds are tied up to the point where he couldn’t buy his sister’s horse.
Jake tries not to act flummoxed or panicked. He’s just vexed. “Thirty-six!”