Chapter 8
I don’t know what kind of sex makes y’all want a joint bank account, but I haven’t had it yet.
— Brecken’s secret thoughts
brECKEN
“Ryler, can I look something up on your laptop?” I asked, hoping to get a few minutes alone with his laptop so I could look into his files.
I knew he had the files I wanted on his computer, too, because this was the one he kept at home, under lock and key, in his safe.
It had all of the company’s information on it, including a client list.
All of my brothers had this client list, of course, but his was right there in front of me.
“Sure,” my brother hastily said as he all but shoved the laptop off his lap and stood up.
He grinned and got up, leaving his open laptop on the couch where he’d just been sitting.
Ryler made a run for the bathroom—sadly, almost all of the Sweat family was lactose intolerant thanks to my father’s awesome genes—and I knew he’d be in there for a long time.
It was funnier when it was my brothers having to deal with the stomach/intestinal issues than when it was me suffering because I wanted to eat cheese.
“It’s not funny, Brecken!” Ryler said through the slammed-closed door.
“It’s kind of funny,” I said. “You knew better than to eat that queso.”
“Yeah, but who the fuck can resist queso? Not me,” he hollered.
Then he groaned, and I knew that I’d have plenty of time with his laptop.
I stared at it curiously.
All day—especially after Shasha was no longer at the tournament, having left abruptly without picking up his prize money or his cool new gadgets—I’d been thinking about what I’d realized/pieced together when it came to Viveka.
I’d been thinking about her so much, and now that I knew that she’d been hit not too far from Shasha’s home—a home in which I knew damn well that my brothers rigged up themselves with the protection any high-profile individual would need to keep them safe—I knew he had more information to give than what he gave to police.
My brothers had started their construction with security in mind.
Their buildings were impenetrable. They could literally withstand a freakin’ siege.
And there was no fucking way that the cameras he had on the property didn’t pick up what happened. I knew for a fact that all the fences/gates that my brothers put in were fully equipped with surveillance equipment that was better than anything the US government could get.
According to the papers that I’d looked up during my down time today while fishing, I’d seen that the accident where Viveka was killed happened less than a quarter mile down the road from where Shasha lived.
The cameras my brothers used were fully capable of seeing anything up to a mile from where they were set up.
So yeah, there was no way in hell that he didn’t know more than he was letting on.
But first, I needed to look up the property details, and to do that, I had to start snooping in my brother’s laptop.
I shouldn’t be here.
There was a zero percent chance that I wouldn’t be found.
But yet, here I was, sitting at the site of a home that was being constructed, very much aware that my doorless Jeep stuck out like a sore thumb.
But I couldn’t shake the feeling in my chest that Shasha and/or the men that worked at the guard shack at the end of his drive would know more about Viveka.
I’d been at home for over an hour overthinking. Thinking about how my brother had warned me away. Thinking about how often I’d wondered about Viveka and if her baby had survived. How if her husband had been the one responsible for the hit-and-run, and whether or not he would ever have to pay.
In the end, I wound up here after two-plus hours of fighting myself.
I should’ve gone to get dinner.
I should’ve started grading papers.
Yet, I was sitting in this driveway minutes after the construction workers had vacated, and I was staring at the gate to the mansion on the hill that overlooked the lake.
I’d looked up the tax records on his place and realized that not only did he own the huge house on the hill, but he also owned forty acres surrounding it as well as the house’s driveway I was currently sitting in.
A house that my brothers were responsible for designing and building, as well as securing, much like they’d done for Shasha’s house.
Though, according to the tax records, the property wasn’t owned by Shasha directly, but a corporation known as Semy Corp.
Which was, my guess, just a shortened version of Shasha Semyonov’s last name.
I was twisting the loose thread on my steering wheel, my gaze on the gate, when there was suddenly a man at the side of my Jeep.
I gasped and jerked back, but didn’t get far due to the seatbelt that was still around my body.
“Shit, you scared the hell out of me.” I placed my hand over my heart when I realized that it was him.
Shasha.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, leaning his hands on the roof of my Jeep.
I licked my suddenly dry lips, wondering idly how it was that the man smelled so good despite being outside in the sun for hours and hours this morning. He still looked just as put together now as he did when I’d first seen him this morning.
I also really, really wanted to steal that shirt.
It—and he—smelled divine.
I’d bet it’d be pretty awesome to fall asleep wrapped up in that scent.
“I’m here to, uh,” I scrambled. “You didn’t take your prize money home or your new gadgets.”
I reached over into the seat beside me, unknowingly putting my ass into his face, and grabbed the box out of the seat beside me.
Earlier when I’d convinced the tournament coordinator that Shasha and I were great friends, and he’d had to leave for a family emergency, she’d given it to me without a thought.
I’d felt somewhat terrible about lying to her, but I’d needed a reason to be there in case he caught me.
Which was good that I did, because I hadn’t even been here five minutes and the man had not only found me but confronted me.
Speaking of the man in question, I glanced at him in the side mirror and saw that his body was only inches away from my butt, which was most definitely in his face. And his eyes were taking in said butt.
I came back over and unclicked my seat belt.
“Why didn’t you just come to the gate?” he asked. “And how did you know where I lived?”
“You were on the news,” I lied.
His brows rose. “A few months ago. My friend, Viveka, was the woman that was killed at the mouth of this street.”
His eyes zeroed in on my face, studying me intently.
I probably should’ve stopped there, but…
“She was a really good friend,” I said. “And my brothers told me that they built your house. And I’m allowed to know that because technically I’m a part of their business. I helped provide some startup costs, and I’m a partial owner of their business. I miss my friend. I know you have cameras on that gate that’ll reach that far. I want to know if her husband killed her. Did he take her baby?”
He went back on his heel, keeping his palms planted on my Jeep, and stared at me intently.
I shoved the box at him and said, “You got like five thousand dollars in prize money. I brought it to you.”
He looked from my eyes to the box back to my eyes before saying, “I don’t want it.”
My brows lifted. “Who, exactly, doesn’t want five thousand dollars in cash?”
And why wasn’t he saying anything to my word vomit from earlier?
“Would you like to go get something to eat?” he asked carefully.
It was then I said, “Well, my brothers told me to stay away from you because you were dangerous.”
His eyes flared. “Then why didn’t you?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it, before reopening it and saying, “Because I want to know what happened to my friend more than I want to listen to them.”
He chuckled, then walked around the front of my Jeep and up to my passenger side.
I watched as he waited patiently with his hand on the frame, waiting for me to decide to let him in.
I gestured for him to hop inside and he slid into the Jeep with a smooth efficiency that shouldn’t be as sexy as it was, and asked, “Where do you like to eat?”
Not wanting to seem too eager to have him in my car, I said, “I’m not picky.”
“Then”—he jerked his head toward the end of the road—“start driving.”
I backed out of the driveway and headed for the end of the road.
My gaze stalled on the part of the entryway where there were still skid marks on the road where Viveka’s body had been run over by who I assumed was her husband, but the man in the seat beside me cleared his throat.
I swallowed hard and took a left—the only way you could go due to the lake topography—and started toward town.
“Hang a left here,” he said. “There’s a place down on the lake that’s quiet and serves excellent food.”
I “hung a left” and drove carefully, paying attention to the road a bit more than normal because of the man beside me.
I didn’t want him to know how bad I drove. Some of it was me, and a lot of it was how badly my Wrangler rode.
But I’d probably die of embarrassment if he knew how badly I drove with those two things added together.
I hated driving people.
I especially hated when new people rode with me, and I had to impress them with my driving skills.
Or lack thereof.
“Turn left there.” He pointed again.
As he directed me, we got closer and closer to the lake, and I realized the place was directly on the water.
I’d never heard of it before, either.
Based on the name—Ride’s—I couldn’t discern what kind of food they served, but based on the fullness of the parking lot, I knew it would be good.
I unbuckled my seat belt and got out, then shoved the small box of shit that I’d had in my lap the entire time into the back of my Jeep.
By the time that I was done, Shasha was at my side, holding his hand out for me.
My heartbeat accelerated at his closeness as I took his hand and said, “Thank you.”
He nodded, not replying, and placed the palm of his hand on the small of my back, guiding me up to the restaurant. He opened the door for me with his free hand and then waited until I was inside before raising up two fingers, again not saying a word.
The hostess snatched up a few menus and smiled widely at Shasha—definitely not acknowledging me at all—and said, “Right this way, sir.”
I rolled my eyes and let out a small snort.
Shasha’s eyes—god, they were so beautiful—studied me.
I fixed my features, causing him to smirk slightly.
“This way,” the impatient hostess urged.
I fell into step and felt the heat of Shasha at my back the entire way.
He may not be touching me any longer, but I still felt the fullness of his presence.
“Is here good?” the hostess chirped.
Since I had a feeling Shasha wouldn’t have one word to say to her, I was the one to answer.
“Yes, it’s great.” I smiled.
She’d put us in a very secluded part of the restaurant, near the back corner, farthest away from both the kitchen and the entry.
Shasha moved around me and took the seat with his back to the wall.
I sat down in the opposite seat and waited for the hostess to leave before saying, “There’s a trend going around on social media right now that my students just shared with me. They told me that a man isn’t a man at all if he gives the woman the chair and not the booth.”
His eyes studied me for a long second before he said, “If I have to shoot a man in the face, I can’t very well do that with my back to the door.”
I blinked.