Chapter Nineteen
“ T urmeric latte,” Tuck says, glancing at me with a soft smile. “It’s restorative. You’ll feel better in no time.”
I sit at the kitchen table a few minutes later, watching as he expertly mixes the turmeric with warm milk and honey, the smell of spice and sugar filling the room. After some stirring and heating, he offers me the mug, and I take a tentative sip. It’s good—earthy but sweet.
After a few more sips, the exhaustion ebbs away, and I feel a bit more like myself. “Thanks, Tuck,” I say, meeting his eyes. “That was...intense.”
Tuck grins sheepishly, sitting down across from me. “It’s promising,” he says. “I’m not sure exactly what we unlocked today, but it’s definitely a start.”
I take another drink as Tuck leans back in his chair, his expression casual but curious.
“What?” I ask, lowering my drink. “Do I have a milk mustache? Or you just wanna ask if it was good for me?”
“No, no, not that.” Tuck breathes out, his eyes finally meeting mine. “So, um, I heard from Will and LJ that there’s been, well, some significant changes for you recently. Financially speaking, I mean.”
I raise an eyebrow, surprised at how delicately he’s approaching the subject. “Oh? You heard that, did you?”
Tuck shifts his weight in his seat, his face flushing slightly. “Yeah, something like that. It’s just, well, they mentioned you might have come into a large sum of money. I didn’t get all the details, but, um—”
No point in hiding it. “They’re right. I’ve got about two million dollars, all told.”
It feels strange to say it, even though it’s the truth.
Tuck’s eyes widen, and he takes a small step back as if the hugeness of the number might physically impact him. “Wow, that’s... a lot. I mean, I knew it was significant, but that’s really quite, uh...”
I can’t help but smile at his awkwardness. “You’re telling me. It’s surreal, honestly.” I cock my head at him. “Why? You need me to spot you a few bucks?”
“What?” Tuck looks confused, then alarmed. “No, no! I was just wondering if it was...anyway.” He shakes his head before he goes on, his tone light. “What do you think you’re going to do with...all of that?”
I take another sip of the latte, buying myself time to answer. Internally, I’m conflicted. Two million dollars. It’s still a number that feels unreal to me, and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with it, let alone how to even begin making decisions about something that massive. “I... don’t know,” I finally say, truthfully.
Tuck watches me for a moment, then leans forward a bit, his curiosity clearly piqued. “Are you going to stay here?” His voice is soft, almost as if he’s afraid of the answer.
Ah. There it is. The reason he’s so damn curious about all the money.
I hesitate, the familiar knot of uncertainty tightening in my chest. “I’m... not sure,” I say, just as truthfully. “I’m not sure what I want, really. This whole situation... it’s nowhere near where I thought my life would be going.”
Tuck’s eyes remain on me, sympathetic but patient. “What did you see your life as, then?”
I glance down at my cup, watching the golden streaks of my latte swirling for a moment before I speak. “Well, my parents had their expectations, I guess. You know—typical southern girl experience. Get married, have babies, settle down somewhere not too far from home.” I pause. “That was never quite for me, though.”
“Not unless it involves fixing cars.” Tuck smiles, his eyes soft but not pitying. He nods a few times, as though thinking over my words. “I get it,” he says after a moment, his voice quiet. “It’s hard, stepping outside of that expectation. My family’s got a whole different idea of what I should be doing, too.”
I raise an eyebrow, curious. “Yeah? What did they want for you?”
Tuck shrugs, smiling awkwardly. “You know, something more normal. Big fancy tech job, making big bucks writing code or something. Not...whatever this is.” He gestures to the mansion around us with a sheepish laugh. “But here we are.”
Tuck takes a breath, eyeing me thoughtfully. “You probably never thought about anything nontraditional like this...long-term,” he says, his voice gentle but probing.
I cock my head. “Which part is the nontraditional part?” I ask. “The part where you’re all criminal masterminds? Or the part where you’re shapeshifters? Or do you just mean all the group sex?” I can’t help but laugh, the sound coming out unexpectedly loud.
He looks down, clearly embarrassed. “I just meant—”
I wave my hand, a frisson of guilt striking me, trying to push past the moment. “No, I’m just teasing.” I purse my lips. “Honestly, no, I never thought of anything like this.” But what girl would’ve? I wonder. Besides one with a library card and a horny, overactive imagination. “But why does that matter? I’m an orphan, for better or worse.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, I just mean...” What do I mean? “Well, let me put it this way. They’d have been thrilled with someone like Guy Gisbourne.”
I feel a pang in my chest as soon as I say it. Because it’s probably true: My parents would’ve seen Guy as the ideal son-in-law, the total package: polished, successful, well-bred, well-educated, and charming in all the right ways. I think back to how Guy had insisted on all his good qualities, how he’d sold himself as a man of virtue, a perfect catch.
Tuck’s voice pulls me out of the memory. “Did you ever...actually feel attracted to him?”
“No,” I say quickly, too quickly. Then I pause, considering. “Well, not really. There were times when he didn’t seem that bad, I guess?” I shift in my seat, uncomfortable with the admission. “Like, he did house and clothe and feed me and...”
A dim realization pings in the depths of my memory.
“And?” Tuck prompts.
“And his food sucked,” I finish. I shake my head. “I mean, his food didn’t suck. But mine did. It was all sort of...healthy. But suspiciously healthy. Like eating-disorder level.” I’m putting it together as I speak out loud, the puzzle piecing itself into full view. I look at Tuck. “You said my powers take up a lot of energy?”
“Sure.” He nods. “All of ours do. That’s why we can’t shift if we’re injured—our body is using all its juice to heal up. And...” He smiles. “I guess that’s why I’m always slinging up the huge meals.”
I chew my lip. Say nothing.
Tuck frowns.
“Why do you ask?”
“I...” I exhale hard. It’s not definitive proof, not of anything. Maybe Guy’s one of those 50 Shades types who wants his girlfriends within a very specific weight range and body type. Also a red flag, but in a different direction.
But if he knew that I had power of some kind...knew what I needed to manifest it...
“That fucker is twisted,” I say out loud. Tuck’s eyes widen. “Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t even really answer your question. I guess he managed to fool me well enough to keep me in place.” Not that I really had a choice. And I got out as fast as I could. “And there were times...times he came off as genuine. Especially when he talks about family.”
Tuck is listening intently, his brow furrowed, though I can’t quite place why. I keep going. “His mom died of cancer. He told me about it once. He really seemed to miss her...” My words trail off, and I find myself staring down into my mug, feeling the weight of the conflicting emotions.
When I look up, Tuck is frowning. There’s something behind his eyes—something that looks like concern, but I can’t be sure. It’s like he’s turning something over in his mind, but he’s not letting me in on it.
I tilt my head slightly, and Tuck waves me off. “It’s nothing,” he says, his voice a little too casual. “You should just finish your latte.” He stands up. “I’ve got some research to do. Get some rest, okay?”
I know there’s more he’s not telling me, but I let it slide, too worn out to pursue it further. Instead, I take take another sip from my mug, the warmth no longer quite as comforting as before.
I SIT AT TUCK’S COMPUTER in the study, fingers hovering over the keyboard. The screen in front of me shows the blinking cursor of my secure email account. I’m setting up my online bank account, something I’ve put off for far too long. And now, there it is, all the money at my fingertips.
It’s surreal, staring at the numbers, knowing how much is suddenly mine. But the weight of it feels heavier than I expected.
Two million dollars. It’s hard to even think the phrase without some interjection of disbelief: two million fucking dollars.
And to be honest, I thought I’d feel...different. More in control. Or like I’d know what to do about it, like having the account in place would answer all the lingering, half-formed questions in my mind instead of creating more. The reality is, I just feel unsettled, like I’m holding something delicate that’s threatening to slip from my fingers if I make a wrong move.
I take a deep breath, clicking through the last few screens, when a beeping sound from outside snaps me out of my thoughts. There’s commotion in the driveway—voices, something crunching on the asphalt.
My first instinct is panic. They’ve found us—who they are, I don’t even know—and I push back from the desk. Adrenaline buzzing, I race out of the study, down the hall, through the front door, bolt outside and—
My heart stutters.
There, rolling up the driveway, is my car. My Mustang. That beautiful pile of pistons and steel and elbow grease, roaring like a tiger. The same one I thought I’d never see again.
And behind the wheel, grinning like the Cheshire cat, is Zayn.
I don’t even think—I just run. I sprint toward him, legs moving faster than they probably should, and before I know it, I’m right there, skidding to a halt in front of the car. Zayn’s already stepping out, and I’m staring, wide-eyed and breathless.
“How?” I manage to gasp, trying to make sense of this. “How did you...?”
Zayn smirks, tossing me the keys like it’s nothing. “Let’s just say I have my ways.”
The keys land in my hands, solid and real, and something in me just snaps. I throw my arms around his neck in a massive, grateful hug, squeezing him tight.
“Thank you,” I breathe, practically trembling with joy. “Thank you, thank you.”
I let him go, but when I do, his expression has changed.
“Unfortunately, I’m not just here to bring you a present,” he says. “They should be waiting for me.”
The elation in my chest plummets right back into panic. I clutch the keys, digging them into my palm. “Okay. Let’s...” I glance back at the porch.
Zayn follows me into the house, and as soon as I see the others—Rob pacing, LJ and Will leaning against the wall, and Tuck sitting at the kitchen table—I know something’s up.
Zayn gets right to the point. “Shit’s worse than I thought.”
Rob’s brow furrows, arms crossed, but he keeps pacing. “Worse how?”
“Gisbourne has his claws in deep,” Zayn explains, voice grim. “He’s watching everything. Every transaction, every account. Subpoenas out the ass. You can’t even buy a cup of coffee for a homeless guy without him knowing.”
Rob curses under his breath, running a hand through his hair, clearly agitated. “This is ruining everything,” he mutters.
Will leans forward, his eyes narrowing. “What do we do?”
“Hold up, hold up.” Zayn pulls a thick sheaf of papers from his jacket. “That’s not even everything. I wish that was the worst of it, but...”
The guys exchange glances, and Zayn proffers the papers to whoever will take them—LJ, who’s closest, grabs one from the top, and his face tightens as he scans the page.
“It’s an eviction notice.”
Zayn nods. “They all are.”
Tuck, ever the meticulous one, jumps to LJ’s side and flicks through the stack of papers quickly. “There’s got to be fifty of these.”
“Fifty-three,” Zayn corrects him, flat and joyless.
Rob steps forward, too, pulling a few notices from the pile. “Hanson. Knight. Newman. Roberts—fuck,” he breaks off, voice thick with frustration.
“You know them?” Zayn asks, even though I suspect he knows the answer.
“Families,” Rob says. “Ones we’ve been, y’know.” He looks up, chooses his word carefully. “Helping.”
His face is a mix of pain and fury, like he’s watching his whole operation fall to dust in front of him.
“Goddammit,” Rob says, voice barely containing his emotion. “He’s doing this to bait me.”
“Don’t take it,” Will says, stepping to Rob’s side. “Seriously, this is not the time to let your damn impulse temper—”
“Yeah,” Tuck adds quietly. “Blowing up now isn’t going to help anyone.”
LJ says nothing, just places a firm hand on Rob’s shoulder.
“Relax,” Rob barks. “All y’all, relax. I’m fine.” He lowers the papers, runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not gonna do anything stupid. That’s what he wants. I’m just...I’m so fucking...”
Zayn raises his hands, trying to de-escalate the tension. “Look, I can stall. I can push serving the notices off until tomorrow, maybe the day after. But after that, there’s not much I can do. Once that shit gets stuck on your door, you’ve got 30 days to pack up and leave.”
Rob exhales sharply, his frustration boiling over into resignation. “Great. Thirty days.” His voice is thick with bitterness. “Gisbourne will literally throw these people out on their asses if it means he can get to me. Some fucking hero of the people he is. And meanwhile, what am I supposed to do, ride around on a white horse, dropping bags of cash on people’s doorsteps? For fuck’s sake.”
“There’s nothing you can do,” Tuck says.
“Not anything smart, anyway,” LJ agrees. “Nothing that won’t lead him right here.”
As they murmur about what to do next, something clicks in my mind.
Rob might be giving up, but I’m not ready to.
My mind races with an idea, one that makes perfect sense the more I think about it. Maybe it’s not entirely legal—okay, it’s definitely not legal—but this is for the greater good, right? If my father really wanted me to do something with my life, what better way than keeping families in their homes?
I glance around the room. Everyone else is talking, animated now, trying to figure out next steps, but I’m stuck in my head, a fire of resolve burning in my chest, running through some logistics, calculating a plan.
Nobody even notices when I slip out of the kitchen.
I know what I’m going to do.