Faking Cinderella (Small Town Sisterhood #3)

Chapter 1

YOU’RE NOT AS PREPARED AS YOU THINK YOU ARE

Rhys O’Malley, aka a man of many talents who has no idea what he’s about to walk into

If there’s one thing I learned growing up in the private security world, it’s to be prepared for anything.

Tonight, that means watching for deer, elk, and bear on the dark, winding mountain roads on my way to the cabin that my buddy Decker Sullivan shares with his two identical brothers.

Usually, being on high alert is my default.

Right now, though, I’m more tired than I should be, and it’s my own fault.

Should’ve stopped a few hours ago and finished the drive tomorrow.

But the idea of getting here first, before the triplets’ newly discovered half sister arrives tomorrow, was appealing.

Settle in early. Have time for a hike to decompress in the morning. Get firewood prepped if I need it. Never know what Colorado Septembers will bring.

Breathe for the first time in a few months. Solidify a few more plans for the private security firm I want to open on the West Coast.

Do a little more research on this woman who seems to have absolutely no internet presence.

Practice my surprised face for when she comes to stay in the cabin too.

That’s the story Decker asked me to use—that his secret half sister and I are accidentally both at the cabin at the same time, and I had no idea she would be there.

We’re playing it like it’s an accident that the triplets double-booked their getaway cabin because, unlike his two brothers, Decker’s pretty suspicious of anyone claiming to be family through that MatchDNA site.

Though, they’re the three guys who took the DNA test there in the first place to make sure they were related to each other.

Yeah.

Identical triplets, taking a DNA test to make sure they were related to each other.

I’m ninety percent certain they did it as a joke, but it had serious repercussions—they found out the man who raised them wasn’t their biological father.

They’ve been keeping that secret from him for a few years now, which means they don’t know if he knows, or if he doesn’t know they know, or if they all know but they’re just not talking about it.

Hence having a surprise half sister—presumably they share a biological sperm donor somewhere—is not the best news for my buddy, and he wants to know more about this woman without her knowing he’s looking into her.

And since I didn’t have anything better on my calendar—being chronically unemployed after being blacklisted in the private security field by my stepfather’s been a trip, let me tell you—here I am.

I steer my truck onto the winding driveway that leads to the remote log cabin that Decker and his brothers inherited from some relative on their mother’s side.

My shoulders are tight, my eyes are dry, and my ass is ready to be out of this seat.

After a couple switchbacks on the long dirt driveway, the cabin comes into view.

The moonlight cuts through the trees, adding to the illumination from my headlights.

All is dark.

Just as it should be.

I park beside the door, kill the engine, and grab my phone.

I’ll text Decker to let him know I’m here early once I’ve made sure the place is secure and I’m inside.

Like I said.

Always be prepared.

I’m too young for my joints to creak and pop the way they do when I climb out of the truck, but they care less about my age—I’m barely in my mid-thirties—and more about what I’ve put my body through in those years.

I grunt through the aches and head on foot to make a sweep around the log cabin in the chilly September night.

Moonlight’s bright enough tonight to detail the exterior log walls, dark windows, and the pinecone wreath hanging on the front door. Single-car detached garage door is closed.

Nothing looks out of place.

Not much out of place, anyway.

Decker told me he crashed here a few nights last week, which explains the work gloves on the unsplit wood pile and the maul left out in the elements.

The dude always bitched about having to pick up after himself.

Annoyed the shit out of me when we were in the Marines together, but he’s a good guy regardless of his sloppy habits.

I shove the gloves in my back pocket and grab the maul, then finish the circle of the house. I retrieve my bag out of the back of my extended cab and sling it over my shoulder, weariness taking over with every step up the small porch to the front door.

It’s time for my head to hit a pillow.

I hit the code on the key panel, and a bright green light flashes in the darkness while the lock snicks open.

Finally.

Here.

Time to rest.

It’s habit to slip inside silently, so that’s what I do.

I’m on high alert still—seriously, so fucking hard not to be—but apparently not high enough, because when I hear a click and the subtle sound of string snapping, I don’t move fast enough.

And even if I did, it wouldn’t have been in the right direction.

Because my instinct is to duck, but gravity has already won for the opponent I didn’t know I have, and I get a cold, wet spray of water that rains down on top of my head.

I’m so startled at being startled here that I do the dumbass thing and look up as part of my visual sweep of the room, maul gripped and ready, but when I look up, a drop finds its way into one of my eyeballs, and fuck me, that’s not water.

Water doesn’t burn.

What the actual—

Fuck on a flatbread, my eyeballs are on fire, and the scent of—fuck me again.

Whatever’s burning my eyes smells like my ex when she’d touch up her roots in the bathroom.

Bathroom’s too far.

Kitchen’s on the right.

Kitchen sink.

Need to get to the kitchen sink, rinse this shit out, and then I need to sweep this place and find out if Decker has a crasher or if Decker’s playing a prank on me, in which case I need to decide how long he has to live.

I take a step in what I think is the right direction, and a cloud of dust explodes in my face, going right into my mouth and nose and making me cough.

And then the voices start.

So many, many voices. Male voices. Female voices. Indeterminate voices.

“Intruder! Intruder!”

“I told you to get the hell out of here!”

“Where are your manners?”

“Bear! There’s a bear!”

I spin, dropping my bag but holding onto the maul, both of my eyes stinging now and my throat choking itself with the fucking dust. Flour.

Tastes like flour, shit shit shit, why is this place booby-trapped?

Where’s the kitchen?

I need a sink.

What the fuck is in my eyes?

“Detonation in one minute,” a mechanical female voice says.

“You’re gonna regret the day you were born,” an older dude’s voice growls.

“What the fu—” I cut off my own question as I cough again, maul handle gripped tight, poised to attack if necessary, while I try to squint through the pain in my eyes.

This.

This is why my body aches.

Because I take assignments guarding people who do shit like booby-trapping their own fucking homes.

“Decker?” I rasp.

And that’s the last thing I get out before a shadow looms in my peripheral vision and something thick and hard smacks me in the stomach as I’m twisting toward it, making me bend double.

“Get down,” a woman shrieks.

As if I have a choice.

Fuck me.

Can’t breathe.

Can’t see.

Can’t stop coughing, but also can’t breathe.

“Jesus fuck.” I grunt.

“Get down,” she repeats, voice high with panic. “How do you know Decker?”

The other voices have stopped, and I realize this one’s different.

This one’s here.

The others were recordings.

Shit.

Shit.

I don’t get my days wrong.

So either someone broke into Decker’s cabin, or his half sister showed up a day early too.

And she’s also paranoid as fuck.

Best-case scenario. Could be others. Crazy exes. Squatter. The third triplet invited someone to use the cabin too.

“Friend,” I gasp.

“That’s what anyone breaking in would say. Do you really know Decker, or do you just know he owns this place?”

The tremble in her voice is the only thing keeping me on the defensive instead of the offensive.

“Gave me—” I pause and cough my lungs out again, the burn still burning my eyeballs, before I finish. “Door code.”

“Decker gave you the door code?”

“Yes,” I wheeze. Fuck on a kumquat, how did I ever call myself a Marine? This is embarrassing.

Her voice is farther away. Still shaky, but growing more commanding by the moment. “Drop the fucking axe now or I’ll bash your brains in.”

I don’t believe her, but it doesn’t matter what I believe.

Have to quit coughing.

Eyes need to quit stinging.

Paranoia’s gonna fucking suck for the rest of this trip.

If I don’t bail.

Which I won’t, because this gig comes with a side gig that should be my way back into the personal security world, and I desperately need that.

Need a job.

Need to get back to my roots.

I drop the maul and hold my hands up in an I’m harmless gesture. “Found—outside—should be—put—away. Not weapon.”

“Who are you?”

“Friend,” I rasp again. “You?”

“Why are you here?”

“Decker—said stay.”

“Decker told you that you could stay here?”

“Yes.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“Did he consult a calendar first?”

Wait.

I know this voice.

Don’t I?

Or does she just sound like every other woman I’ve annoyed in my life now that the terror is leaving her voice?

It’s still lingering—there’s some squeaking in her words—but she’s clearly getting a grip.

My eyes are stinging a little less, but they still burn.

I can still see.

“Who—you?” Fuck me, I need to quit coughing.

“Until you’re the one holding a cast-iron skillet, you’re not the one asking questions. Ever been a woman in this world? Stay down.”

A cast-iron skillet.

She socked me in the gut with a cast-iron skillet.

Wonder what size.

I wheeze and cough while my eyes water. “Decker—prank—me.”

“Decker pranked somebody,” she mutters. “Hey, Lucky. So sorry to bother you this late, but I was just falling asleep when, ah, this makeshift home security system that I set up went off? And there’s a guy here who says Decker said he could stay?”

Okay.

Definitely the newly discovered half sister. Lucky’s one of Decker’s two brothers, and the brother who’s most excited about meeting a new family member.

She’s on the phone with him.

And she’s not supposed to know that I know she’s going to be here, but it would’ve been nice if Decker could’ve told me she was the kind to booby-trap a house.

Also, she probably took the bedroom.

Goddammit.

I start to rise. My eyes are back to being on fire.

“Get down,” she orders again, voice still high and tight and this side of shaky.

I cough out what I’m fucking determined to make my last cough of the night, and I squint through the fuzzy haze of my burning eyeballs. “What the fuck did you put in the liquid?”

“What’s your name?”

Despite the lingering fear in her voice, I’m starting to hate this woman. I hope she has deep, dark secrets that I can find and ruin her with.

And yes, I also have an unfortunate level of respect for this home security system she rigged.

Like, boner-level respect.

At least, I will in the morning.

If my eyeballs survive. And if a few hours is enough time for my pride to recover from being beaten so very thoroughly at my own game.

No one gets the jump on me like this.

Not physically.

Mentally and emotionally—shit.

Nope.

Not thinking about my stepfamily. They can suck the stinging end of a jellyfish for the rest of eternity.

“Rhys O’Malley,” I wheeze out. Gonna have a cast-iron-shaped bruise on my torso tomorrow. “Decker offered the cabin. Needed a getaway. Start a job here next week.”

“His name’s Rhys O’Malley,” the woman reports.

She’s somewhere in the room close enough now that I can hear Lucky burst out laughing on the other end of the phone. “No shit? Rhys is there?”

“That’s who he says he is.”

“Ask him how his fiancée’s doing.”

“Tell Lucky to suck my nutsack,” I rasp.

“Yep, that’s him,” Lucky’s tinny voice reports. “Sorry about this, Margie. I’m texting Decker, but he’s not answering. Because he’s an asshole. I know Rhys. You can trust…”

The rest of what he’s saying fades away, but the lights flip on.

And my cohabiter of this cabin—Margie Johnson, she says her name is—mutters a thanks, and then—

“Oh, fuck.”

It’s reverently whispered, like she knows she’s created a massive problem, but she’s also impressed with herself.

That makes two of us, Margie.

That makes two of us.