1. Levi
LEVI
I t’s with great sadness that we say goodbye to our dear old friend. A father . . . a husband . . .”
I fucking hate funerals.
Especially the cheap imitation of one.
My father’s casket lies over a hole beside my mother, though if I had my choice, he would have been tossed into the ocean. The bastard doesn’t deserve to spend eternity next to her.
I stand at the back of the crowd gathered around, listening to my sister and my aunt grieve a man who didn’t give a damn about anyone but himself. The rain sprinkles down overhead, covering everything in a fresh coat of moisture, but I’m past caring.
I’ve waited for this day my entire life, only now that it’s here, I’m finding I don’t feel the retribution I had hoped for.
In fact . . . I don’t feel anything.
The man who made my life a living hell is dead. He murdered my mother, tried to murder my sister-in-law, and otherwise fucked over every single person he came into contact with behind their backs with a smile on his face.
I’m glad the fucker’s dead.
So why do I feel so fucking hollow?
“William was a good man. He was dedicated to his work. Loved his family . . .” Or what we could provide him. “His children will miss him dearly, and it’s with that I want to say a closing prayer.”
Oh, great. The fucking customary prayer that comes at the end of every service. Dad was never a religious man. In fact, I’m not sure any amount of praying could save him from whatever hell awaits him on the other side.
Still, it makes people feel better because they want to send off their loved one with as much hope as possible, no matter how shitty that person was.
My sister still refuses to believe it. My aunt is beside herself, faced with the fact that her brother-in-law murdered her only sister and tried to destroy her family.
I watch them bow their heads, refusing to do so because he doesn’t deserve it. Death isn’t an eraser. It can’t wipe away your sins, no matter how you died.
I look out over the crowd, spacing out from whatever the preacher is saying. My gaze lingers on my brother, who stands across the tent from me, his gaze locked on mine. His wife has her head lowered beside him out of politeness, but Christian and I are on the same page.
Dad almost succeeded in taking Mila from Christian for good. He used our brother’s mental illness to unleash a monster on our family that nearly killed us all. It actually succeeded in destroying our mother.
The man was a fucking asshole.
Let him be an asshole while he burns in hell.
Christian is the first to look away, to the little blonde beside him, when she raises her head at the end of the prayer. He takes her hand and presses her fingers to his lips, and she softens only for him.
If you’d asked me five years ago if I thought my brother, FBI asshole extraordinaire, would be this fucking whipped for a woman half his size, I would have laughed in your face.
But when I look at the brunette beside Mila, whose soft green gaze finds mine across the tent, for the first time in my life, I’m finding myself jealous.
And I fucking hate it.
The Oak Ridge Lodge sits atop a cliff overlooking the valley below the Mount Baker National Forest. It’s beautiful this time of year, but I grew accustomed to it a long time ago.
The Cross Estate rests on the same three hundred acres as the Oak Ridge lodge, and right now, I’m avoiding it like the plague.
Parties were never my thing. They were Bella’s, my sister.
The dinner after my father’s funeral is just another excuse to celebrate the life of a dickhead who didn’t deserve it.
Call me crazy, but I have no desire to pretend any longer.
“Levi?”
I grit my teeth before I turn over my shoulder to find Bella standing at the edge of the terrace. She’s the youngest of the Cross siblings, and the only girl, but she holds her own. Running the lodge and otherwise being a holy fucking terror in Prada, day in and day out.
We used to be close, but now, I’m finding I’m not close with anyone. Maybe Christian, but he only gets as close as I’ll let him. Bella may as well be a stranger.
“What are you doing? It’s freezing.”
I shrug.
“I’m fine.”
She winces, and I can tell she’s trying to be gentle. Everyone has. Walking around me like I’m made of porcelain. Like I really give a fuck if the old bastard is dead.
He deserved to die. No one gets a free pass. Not me. Not Christian. Definitely not William Cross.
“Don’t be like this. Please, come inside.”
Fuck that. And listen to my Great-Aunt Marjory try to set me up with my cousins?
Absolutely not.
“I’m good.”
She huffs, and I can practically feel her roll her eyes. Too bad. Right now, I’m focused on the slight tremor in my hands and the need burning in my chest.
Why can’t she just walk the fuck away?
“Dad would have wanted you there.”
Ice slips through my veins. I’m this fucking close to losing my shit, and she just won’t let it go.
“Forgive me, but I don’t give a fuck what Dad would have wanted.”
“Levi—”
“I said, no, Bella. Fuck off.” I’m not usually this harsh with her, but she needs to understand that not all of us had the loving, gentle version of our father. She was his favorite, and he doted on her while the boys got the beatings and various other punishments, he found fitting.
She doesn’t know the man he was because he never let her see that side of him. Even when the veil did slip and she got a taste of just how much our father was capable of, she refused to see it.
Bella’s quiet, and I can hear the tears in her voice when she speaks. I just can’t find it in myself to care, right now.
“You don’t have to be an asshole.”
I don’t respond. I came out here to be alone. It’s not my fault she can’t take a fucking hint.
“Fine,” she says eventually. “But just know, you’re driving the wedge between us. Not me.”
And with that, she storms off back inside to play make-believe with all the rest of our family, who decided to spontaneously forget who William Cross actually was.
Alone again, I pull the flask out of my suit jacket and toss it back, drinking what’s left. A burn slides through me. I barely notice it, numb to the effects, but it brings about a calm I’d been searching for the entire day.
Fuck Bella. She doesn’t get to dictate how I feel.
If she wants to make a martyr out of the man who committed unspeakable acts against our family, then she’s as stupid as he is.
Fishing the pack of cigarettes from my pocket, I stick one between my teeth and light it up. I quit smoking months ago, and what I actually mean by that is I’ve lied and told everyone else I have, so they leave me the fuck alone about it.
I blow out a cloud of smoke and watch it hang in the cool Autumn air.
The sun is setting over the horizon, painting everything in shades of pink and orange.
Sunset is my favorite time of day, usually because it means night will fall and there won’t be a million fucking people wanting something from me.
Christian with his shit with Mila. Bella about Dad or the lodge. My Aunt Paulina about whatever the hell she can manage to come up with.
That other problem . . .
I’ve spent most of my life cleaning up other people’s messes. It’s what I’m good at. At night, I’m free.
I’m well and truly alone without a single fuck to give.
Except for when I catch a whiff of citrus in the air.
It’s not five minutes after Bella goes inside that the door opens again. My spine stiffens when I hear the footsteps behind me. I don’t even have to turn around to know who it is. The scent of her perfume is enough.
Silence hangs in the air, and like the meek little ghost she is, she searches for something to say.
I could almost chuckle, knowing if I were to turn around, I’d find her timid, her cheeks flushed a sweet shade of pink, and the prettiest goddamned eyes I’ve ever seen on the ground, instead of on me.
It’s almost too tempting. I know a trap when I see one.
“What do you want, Ava?”
I’m harsher with her than I should be. She’s gentle and soft to my rough edges. She wasn’t built for this world like I was. This is new to her, but I’m not her teacher, and I’m not her friend. I’m not anyone to her but someone whose name is on the house she works and lives in.
“I just . . .” Her voice is barely audible over the wind whipping down the cliffside.
She’s always so . . . submissive. Like she’s afraid to be seen. Unfortunately, for her, I’ve always seen her, and it’s turning out to be a real fucking problem.
“I know it’s been a rough day,” she continues, completely oblivious. “I wanted to check on you and see how you’re feeling.”
I can’t help but chuckle darkly under my breath. The lamb worried about the big bad wolf.
I don’t turn around for a long moment. When I do, I realize it was a mistake. She’s fucking breathtaking. My cock’s instantly hard in my slacks, and all manner of dirty thoughts slip through my mind about what I want to do to her.
The thought of pushing her down into the mattress, her legs clenching around my head while she cries out my name into the night—not God’s—now that’s something that could get addictive.
Fucking hell.
My gaze rakes over her prim and proper black dress. Soft waves fall down her back like rich chocolate. Perfect little body. Pouty lips.
Who the fuck am I kidding?
Ava Ryan is pure heroin. One hit is all it would take before I was hooked.
Which is exactly why I need to stay the fuck away from her.
A blush slips up her delicate neck and into her cheeks when my eyes meet hers. Instantly, she looks away—a bad habit of hers I can’t wrap my head around.
I hate how fucking perfect she is. Like she was handcrafted to ruin me. It would be so easy to lose myself in her for a few days until I’ve had my fill. Maybe then I could get some fucking sleep instead of wondering what the little ghost across the hall is up to in the middle of the night.
I grit my teeth, blowing out a cloud of smoke around my cigarette.
She can’t see this . . . side of me. This disturbed, broken, and unfeeling asshole that I try to keep hidden. The alcoholic former DEA agent, who spends his nights either drowning in whiskey or at the Tomb.
I know without a doubt, my jagged edges would be enough to scar her, and it’s exactly why I need to keep my distance.
“I pay you to clean my house, Ava. Not play therapist.”
The icy bite of my voice sends a shiver through her, and her mouth pulls into a frown.
Hurt crosses her pretty face, and her cheeks flame.
I ignore it before I do something stupid, like haul her over my shoulder and cart her upstairs to spend the night forgetting this fucking day.
Forgetting who I am while I’m buried inside her.
Sweet little girls like Ava aren’t good for men like me. I’m rough. Crude. I drink too much, and I smoke. She’s too innocent. Too soft for a man like me. I’d break her and hate myself even as I couldn’t stop because, like an arsonist to a flame, I’d be fucking addicted to the destruction.
Getting the good girl to be bad only for you?
Now that’s real retribution.
Ava is silent, unmoving in her place on the muddy cliffside. Poor thing walked out here in her heels.
Not that I care. It’s her fault. Always getting herself into trouble.
I’ve never met something so perfectly imperfect. Like something I wanted to break and cherish at the same time.
If she were mine, I would own Ava Ryan’s every breath. There’s not a thing on this planet I wouldn’t give her to watch her eyes light up with stars . . . and that’s a dangerous thought.
“Right,” she says, almost cheerfully, like she’s trying to cover up how much my words sting.
She still doesn’t meet my gaze, her eyes on the ground at my feet. From the moment I met her, she’s been this quiet, reserved girl. I want to see what it looks like when that timid shell shatters.
“I . . .” she chokes on her words, and I wait for whatever bullshit she’s going to say about my father. It’s been happening all day. Everyone offering their condolences. As if I didn’t celebrate with a bottle of whiskey just last night.
Ava swallows thickly, and finally, those green eyes meet mine, the fading sun making them shine in a way that sends an uncomfortable burn through my veins.
“Just know . . . if you need someone to talk to . . . I’ll listen.”
I watch her leave; my gaze trained on the center of her back. When the door closes behind her, I actually scoff out loud, laughing under my breath when the cigarette falls to the ground where I’d bit it in half.
Ava may think she’s helping me, but she doesn’t realize there’s more than one monster in this world she needs to be afraid of.
Soon, she’ll figure it out, and I can only hope that when she does, her hate feels as sweet as her kindness.