"It's your way of lying without lying," Dean says, setting his fork down
and leaning back.
"How the fuck do you know me?" I ask.
"My father, who else," Dean answers me instead before directing his next
question to the man standing before the both of us. "You knew when I called
you and told you we were coming?"
A grimace crosses Viks's face, but he nods. "Yeah, I knew."
"What the fuck, man?" Dean explodes, his bar stool scraping back sharply
as he stands and rounds the island.
Viks shifts, changing from a man relaxed to a man with a darkness I
distinctly recognize because I've seen it in all of my boys. His face goes cold
as he stops Dean with a hand on his chest. Even as tall as Dean is, Viks still
towers over him. "Don't fucking raise your voice in my goddamn house,"
Viks says sharply, his tone even, his volume low. "You forget who the fuck
you're talking to, brother."
"Don't 'brother' me," Dean says, but his voice drops anyway. "You knew
about her which means he told you about her. What did he tell you?"
Viks's eyes skate towards me and I quietly set my fork down as well and
slide off the bar stool. "Dean." There's a warning in my tone, but if he hears
it, he doesn't react.
"Dean, if he's not telling you what you want to know then there's a
reason," Viks says.
I don't wait to see Dean's reaction to that comment. I march around the
island and grab his arm. "We're leaving," I state. "Thanks for the breakfast."
Viks eyes me as I yank Dean back, and by some miracle, he doesn't fight
me. The tension in the room ratchets up another notch, though, when Dean
lets loose an animalistic growl. Whether Viks knows what Nicholas Carter is
keeping from us or not, it's clear that Dean expected this morning's meeting
to go far differently than it has. Before I can open my mouth to reaffirm—
more to Dean than to Viks—that we need to get the fuck out of here right
fucking now—before he loses his shit—a feminine voice pipes up from the
hallway.
"Honey? Who's this?"
I turn and face a woman who looks like she just woke up. Big blue eyes
are half hidden behind massive round glasses and her mussy brown hair is
piled on top of her head in a bun that lists to one side. She moves into the
room, one hand on her back and the other on her slightly protruding stomach,
rubbing in an unconscious movement.
"We were just leaving," I say as she yawns.
"Oh?" she tilts her head to the side but doesn't appear at all disturbed by
the obvious tension in the room, my hand on Dean's shoulder, or the cold
looks that are passing between Dean and Viks. In fact, she doesn't seem to
care at all, especially not when she spots the food behind us. "Are those
blueberry muffins?" she asks excitedly and all of a sudden, her languid sleepy
movements burst into speed. She hustles over and shoves Dean out of the
way and into me, reaching for one. "Baby, you should've told me you were
cooking breakfast, I would've woken up."
Viks pulls his gaze away from Dean and me as I gape at the weird mousy
looking woman now scarfing down muffins like they're the cure for cancer
and she's got seconds to live. "You were up late," Viks says by way of
answer.
"So?" She turns and eyes us as she continues to eat. "Hi, Dean."
"Hi, Haley," Dean says. I glance between him and the new woman, not
liking the curdle of irritation in my gut one bit.
"Who's your friend?" she asks, turning her attention to me as she
swallows the last of her muffin. She gives me a polite, distant smile.
Viks moves up behind her, sliding his arms around her body and palming
her stomach. He's at least a foot taller than her and it's easy for him to rest his
chin at the top of her head. "This is Avalon," Dean says as I loosen my grip
on his arm. I move to take a step away, but I don't get far as he pulls me back
towards him. "My girlfriend."
Haley's eyes widen a fraction before her smile turns more genuine. "It's
lovely to meet you, Avalon." She glances up at her husband, but for some
reason, neither of them says anything. They just stare at each other for long
weird moments, as if relaying invisible, unspoken information until finally, I
decide enough is enough.
what?"
"Yeah, we are," he says, slipping his arm from around me. His words
don't match his fucking actions, though. Of course not, because that would be
far too simple, far too convenient.
Instead, he stands there for another moment, glaring at Viks before he
shakes his head and turns away. "Come back anytime, Dean," Viks calls out
as I huff out a breath and head for the front door.
"Not likely," Dean calls back. "At least, not until you can actually be
honest with me."
"Well, the invitation’s open," Viks says. "For you too, Avalon."
At the door, I stop and turn back, watching as Viks comes to stand at the
mouth of the hallway. "Don't count on it, Doc," I say.
14
DEAN
OF ALL THE PEOPLE IN THE WORLD, THERE HAS RARELY BEEN SOMEONE THAT I
trust as much as I do Abel and Braxton. Mitchell Vikson is one of those men
— was one of those men, I mentally correct.
My hands clench against the steering wheel as I drive Avalon and myself
out of downtown. I can feel her gaze on me. Her curiosity. But she doesn't
say anything. Or at the very least, she waits until we're on the interstate and I
can't as quickly pull off and shove her out—not that I would now. Maybe two
months ago, yeah I would've left her ass on the side of the road, but that'd
been before everything. Before I became obsessed with one pain in the ass
little girl.
"So..." she starts, "that's your … therapist." If I wasn't so upset by Viks's
reveal and his betrayal, I might find it amusing the way she says the word
like it tastes filthy on her tongue.
"Not now, Avalon," I say, my hands tightening even further on the wheel.
She snorts. "Oh man, if you didn't want me to start shit, then you
shouldn't have dragged my ass to see a therapist at the ass crack of dawn,"
she replies.
"It was nine a.m.," I remind her. Half past ten now, but I don't point that
out.
"Yeah? And?" she replies. "Did I fucking stutter? I said the ass crack of
dawn."
Releasing the steering wheel with one hand, I reach up and pinch the
bridge of my nose. God, I feel a fucking headache coming on and I don't
know how to slow it down. Well, I think, glancing at her out of the corner of
my eye as I release my nose. I can think of a few ways, but I doubt she'll be
so accommodating right now.
"What the fuck were you thinking?" she demands. "I mean, seriously,
explain your thought processes to me because I have no fucking clue what's
going on in that head of yours. Is it empty? A total mancave? Filled with
nothing but boobs and football and killing shit or is there actual, living
intelligence in there?"
She's on a fucking roll right now. "I was thinking that you needed
someone to help you deal with whatever fallout you've got going on right
now," I reply tersely. "Don't worry, though, you're not seeing Viks again."
And if I ever do, it'll be because I'm tracking him down to kill him.
There's a pain in my chest I don't feel like looking at too closely. Funny
thing is, Viks's voice suddenly fills my head. It sounds less like how he was
this morning and more like how he was in the past, all fucking serious and
questioning.
You sure you don't want to take a closer look? it asks. Maybe you'll find
something there. An answer.
I shake those thoughts off as I hit the blinker and shift lanes. "Well, are
you at least going to tell me who he really is? I don't believe he's a fucking
doctor of brain fuck ups. He's too..." She drifts off and never starts up again. I
don't blame her for her assessment.
Viks doesn't look like a psychologist. Hell, maybe it would make her feel
better if I tell her that he earned his certification and degree in prison. It's
partially the truth. Viks has always been a contradiction like that. Curious
about how other people's minds work, even as he is fully aware that his isn't
exactly screwed on straight. Then again, as he tells it, all psychologists need
some sort of therapy themselves. They can't just take on other people's
problems and act like it doesn't touch them. They're just better equipped at
hiding how fucking messed up they are from the world.
Unlike me. Unlike Avalon. We let our crazy hang out for the whole world
to see.
"He worked for my father," I finally say on a sigh. "He quit some years
back. Had an issue. He left the company and we kept in touch. That's all there
is to it."
"That doesn't seem to be all there is to it anymore," she says. "Sounds like
he's talking to your dad. He knew who I was."
I grit my teeth, the anger still fresh enough that I can picture myself
breaking the windshield in front of me with my bare fists. "I know."
"And those tattoos," she continues. "I mean, I can't fucking judge anyone
based on their life choices, but it does seem like there's more you're not
telling me. You wouldn't be keeping things from me, would you, Dean?"
Tires shriek as I rip the car to the side, cutting some asshole off, who
blares his horn in response. I don't quite give a shit. I take the next exit,
slowing down from eighty to fifty miles per hour. Avalon's gaze remains on
my face. She doesn't even flinch, the crazy bitch.
I pull off the interstate, cutting through streets until I find an empty
parking lot. I whip the wheel and come to a screeching halt as I cut the SUV
into park and yank up the emergency parking brake before turning to look at
her. I unclip my seatbelt and contemplate how to word this. I couldn't be
driving as I said this, I can't concentrate on both the road and her. It's too
hard. So, when given the choice, it'd been an easy decision. Just lay it all the
fuck out there for her and hope like fuck I don't have to tie her down to get
her to stick around. Because I will. Whether she realizes it or not, she's
chained to me now. She's mine. I hit the door locks just in case she decides
she doesn't like what I have to say and tries to run off.
"Avalon," I stare at her and she meets my gaze without a second's
hesitation, "you need to understand that my father's company—all of our
companies—though they're all old money and even though most of it is legit,
it's not all above grade."
Her stare turns irritated. "Are you shitting me right now?" she demands.
"You're telling me that your father is involved with illegal business?" She
scoffs and leans away from me, shaking her head with a derision that
surprises me.
"Yes," I say. "That's exactly what I'm saying. And for Viks, the capacity
in which he worked for us, it was … that side."
"Dean," she says, turning back to me, "do you think I'm a fucking idiot?"
"What?" I gape at her. "Fuck no. What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Then why are you acting like that's not something I can figure out on my
own?" she asks. "For fuck's sake, Dean. You watched me kill someone. You
buried the body. You, Braxton, and Abel. You didn't exactly act like it was
out of the norm for you. Did you think I wouldn't notice?" She shakes her
head. "I'm with a fucking idiot," she mutters. "God, are all men this stupid?"
"I..." Why the fuck was I surprised? A laugh moves out of my throat and I
turn away, shaking my head as more comes out. It bubbles up and just
rumbles from my fucking chest. I can't stop. It burns in my throat and hurts,
the laughter. In another way, though, it's kinda freeing. Shit.
"Are you done being dumb?" she asks when it dies away. It's almost
enough to set me off again.
"Yeah," I chuckle. "I'm done being dumb."
She eyes me. "I doubt it, but I'll take your word for it. Now, tell me what
was up with Viks. The truth."
"I really did just want you to meet him. He's my friend—or was …
anyway."
"How old is he?" she asks curiously.
"Twenty-nine, I think," I say.
She hums in her throat. "So not much older than you. Only like eight
years."
"Something like that." I rest my head back against the seat. "To be honest,
I kinda looked up to him as a kid. He started working for my dad about ten
years back. He didn't have the tatts then, got those later. Met his wife later,
too. He was wild when he was younger, but a fucking badass."
"You saw him as an older brother, didn't you?" she guesses.
I glance back at her. "How could you tell?"
Her lips press together for a moment before she shrugs and looks away. "I
had someone like that too," she admits.
She really does get it, then. How the fuck is that possible? How did the
universe drop this woman in my lap? She's perfect. Perfectly psychotic.
Strong. Impossible to deal with half of the time. Stubborn and sexy as hell.
"What happened to yours?" I ask, unable to stop myself. I want to know. I
want to know everything about her. Every small detail as well as the big
ones. I want to know more about her than even she knows about herself. I
want to be an expert in all things Avalon.
"She disappeared," Avalon answers through clenched teeth as she stares
through the windshield. I get the feeling, though, that whatever she's seeing
isn't right in front of us. It's far away. "She lied and said shit was fine and
then, one day, she was just … gone."
"Viks did that to me," I tell her. "A while back." Prison. I hadn't known it
at the time, but he'd gone under my father's orders. For what, I still don't
know. Whatever grip my father had on Viks's life, it is clear that he still has
it.
"But at least he came back," Avalon points out.
"Yeah," I agree. "But things aren't the same, as you saw today. He's still
loyal to my father." He always would be. I hate the fact that I might be right.
That my horrible thoughts might be true.
"He was just supposed to talk to you. I didn't know if you'd actually let
him, but I thought, just by meeting him, you'd … I don't fucking know..." I
scrub a hand down my face. Now that it’s over, I realize how stupid I'd been.
Thinking I could change Avalon—no, I don't want to change her. I just don't
want to see her break. There are so many things she's gone through in the last
few months. My head tilts and I look back at her, examining her face. She
scowls at me.
"What?" she demands. "What's that look for?"
"Nothing," I say on a sigh. "I'm sorry."
Her pretty gray-blue eyes widen. "You're sorry?" She scoffs in disgust.
"Shut the fuck up." She doesn't seem that upset anymore. At least she hasn't
stormed off.
I laugh again. "You're something else, baby," I mutter more to myself
than to her.
Her lips part as she's about to make her reply, but it's interrupted by the
shrill call of my cell phone. The bluetooth speakers pick it up and the sound
echoes all around us. I glance to the screen on the dash and hit the button to
make it a personal call and pull the damn thing from my pocket. I hit the
answer button and put it to my ear.
"Dean," I say.
"You need to get your ass down to Spearwood." Troy's voice fills my
ears. "We've got a fucking problem.
"What's wrong?" I demand.
"I think the woman is on the move."
"You think or you know?"
"Dean, you know there are no guarantees—not with the information
you've given me—or the lack thereof. I've been watching her like you
requested. I've stayed back, but I'm telling you now, if you don't get down
here—she's going to disappear and I think she's going to cause a whole hell
of a lot of trouble before she does."
I glance at a curious Avalon as she shifts in the seat. "Shit," I mutter.
"Fine. I'll call you when we're on our way. Do not let her out of your sight."
I hang up and toss the cell phone into the console before lowering the
parking brake and shifting the car back into drive. I reach across my shoulder
and reclip my seatbelt.
"Dean?" Avalon's voice fills my ears. "What's going on?"
"We need to make a trip," I tell her. I inhale. "And you're not going to like
it."
15
AVALON
DEAN WAS RIGHT. I DON'T LIKE IT. NOT ONE BIT, BUT THERE’S NO
complaining about it now. I stand at the back of my old dorm room as Rylie's
hands fly across her keyboard. Images fly in front of her screen for a fraction