Chapter 3 #2
Tipping my head back, I speak up to the ceiling, projecting so everyone hears me. “I didn’t live with her. And I don’t know where she is. Sorry I can’t help.”
Baldie counters immediately. “Neighbors say you lived there.”
“No,” I say with finality. My no is partly true and partly a lie.
During my first couple of months on campus, I stayed at Madelyn’s more often than not.
But I was never officially living there.
I gave her some money for letting me crash at her place whenever I wanted because freshmen aren’t allowed to have cars on campus, and I refused to be without mine .
I’m not surprised someone finally reported Maddie missing.
The last time I saw her, she was in trouble and said she was leaving Foxgrove.
In fact, she was the reason I fired the shot that wounded War.
She was fleeing some guys who looked like Russian Mafia, and I fired warning shots to cover her escape down an alley.
Dumb luck put War in the alley at the same time.
“So, you heard her.” Jamie starts to close the door on them. “No knowledge to aid your inquiries. Have a good night.” With that, the door shuts, and Jamie throws the deadbolt.
War turns to face me, his scowl dark and hostile. Typical.
“What?” I ask, trying to maneuver past him to get back to the guest room.
Continuing to block my way, he studies me. “Spill.”
My brows rise to match my mocking tone. “Do I work for you?”
“The police coming to J’s front door has to be reported to Crue leadership. C will want details.”
“Then he can ask me directly. Or I’ll tell Scott. Not you.”
His big hand reaches out to grab my upper arm, preventing me from backing away.
“War?” Jamie says.
War’s head turns slightly in the direction of my cousin’s voice. His burning grip releases me. To me, he says, “Come on. You’re gonna paint my costume on me.”
Not sure what makes him think he’s got a right to tell me what to do. I’m not just gonna go along with that.
Though, my whole body has started to tingle under his intense scrutiny.
What the hell, girl?
As he tugs me toward the kitchen, I spot cans of red and black body paint on the counter.
“I’m not helping you. You need a hand with your costume? Jamie can spray you.”
“No.” Without warning, his big arm shoots out and snags me right off the floor. I’m smashed against his hard, colossal body. Which is both infuriating and interesting.
“War,” Jamie says in a warning tone.
I’m not sure if Jamie knows what happened at the reception. If Trick gave him a heads-up and asked him to keep an eye on things, Jamie never mentioned it to me.
I shove against War’s shoulder, which pushes the fabric of his shirt up to reveal a softball-sized bicep.
War ignores my efforts and turns toward Jamie, still holding me around the waist. “C said to step up and take more of a leadership role here.”
“Oh, yeah? But by that, he meant with Crue operations, right? She’s not Crue.”
“Her t-shirts say otherwise.”
My breath catches. That’s a jab at the fact that I’ve got a couple of graphic T’s with the Crue symbol on them. One even has C Crue Baby printed in small letters in an edgy urban font. I mocked them up myself for fun.
War cocks his head to indicate Jamie and Sawyer should get out of his way, so he can take me past them.
“This is you taking a leadership role?” Sawyer asks. “What’s next? Tying her to a chair until she answers your questions?”
“She wishes,” War quips, causing my brows to shoot up.
War pushes past Sawyer, but when his left hand reaches for the door to the basement, Jamie blocks it. Jamie’s a college athlete and plenty strong, but against a cyborg, he doesn’t stand a chance.
War’s expression remains neutral, showing no signs of aggression toward my cousin yet. “J, you owe me. Remember?”
A look passes between them, and Jamie drops his arm. War pulls the door open and then grabs the paint from the table.
Jamie’s frown deepens as he looks at me. “We all know when C gave him license, he didn’t mean you, Ash. If you’re not good with this, ring Trick and he’ll sort it.”
I tilt my head, curious about what happened to make my cousin, who’s a good friend of mine, pull back from interfering. War must’ve done him a big favor to warrant it.
Cocking an eyebrow, I say, “Nah. I’m not involving my brother in this. But I do question your family loyalty.”
Jamie’s pained expression is something I only see briefly because War ignores our exchange and stalks down the stairs until he’s standing on the basement’s bare concrete floor. He sets me down.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I eye him warily. “You better hope Jamie doesn’t mention this to one of them. If he does, they’ll find out you ignored Scott’s warning from the reception.”
Before the wedding, War and I never let on to Crue leadership that we don’t get along.
Our animosity started out as a small, angry argument when the kids and I accidentally woke him up, and he bellowed at us and scared them.
Then, it turned into something else. A full-fledged battle that neither of us can let go of.
I tried a couple of times to cool things off and smooth them over, but War—who was the one really in the wrong—continued to give me a hard time.
So now, it’s on, and I give as good as I get.
“J won’t call. If anyone’s gonna snitch, it’ll have to be you, blondie.”
I bristle at the word snitch and scowl over the fact that he’s already figured out exactly why I haven’t said anything about his surly personality. There’s no way I’m gonna run to Crue leadership like a princess who’s gotten her feathers ruffled by the big, bad gangster. To hell with that.
Besides, War caught one of my stray bullets. I’d say we’re more than even now. It hit his thigh in a place that wasn’t super far from his testicle. I’m betting that proximity was not lost on him.
The thought makes me smile, and his eyes narrow at my smirk.
“Keep pushing me, War, and I will push back. ”
“Quaking.” His rough tone causes things deep inside me to stir.
I can’t explain it. The worse he is, the harder it is to let things lie. He’s not really that handsome. And yet, he’s gorgeous. It’s something to do with his size and the way he carries himself. When he’s around, my awareness of him is next level.
“Hearn. What’s the story?” He reaches back over his shoulders and grabs his black shirt to haul it over his head.
For fuck’s sake. His chest muscles are epic. I walk over to the spray cans of body paint, so I can stop myself from ogling him.
“What are you even doing here? You don’t go to frat parties.” My tone is terse and accusatory as I shake the can of crimson paint.
“If you know that, then you can guess.”
I cock my head, looking at him through my lashes. Does he mean he’s coming because I’ll be there? Or does he mean he’s going on C Crue business?
The Crue itself hosted an underground party a while back and made a fair amount of money. But it was pennies compared to what they make from other ventures, so I know they’re interested in a lot more than rave parties.
“Crue business?”
He ignores my question and instead holds up a three-by-three-foot stencil in front of his chest. “Spray me.”
I shake the bottle one last time and then spray through the stencil.
“Now some charcoal.”
After a moment, I grab the charcoal spray can and add some of that. When he lowers the stencil, it appears that he’s got red-and-black snakeskin.
“Hearn. Story.”
“Madelyn Hearn is a girl I went to high school with. She was a couple years ahead of me. We weren’t close or anything, but we traveled in the same circles.
Anyway, someone said she’d rented a house in Foxgrove, off-campus.
So, I reached out to her and offered to pay her some money to let me crash there whenever I wanted. Just so I could keep Billie with me.”
“Billie?”
“Wilhelmina. My Camaro.”
“What’s Hearn into that could cause her to go missing?”
“Who says she’s into anything? And who says she’s actually missing? She’s not enrolled in classes right now. If she did a snowbird escape, who could blame her? It’s been freezing here since Thanksgiving.”
“You don’t think she took off on vacation.” He says this as though he’s stating a fact. “You think trouble came looking for her, and that it was partly her own fault. Why?”
He’s a hundred percent correct, which is annoying. How the hell did he get such an accurate read on me? I’ve barely said anything.
“What makes you think I have any theories at all?”
War levels his dark gaze on me, saying nothing, waiting for me to squirm.
I do not squirm. Two can play the gangster game.
“The cops are onto your connection to this girl.” He points a finger at me until it touches one of the laces of my bustier.
My face heats. We’re getting close to territory we’ve been avoiding.
“Cops aren’t welcome in the Crue’s vicinity,” he continues, flicking the tie before lowering his hand. “That’s why there’s no moonlighting. Since you hang around like a gangster wannabe, eyes on you could drift onto real Crue missions. That’s why you need to tell me what the fuck is up.”
“I’ll tell Scott. If he or C wants you to know, they will tell you.”
War takes a jar of red face paint from his pocket and uncaps it. As he smears it on his face, he says, “I heard Hearn’s a coke-head. You do that with her?”
My head jerks to stare at him. “No.”
Scott would kill me if he thought I was using cocaine. He and I have a deal that I won’t touch the hard stuff. Addiction runs deep in our family.
To War, I shouldn’t have said “no.” I should’ve said, “none of your fucking business.” Because it’s not. Too late now. I really need to get the hell away from him.
With red and dark gray marring his facial features, he looks so demonic and sinister I almost shudder.
As I start to walk by, though, his arm blocks my progress. “You’re not done. Spray my back.”
I whip a can of paint at him, but he catches it right before it hits his chest.
“You better watch yourself, blondie. You ever succeed in making contact, and I will return the favor.”
“Bullshit. Even you don’t have the stones to lay a hand on me.”
He stalks forward, forcing me back against the wall and getting smudges of paint on my outfit.
“Cut it out,” I say, trying to shove him away. I’m unsuccessful, since he’s a fucking armored tank.
“You think I’m too scared to punish you, baby doll?” The corner of his mouth curves into a sinister smile. “I dare you.”
“Dare me to do what?”
“Anything that’ll give me the excuse I’m waiting for.”
We lock gazes, and the truth is right there behind his hard eyes. He’s not bluffing.
“Is that what gets you hard? The thought of hurting a woman less than half your size?”
The amused sound he makes is not reassuring.
I lower my voice and infuse it with fake sweetness. “If you touch me in a way I don’t like, it’ll be one of the last things you ever do on this Earth.”
“Gonna tell big brother?”
“Only if they figure out that I killed you,” I whisper.
War tips his head back and laughs, his shoulder length hair dancing over his massive shoulders. When he looks down at me again, he makes no effort to hide his amusement. “You think you’ve got it in you to kill someone, baby doll?”
I know I do. But I don’t say those words out loud. That’s a secret no one outside my closest circle gets to know.
“Not sure,” I lie. “But maybe we’ll find out.”
He backs away and slaps the can of charcoal paint into my palm. “Stop being a pain in the ass. Paint me up, so I can go to this stupid fucking party and watch J’s back.”
My brows pinch together as I scrutinize him. “Are you under orders to bodyguard him? And if so, why?”
“If we anticipate action, we move in a two- or three-man unit. Standard Crue.” I think he says the last two words to needle me… He’s got Crue training. I don’t. I’m on the outside, trying to look in.
Of course, I’ve gotten a lifetime of advice and even some weapons-training from my brother, who is arguably one of the best shots on the planet. I don’t say that though. What would be the point?
Now that War’s facing away, I could beam him in the back of the head easily.
I won’t, because that would be petty. And also silly, since it wouldn’t bring him down. No, if I take action against him, it’ll have to be much bigger than tossing a can.
Grabbing the stencil, I hold it up and spray the snakeskin pattern on his back. When I’m done, he puts on a pair of charcoal horns.
The full effect is impressive.
He’s right. Only one of us looks like a demon, and it’s not me.
Which only makes me resent him more.