Secrets of Mine (Of Mine #2)

15. Jude

15

JUDE

M y mind is racing a million miles an hour. The little, insecure kid in me wants to run away and it takes pretty much everything I have in me to let go of Freya and get out of the Mercedes.

I rest my hand on the roof of the car, drumming my fingers against the sleek black surface as I stare at the house, waiting for the others to gather our bags.

Louis, the driver, rolls down the window. He’s the only person I ever felt comfortable with while I was living at home and I’m about to leave him behind because my mother doesn’t allow him to set foot inside the house.

I never even tried to push her on that rule because she fires her staff quicker than Emily in Gilmore Girls . A show whose genius I’m slowly but surely introducing Freya to.

Louis is the longest standing employee my family has, and I honestly don’t know why he sticks around.

“Your mother told me to inform you your friends may stay in the guest house.” Louis works hard to conceal his wince as he carries out her orders.

I lower my hand and grip the edge of the window. “Doesn’t want the working class staining her precious glass palace?”

Louis clears his throat. “I believe their rooms have been prepared to the highest standard.”

I snort. They could have fancy mints on the pillows, but it doesn’t change the fact my mother views my chosen career as little better than me joining a motorcycle gang.

I smirk, imagining her reaction if she saw Freya riding her Harley. I force myself to take a breath and remember I’m a grown man now, not the little boy who couldn’t sit still in a classroom long enough to prove I was actually extremely bright.

River, Eli, and Oz can stay in the guest house, but Freya will be sleeping with me, in my room, whether my mother wants her to or not.

River comes around from the back of the car and passes me my bag. “You ready?”

Hell, no.

“Yep.”

Freya’s hand slips into mine and I grip it tight, threading our fingers together. “I could totally stab your parents,” she says.

I look down at her, my eyes bugged out.

She shrugs. “You know, if you wanted me to.”

A shock of laughter bursts out of me and Freya smiles shyly. It’s good that she’s joking, that she’s no longer afraid we’ll judge her for who her father is. I loop my arm over her shoulders and pull her into me. “Come on little psycho, I’ll introduce you to my folks.”

The five of us walk around the large water feature in the middle of the drive and up the white stone steps to the front door. If she hadn’t designed the house before it was published, I’d have sworn my mother modeled it after that vampire house in Twilight . It’s California rich with white walls and large glass windows. Lots of sharp edges and slippery surfaces just perfect for raising a wild kid. Side note: Apparently skidding down the hall in your socks isn’t suitable behavior for an Elroy.

River rings the doorbell and a maid I don’t recognize opens the door. The terrified look on her petite, pale face suggests my mother is in a vicious mood.

The maid tells us to leave our bags by the door and escorts us into the dining room where my mother is waiting.

She sits at the head of the long glass table, her legs crossed, sharp nude heels on her feet. She sips at her wine while scrolling through her phone.

“Hello Mom,” I say.

She waits for a moment before putting the phone down and turning to greet us. Her face curls in disgust as she takes me in. “A hoodie Jude, really? I’d have thought the FBI would at least require you to wear a suit?”

Hoodies and jeans were not allowed in this house. I spent my childhood confined to slacks, shirts, and polo neck sweaters which, in case you hadn’t guessed, is hell for a neurodivergent kid.

I bite my cheek to stop from saying just that and go instead with, “We’ve been travelling.”

She hums, a sound so drenched in familiar disapproval it still sets my hair on end. “And who’s this?”

I squeeze Freya’s hand. “This is Freya, my girlfriend.” I nod to the guys. “And these are my teammates, Oz, River, and Eli. Everyone, this is my mom, Sophia.”

My mom rises from her throne and walks over to us. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. How long will you be staying?”

I look to River.

“Only a few days I suspect,” he answers. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Elroy.” He’s the perfect picture of manners. Only another profiler would be able to see the tension in his neck, the threat in his eyes.

My mom nods. She looks a little older than she did the last time I saw her, but she’s got her blonde hair tied back so tightly it irons the wrinkles out of her thin face.

I always took a perverse sort of pleasure in the fact I look nothing like my mother. My father and I are a bit more alike, but Mom always insists he keeps his hair cropped short. Growing my afro was the first rebellion I had when I left for college.

“Where’s Dad?” I ask.

“At the country club. If you’d have given us more notice…”

I force a smile. “I’m sure I’ll see him tomorrow.” There was a fifty-fifty chance of him coming home tonight or even tomorrow. My father isn’t as bad as my mother, but he deals with conflict by making himself scarce. I gave up on waiting for him to come to my defense before I even hit my teens.

My mother purses her painted lips, nude to match the heels. “I trust you’ll keep the less glamourous parts of your job far away from the house and this family?”

Her words twist like a knife inside my chest. Even at twenty-seven it still fucking hurts that I’m such a disappointment.

Freya squeezes my hand and I swallow back the emotions, douse the anger that burns and spits inside of me.

I’ve worked hard to improve my impulse control. I’m not the same little boy with undiagnosed ADHD who used to rage against the confines of my parents’ world.

I could never deal with the way everything revolved around appearances. My whole life felt like a lie and being back here has me so far on edge I feel a foot away from falling off the cliff. I don’t think I can say anything in response to my mother’s comment without snapping at her, so I stay quiet and let River answer instead.

“I’m sure you’ll be grateful for everything and anything we can do to stop a serial killer from threatening your neighborhood.”

I bite back a grin at his taut response.

My mom’s smile is brittle. “Of course. You’ll understand if I retire for the evening. The maid will show you to your rooms.” She sashays past us, her heels clacking against the stone floor.

Eli grunts. “Well, she’s a fucking charmer.”

I snort and drag a hand over my face. “Oh my god, I hate it here.”

Oz claps me on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s go raid the fancy kitchen.”

Sadly, my mother doesn’t believe in junk food and the chef is off for the night so the best we can find is some oven-cooked tortilla chips and organic hummus. Once we’ve eaten our fill, River and Eli say goodnight and head out to the guest house.

Oz tidies away the mess we’ve made, leaving the marble surfaces gleaming, and looks over at me. “Your room big enough for the three of us?”

I quirk a brow at him from where I’m leaning against the fridge. “You in the mood to watch or share?”

Freya’s ears perk up, her eyes dart between us.

I crook a finger at her.

She bites her bottom lip and comes over to me. Before we left Oz’s she changed out of her dress from dinner and into a pair of skintight jeans, biker boots, and her leather jacket. She’s so goddamn sexy, sometimes I can’t believe she’s mine.

I turn her around and hook my arms around her waist.

Oz watches, heat flaring in his eyes. He shrugs. “Either. I just figured you could do with the company.”

I nod, forever grateful that Oz can read me like he does. “Let’s go.” I take Freya’s hand and lead her from the room.

Oz follows us out of the kitchen and back into the hallway. We make our way up the wooden floating stairs with their glass railing and up to my old room.

My parents had it redone into a guest room practically the day after I left for college. I was never really allowed posters or anything vaguely childish, but I’d at least got to choose the color.

Now it’s as white and sterile as the rest of the house. Cream curtains are drawn across the floor to ceiling window that looks out onto the pool in the back yard. On one side of the room there’s a white four poster bed and glass bedside tables, on the other sits a matching chaise lounge and doors leading to the walk-in closet and ensuite. It’s pristine and perfect and it makes me want to mess it up. I wonder how much damage we can cause.

I spin Freya around and back her farther into the room. My mouth descends on hers as I bury my hand in her hair.

Behind us, Oz closes the door, but I don’t stop kissing Freya. I bite her lip till she opens for me and I can tangle my tongue with hers. I drop my hands to her hips and pull her into me, grinding against her stomach.

She groans.

I bury myself in her like I can channel all the chaotic feelings into this. Into us. Into making her come apart.

Her hands find their way to my neck, and she tugs on my hair. “Jude, wait.”

I reluctantly pull back, not letting her go but not kissing her like I want to either. “I don’t want to wait,” I growl.

She strokes my hair. “Are you okay?” she asks, her voice tentative.

I run my tongue along my teeth, still a little distracted by her kiss-swollen lips and my heavy breathing. “No,” I grunt. “Now let me kiss you.”

She looks around me to Oz and whatever he does I need to thank him later because she whispers her consent and I slam my lips back down to hers.

I do not want to be here and the only thing that will make it better is being buried deep inside of Freya’s tight little pussy.