Chapter 11
I ’m just walking Ever up to the front door when “Never!” booms from the other side. Forgetting about the bags of clothes in my Bronco, I head inside with her.
Standing in the grand foyer, red-faced and slightly sweaty, is Arthur, glass half full of amber liquid in hand.
“My advisor just called. You spent thirty-one thousand dollars this afternoon.”
Thirty-one thousand dollars? On me? She didn’t let me see the total. I had no fucking clue that’s how much it was or else I never would’ve accepted all that shit. I mean the watches… They were pieces of art on my wrist. And the underwear… Those felt like they were made for me. But the tailor-made suits, and the shirts that felt like butter, and the…
Fuck. I can’t believe I let her spend over thirty thousand dollars on me. She made it feel like it was nothing though. She made me feel like I was…I don’t know. Worthy? For once. The way she looked at me… No, not looked at. Marveled, like I was someone worth marveling at. And the way she treated me. I felt like I was her equal, not the piece of shit people in her tax bracket tend to treat people in mine like.
For a split second, it felt like she could’ve been the girl from Hide and Keep.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t.
“I got a new dress for the gala,” Ever surprises me by saying. She did? I didn’t know that. I didn’t know she even glanced at the women’s side. She was in the men’s section or with me the whole time. Not once did I lose track of her whereabouts in that store, fully fucking aware she might slip out if I did.
“What about the dress you bought last month?”
She shrugs. “I didn’t like it anymore.”
“You didn’t like…” Arthur scoffs. “So now I’m out forty grand because you had to have the perfect dress?”
“I don’t have to go at all,” his daughter singsongs, her chin rising.
Eyes bulging, he sticks a finger in Ever’s face, making her flinch.
I automatically take a step in her direction, my hand at my side gravitating toward her elbow so I can yank her out of the way in case… In case…
Arthur Munreaux wouldn’t hit his own daughter…would he?
“You know how important this meeting is. You’re going.”
Meeting? I thought it was a gala.
Ever doesn’t blink, just stares her father down, that chin still lifted.
“Then I’ll go wearing whatever I want.”
“Mr. Brantley?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Tell me about this dress my daughter just had to have.”
Uh.
“She likes it a lot.” Right? Otherwise she wouldn’t be throwing such a fit about it.
“Will others like it?”
I don’t know why the fuck he’s saying others like that, but I didn’t see any fucking dress to know what anyone would think of it. Still, Ever could make a potato sack sexy.
“I’m sure everyone will love it, sir.”
“Everyone?” he parrots before leaning into his daughter’s space and saying much quieter, “Is that true?”
“Of course. They’ll all want to fuck me.”
In an instant, the motorcycle mogul’s spine becomes ramrod straight. “I’d sew your lips together if I thought it’d keep you from being so vulgar.”
I really dislike when he talks to her like this. It doesn’t sound like a real threat, yet it doesn’t exactly feel empty either.
“And kill me before the gala?” Ever beams like the prospect excites her.
Dying. Dying excites her. She’s basically a peppy Wednesday Addams.
“Don’t be dense, Never. A feeding tube could easily fit under a dress.”
“So could a man’s head.”
“Not while your executive protection agent’s around.” He gives me a stern look that I dip my head at.
I’d like to see a motherfucker try.
“He can’t be around all the time.”
“Given the new sleeping arrangements, he most certainly can.”
Ever takes an audible inhale, but exhales silently.
“You two will have to have dinner without me tonight. I have business,” he says, completely moved on from the insane amount of money Ever blew in a matter of hours.
“I’m tired. I’ll just eat in my room.”
As she attempts to pass him, Arthur does something that halts her in her tracks. Grabs her wrist maybe.
“Chef Koch is a world-renowned chef, not a fast-food fry cook. You will eat where he can see you enjoying his cuisine.”
“He cuts up fruits and vegetables for me. It’s really not that serious.”
“I don’t care if he serves you a single speck of salt, you will sit at the dining room table and eat it with a grateful smile on your face.”
With that, he storms out of the foyer.
Ever’s wincing when I step forward but is quick to school her features.
“Are you okay? Did he…” It didn’t look like he hurt her but…her body was blocking my view. Any man that can threaten his daughter with a chastity belt and a feeding tube, I wouldn’t put it past him to grip her too hard—accidental or not.
“It’s my shoes. They’re killing me.”
“Here. Take them off.” I hold my arm out for her to grab on to.
She bypasses me and my arm. “Not until I get to my room.”
“Why not right now if they’re hurting you so bad?”
“Haven’t you been paying attention?” She spins and walks backward with her arms out wide. “It’s all about presentation!”
The last word echoes off the walls and high ceiling, closing in around me like a boa constricting the life out of me.
Turning around, she mutters, “See you at dinner,” then glides up the stairs.
I wait until she’s gone from sight to go back outside and unload the bags, making sure to check each one. None of them contain a dress.
I’m the only one in the formal dining room when Ever enters. Edwin seated me with an explanation of how Chef Koch operates, then disappeared. Whether he’s lingering nearby or if he went somewhere else entirely, all I know is I’ve been alone ever since. There’s music floating through speakers set in the ceiling, so at least it hasn’t been silent.
Smiling tightly, Ever takes the seat across from me, her eyes stuck on the table between us.
Is she embarrassed? Because of her own behavior? Or Arthur’s?
To even the playing field a little, I glance around and ask, “Do we put in our order or…”
One small chuckle escapes her lips as she finally looks at me directly, amusement illuminating her face.
I don’t really care about making a fool of myself. As long as Ever looks at me like that, I’ll do it every fucking day.
“No, Major. Edwin should’ve taken your preferences when you were hired. That’s what the chef uses to plan each day’s menu.”
He did.
“I was pretty busy yesterday chasing after a car thief.”
“Thief? I was planning on returning your precious car.”
“You took it without permission. That’s a thief.”
“I never ask for permission. Only for forgiveness.”
Based off Arthur’s reaction earlier, I already suspected she lied about getting his permission for today’s shopping spree, but now I know she did. And she definitely didn’t ask for his forgiveness.
Or mine.
“I don’t remember you asking for my forgiveness.”
“Would you have given it to me?”
“I think…” I think if Ever asked, I’d forgive her anything. I shake my head. No wonder she’s so fucking spoiled. “We’ll never know unless you try.”
She tilts her head one way, then the other, either sizing me up or weighing her options.
Come on, Ever Munreaux. Bend for me.
The door from the kitchen opens into the dining room, ending the moment.
“Hopefully you like whatever the chef prepared for tonight,” Ever whispers just as Edwin steps through and lets in a man wearing a chef’s uniform and carrying two plates.
I shrug and unroll my napkin, draping it over my lap. “I’m sure I will. I’m not picky.”
“Only when it comes to matcha lemonade?”
Another involuntary shudder rolls through me, making Ever chuckle. That wasn’t me being picky. That shit was gross. There’s a reason sugar exists and I’m pretty sure it’s to make matcha lemonade palatable.
Standing at the end of the table, the chef silently eyes both of us. Since I ate what was in the guesthouse’s fridge last night, and he wasn’t around this morning, this is my first time seeing him. Wrinkle-free black pants, pristine white chef’s jacket, and ash-blond hair cut and styled in an Ivy League, he looks like he’s in his late twenties, maybe a year or two older than me, but completely at ease in this world—more than I ever could—so he was most likely born into it.
A tic in his jaw, he waits until Ever’s quiet to set one plate in front of her, droning, “Grilled chicken breast with a side of black beans.”
I also spot some sliced kiwi on her plate, the only real color on there. All she had this morning was a banana, so at least she’s getting some protein now.
My plate’s next with a much livelier description of, “Bourbon pecan chicken with roasted grapes, smashed potatoes, a sprinkling of rosemary sea salt, and a drizzle of truffle oil.”
Jesus fucking Christ, that’s the fanciest shit I’ve ever heard. Who roasts grapes?
“Uh, thanks.”
“My pleasure, Mr.—”
“It’s Crue.”
“Mr. Crue. I’m Ryan Koch. If there’s anything I can make for you, day or night, please don’t hesitate to come find me.”
“It’s just Crue. No Mr. So, you live here, too?”
“I do. I was out in the guesthouse up until yesterday.”
“If you miss the guesthouse so bad, I’m sure Father would let you move back out there. Crue’s already vacated it.”
“I’m finding I quite prefer the new arrangement. It makes me more accessible should you all require my assistance during the night for…anything.”
After a shrug, he returns to the end of the table while I try to figure out if there’s more to that last word. Is Ever fucking around with the chef?
He’s a handsome guy. Not exactly my type, considering he has a dick, but he’s the kind of guy I could see Ever go for.
His hands behind his back, he remains planted, staring at us soundlessly.
What the fuck?
I’ve eaten at restaurants before, none as upscale as the Munreauxs frequent I’m sure, but I’ve never seen one of the cooks leave the kitchen, especially not to watch me fucking eat. Taking her fork, Ever spears a single bean and bites it off the tines.
“Mm. Delicious.” Her tone is just as dry as Ryan’s was about her meal.
She could be trying to throw me off by intentionally being an asshole to him.
Or she could just be an asshole to everybody. Her actions so far have been extremely assholish.
Except today.
I cut off a piece of chicken, add a pecan as well as a wrinkled grape below it, then slather the whole thing in sauce before shoveling it in my mouth, my expectations high. Every single one of them is exceeded the second the flavors burst on my tongue, the different textures a whole other experience than what I’m used to. What is this?
“It’s amazing,” I mumble out before my mouth is even empty, earning a grin from Ryan.
He turns his head to Ever. “Now that you don’t have to stick to such a strict diet, Miss Munreaux, hopefully you’ll allow me the honor of feeding you some, um, more.”
Feeding her ? Does he mean cooking for her?
“So I can sound like Crue, moaning around a mouthful of food?”
“I didn’t moan,” I shoot back even though I have no idea if I did or not. I hope I didn’t. If I did, it’d be understandable. This guy’s skills are undeniable. Ryan Koch can cook.
“You moaned.”
I hold Ever’s eyes for a beat. I thought we called truce earlier. Why is she calling me out like this? The moan was obviously involuntary.
Those azure eyes drop to my mouth, making my throat go dry.
I have to clear it to tell Ryan, “It’s really good. Thanks, man.”
“Thank you . I’ll leave you two, uh, to… Yes. To it.”
With a clumsy half-bow, he leaves the room.
Maybe he’s not as comfortable as I assumed. Maybe he’s awkward as hell, his words even more so.
“What kind of diet are you on?”
“The kind that keeps me in the air and off the ground. I’d rather eat this…” Ever gestures to her bland food. “…than ass.”
I almost choke on my five-star food. I thought she was going to say mat. I’d rather eat this than mat . Not ass. That’s the second time she’s said something along those lines, but what does eating ass have to do with cheerleading?
“Probably helps you fit in dresses without trying them on, too.”
“What are you talking about?” Ever asks between bites.
“You didn’t try on any dresses today.”
“Yeah, I know. So?”
“You told your dad you bought one.”
“Oh, that dress. I special ordered it.”
That explains why I didn’t see it and why she feels so strongly about wearing it…but not why she just forgot all about it.
“Without getting fitted?”
She waves me off. “Thierry has my measurements on file.”
“They don’t change?”
“Not really. I have to walk around at a hundred pounds or less all the time.”
“A hundred fucking pounds? Just to look good in your uniform?”
“It has nothing to do with that. At least not for me. Flyers have to worry about the amount of weight we’re putting on our base’s wrists.”
“What’s a base?” She went over the different kinds of teams with me but not the positions on those teams.
“Have you ever seen cheerleaders perform?”
“Yeah. Everyone has.”
“No, I mean really watch them.”
“I’ve watched them do their high kicks and—”
“Oh my Goddess. You mean you glanced over at them on the sidelines throughout sports games. Let me guess, to look up their skirts, right?”
I shrug. “Maybe. I don’t know.” I definitely do because I definitely did. “Look, boobs. Belly buttons. Short skirts. Pom-poms. Clapping. Shouting chants. That’s what comes to mind when I think of cheerleaders. I don’t know anything about flying or bases.”
“That’s like saying all wrestlers do is lie on top of each other.”
“That’s mostly what we do.” We? “But they’re not just lying there,” I say, taking myself out of the equation. I haven’t been a wrestler in a long time. “They’re working simultaneously to get a pin and to not be pinned.”
She eyes me another moment.
“Well, that’s not all we’re doing either.”
“Really?”
“Clapping, shouting, and short skirts, yes. The rest, no.”
“No boobs?”
“Some girls have those, but I don’t. Most flyers don’t. Our body fat’s too low.”
My eyes find her chest. She’s got enough to fit my mouth around.
Jesus. I stuff a potato in that mouth, making damn sure I don’t moan out loud because I could. I swear to God the inside is as fluffy as a cloud.
“Okay, so what’s a base? And while you’re at it, what’s a flyer?”
“I’m a flyer.”
“Obviously.”
“So, I’m at the top of the pyramid. The one basically doing acrobatics in the air. A base is the person that puts me in the air. They lift me, throw me, and hold my stunts.”
“Does it hurt?”
“If I land hard, yeah, it can. But mostly when I fall.”
“How often do you fall?”
“Never.”
“Is that why your dad calls you Never?”
“No. That’d require him to actually know something about me.” She scoffs through a headshake. “He calls me that because I’ll never stop being a disappointment to him.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“Ask him yourself.” She shrugs like it doesn’t sting, but how could it not? That’s her parent, the only one she’s got.
I take my time eating some more. I don’t know what I’d do without my parents’ support, especially these past several years.
“If you don’t fall, how’d you get so many injuries?” She listed a fuckton yesterday and I’m guessing that’s not all she’s suffered.
“Being dropped. Other people falling. Being tackled by football players. A basketball bouncing off my head.”
I crack up.
“What?”
“A basketball? That kind of shit doesn’t happen to people like you.” Perfect people don’t have embarrassing moments.
“I swear. I’m surprised during all your online stalking, you didn’t come across videos of it. It was posted from, like, twenty different angles.”
“Remember, if I’m a stalker, so are you.” She fucking looked me up, too. What she read wasn’t even the whole truth but I’m sure she thinks it is. Everybody else does.
She’s quiet for a while after that, then softer, she asks, “What about you? Did your weight yo-yo? When you were a wrestler?”
“A bit. I did my fair share of cutting, but I wrestled in a class close enough to my natural weight that I didn’t have to go to the extremes some guys did to make weight. Because of that I never really gorged afterward either.”
“Were you any good?”
“You should know—”
“I didn’t look up everything. I’m not actually a stalker.”
“Neither am I.”
“Okay.” She drops her fork on her empty plate and leans back, crossing her arms. “Fine. Neither of us are stalkers.”
“Great. Glad we cleared that up.”
I go back to eating.
“And…”
I look up. “And…what?”
She rolls her eyes. “Were you any good?”
“Yeah. I was.” Really good. But one bad call and my entire wrestling career went up in flames. I’ve been sifting through the ashes ever since.
“Are you any good at cheerleading?”
I’m about to take a bite when she repeats my answer, just much quieter.
“Yeah. I was.”
My hand freezes partway to my mouth.
“You have another performance for this season, right? The Flower Fest?”
“Right. One more.” She covers her widening mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m gonna head upstairs to bed.”
“I’ll walk you up.” I stand before my plate’s even clean.
“I’m not going anywhere, Major. I really am tired. You can stay and finish your meal. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“I’ll walk you up,” I repeat. The best chicken in the world couldn’t stop me.
When we reach her door, she pulls out a key to unlock a different knob than the one that was there this morning.
“Where’d that one come from?”
Ever looks from the key to me. “Edwin didn’t tell you? He went ahead and had a lock installed after all.”
“No, he didn’t.” I don’t like that he didn’t. I don’t like that he went behind my back either. I said I’d do it. If I hadn’t been so busy earlier, I would’ve.
“Well, goodnight.”
Once again, she barely cracks the door before sliding through.
I stop her from closing it though, my palm flat on the thick wood.
“Just so you know, I removed the sensor off one of my windows, too.”
Do I believe she’s tired? Fuck yeah. We both slept like shit last night. But that doesn’t mean I believe she won’t try sneaking out.
“You planning on going somewhere tonight, Major?” While her tone is light, her expression is murderous.
“Only if you are,” I promise, then head next door.
I go straight to the window I took the sensor off and open it a few inches. It smells musty in here anyway. I noticed it when I got back from shopping, too. Probably from no one staying in it. Arthur told me it used to be Ever’s nanny’s room but that nobody’s been in it since Ever’s eighteenth birthday. That was a year and a half ago.
Butting the side of the armchair up against the corner of the window, I fall into it, the last couple days catching up to me. I hope to fuck she’s as tired as she says. Even if she’s not, I’ll be right here, watching for her. From this angle, I can’t see her window, but I can see if someone tries scaling the wall below it. I’ll be out mine and after her before she can reach the ground.
Ever Munreaux’s days of sneaking out are officially over.
Something is moving. Something is close. Something…isn’t right.
My eyes pop open.
Open? They were closed?
Shit! I must’ve dozed off.
Heart racing, I push to standing and wrench the window up the rest of the way. Sticking my head out, I see Ever’s window still closed. A scan below reveals no one. Nothing on the driveway either.
If it wasn’t her, then what was it? I sensed…something.
Lowering the window halfway, I settle back into the chair and scrub a hand down my face.
I thought I sensed something. I could’ve sworn I did.
Was it just a dream? Could’ve been.
Must’ve been.
When I pull my hand away, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye and look over to see a small…something…flying around the room. A bird? I squint through the darkness, straining to see it better. Its flight pattern isn’t like any bird I’ve ever seen and its wings… They’re almost like a bat’s.
My eyes lift, then the rest of my head. The ceiling is fucking moving. It’s moving .
It is a fucking bat. And it’s not alone.
One dips down close to my head.
“Fuck!” I run through the room, out the door, almost knocking Ever over.
Ever?
“What’s wrong?”
“What are you doing out here?”
“I heard you yell and came out to see if everything was okay. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Not a ghost. Bats.”
“Bats?”
“My room is full of them.”
“You’re sure? How would they have gotten in there?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her.
“They might’ve already been in there. No one goes in that room anymore, so they could have a whole roost.”
I gag, that fancy dinner threatening to make a reappearance. A roost. But wouldn’t I have noticed? It’s unlikely. I didn’t spend very much time in there today. And bats are nocturnal. They do all their activity at night.
“Shit.”
“What?”
“They could’ve got in through the window. I left it open.”
“Is it still open now?”
“Somewhat.”
“Maybe they’ll fly back out of it,” Ever offers.
“But how long will that take? All my shit’s in there.” My phone. All the new clothes Ever just bought me. Everything.
“We could try to guide them out.”
“What?” She would do that for me? I shake away the idea. “No, you can’t go in there. What if one bites you? I’ll go. Just…” I glance past her, down the hall. “I need something long. A broom, maybe.”
“You can’t use a broom,” Ever’s quick to say. “That could hurt them.”
“Hurt them ? Ever, they’re in my fucking room.”
“It’s not their fault they got lost, Crue . They could be on the endangered list.”
“My ceiling wouldn’t be fucking crawling with them if they were endangered.”
“Well, they could still be on a special concern list.”
“Special concern list?” She’s more worried about the bats?
“What? If they are, that’d look bad for my father.”
It’s not like I want to hurt anything. There are bats in my goddamn bedroom.
“Whatever. What about one of those skimmer tools for the pool?”
“It’d be in the pool house. But we’d have to turn off the alarm and I don’t know the code. I could go out my wind—”
“No.” I do not trust her to leave this house.
“Okay, well, I saw Edwin taking a net down to the basement once. I don’t know what it’s for but it had a long handle.”
“Show me.”
“I can go get it myself if you want to go open your window all the way and see if any will fly out on their own.”
“All right, yeah.” As long as she’s in the manor, she can’t go anywhere.
I face my bedroom door. With a warning to be careful, Ever turns to leave. After taking several deep breaths, mentally and physically preparing myself, I open the door and dart through to the other side, my head ducked low. I get the window open, then return to the hall, no Ever in sight. I wait for her for several minutes before going in search of her.
I saw Edwin taking a net down to the basement once.
That doesn’t mean he left it down there. Even if he did, she might need help locating it. If the basement’s anything like the rest of the manor, it’s huge.
Before I reach the stairs though, I’m intercepted by a silk-pajama-clad Edwin.
“Can I help you, Mr. Brantley?”
“Have you seen Ever?”
“No, sir. I’m just headed to the kitchen for a glass of water. Is…something the matter?”
“I woke up to bats in my room.”
“Bats?” He gives me a quizzical look but not a worried one. Bats are in the manor and the only person freaking out is me.
“Ever went to get the net.”
“The net?”
“Yeah, do you know where it is? She’s taking forever, so she must be having a hard time finding it.”
“The only net I’m aware of is the one in the pool house.”
“What about the one you put in the basement?”
“I apologize but I have no idea what net you’re referring to.”
“No, no, no, no, no.” I take off, back up the stairwell to our rooms, going to Ever’s first. I bang on her door, demanding, “Ever, open up.”
I try the handle with no luck because, of fucking course, it’s locked.
“I see you got her a lock.”
I glare at the valet wisely giving me several feet of space.
“What do you mean? She said you did.”
“I would’ve been happy to but it was my understanding you intended to.”
“Then who…” I glare at Ever’s door and pound both fists on it. “Ever!” She fucking lied about the lock. She lied about the net. What else did she lie about? Probably that special concern list bullshit.
It doesn’t matter. I don’t care what list those bats are on because they just made my shit list.
“You got a broom, Edwin?”
“Yes…” he drawls, the first bit of worry entering his tone since I ran into him. “May I ask what the broom will be used for?”
I thrust a hand toward my room. “There are bats in my room.” How many more times do I need to fucking say it?
“I’m afraid I’m unable to fulfill your request. Miss Munreaux would be very upset.”
“That you gave me a broom?”
“That I gave you a broom with the intent to harm her bats.”
“ Her bats? They’re not her bats. They came in through the…” That odor. The one I smelled before I even opened the window. It wasn’t there this morning but it was there after I’d been gone all day. Which Ever was with me the whole time…except when she wasn’t. When she was in her three-hour long class. That she got out of early.
I poke my head in my room and flick on the light. Among at least twenty dark, white-tinged-fur creatures are slim wooden boxes, the very ones I saw in the woods yesterday, now nailed to the top of my black walls, high enough up that I wouldn’t easily notice them unless I was actively seeking them out. Fuck!
Crossing the room over to my window, I spot her immediately. In the middle of the driveway, like an apparition herself, is Ever fucking Munreaux. She raises a hand to her mouth, kissing it maybe, but when she goes to send it my way, all her fingers curl until only the middle is up and she’s flipping me off. Twisting around, she takes off down the driveway, disappearing into the dead of night.
“Fucking bitch,” I mutter before climbing out after her.
By the time I make it to the front gates, she’s long gone.
“Motherfucker!”
Today everything Ever did, everything she said, every single interaction that transpired between us was a complete ruse. I can’t trust anything about her, not her words, her actions, nothing.
Ever Munreaux is a liar, a manipulator, and a cock-fiend.
And I fucking hate her guts.