Chapter 31
Betty
Like a coiling vine, Gray was wrapped around me from behind, arms banded tight across my chest and stomach, his cock resting in the space between my legs, where it spent most of the night.
Everything was quiet this morning but for the woodpecker that still frequented the corner of the cabin.
We’d feasted last night around the fire pit, and went to bed full and happy in a way I hadn’t felt in a very long time.
“I spoke to my uncle,” Gray’s sudden voice gave me a start, and his arms tightened as he rocked me back to comfort.
I hadn’t realized he was awake and took a moment to gather my thoughts before humming, “Oh, yeah?”
He kissed my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. “I guess he’d been waiting for my call for a while.”
I bit my lip to hide a smile, even though he couldn’t see it. “Oh? Had he?” I teased.
Gray bit my shoulder, disliking my sass.
“What did he say?” I pressed.
His hand glided down my arm, a gesture of reassurance rather than suggestion.
“He intends to do something about my uncle,” he explained.
“Apparently, when Luca’s family was murdered, it sent him into hysterics, and my cousin Genny was the final straw.
He was close with them, real close, like attending Genny’s piano recital, close.
I wasn’t aware of that—I thought the family had scattered.
I guess when he learned I hadn’t died in the house fire, he spent a long time searching for me, wanting to help make sure I was okay. But like Matteo, he couldn’t find me.”
A grin I couldn’t suppress spread across my face. So, David did care about him, and he wasn’t in agreement with Matteo’s actions. I knew it. While Gray held little faith in family, I did.
“When he heard I’d come back to New York a few times, he again tried to track me down, but was always too late,” he added.
I hummed, but didn’t find it the right time to say, ‘I told you so’.
Gray sighed. “David wants to end this, but is in the middle of something that he needs to wrap up before he can leave Boston. He says he’ll get in touch in a day or two, and we can discuss it further.”
I nodded. It was good, if not perfect. Perhaps his uncle could make Matteo disappear, and then all of this would be over.
A sinking feeling washed over me.
While I was eager to ensure my father’s safety, very eager, a small part of me enjoyed the excuse to stay out here like this.
The need to be here for our safety had become my failsafe, but I knew I’d feel guilty for staying away from New York and my career when there was no longer a threat.
I’d grown spoiled—I woke when I pleased, ate what I wanted, read what I wanted. I wasn’t sure I wanted to give that up.
Returning to New York felt unimaginable.
How could I survive there? It lacked all the things that gave me a reason to live.
Learning to fish, hunt, and live off the land meant survival the way humans intended.
My life in New York seemed dull in comparison—a contrived place with fake things that gave me nothing in return.
To be honest, I was even ready for a career change—nothing major, something still involving historical artifacts, but there were so many ways I could twist that talent for restoration.
I ran my fingers over the back of Gray’s knuckles. Feeling the roughness of his skin, the bulge of his veins, and the muscles in his hand. God, I loved every ounce of this man. I spun in his arms to face him, our heads sharing the same pillow.
He was smirking, our noses tangled along with our legs.
I pressed my bare skin against his; the heat of our bodies aligned with one another. It felt like heaven.
He moved his knee between my legs, applying pressure where I needed it. He laid delicate kisses across my cheek, then neck, moving down my body until his rough stubble grazed the inside of my thigh.
“Gray,” I panted.
When he pressed his tongue against me, flat and slow at first, building tension, I squirmed at the intense pleasure. Mere minutes passed before I went careening over the edge, solidifying my belief that this place must be heaven.
When he returned to me, his cheeks flushed and eyes bright, I reciprocated, eager to elicit his soft grunts as I offered him an experience he’d been missing for far too long—love.
I luxuriated in the fact that I was the only woman who had ever brought him to this point of pleasure, the only one that ever would.
I had faith in my skills, and I would never leave him wanting.
“Betty, damn you’re amazing,” he grunted as I licked up the length of him.
I looked up, seeing his hands fisted in the sheets, eyes sealed shut with pleasure. I teased the tip with my tongue, circling with relentless slow licks until he came apart for me, groaning so loud there was no way Sybil and Nash hadn’t heard it from the shed.
We lay naked and tangled for another hour before a soft knock sounded at the door. It had to be Sybil; Nash wasn’t capable of such subtlety. She slipped in a moment later, heading straight for the bathroom, averting her eyes and grinning like an imp.
While she was in there, Gray and I pulled on our pajamas and robes.
Sybil and I spent most of the morning baking cinnamon rolls, while Gray and Nash were out in the yard for a long time, talking, often animated.
I kept a close eye on them, wondering what they were discussing, as it seemed intense, like they were planning something Sybil and I needed to be a part of.
I had a nagging feeling they were leaving us out of the loop, and Nash knew how much I disliked that.
By the afternoon, Sybil and I settled down with coffee and a puzzle at the table. We were chatting and noticed the progressive loss of more and more puzzle pieces, which the cats kept stealing. They would take turns lying on our work, pawing pieces off the edge, then batting them around the room.
Around three in the afternoon, a vibrating sound caught my attention in the otherwise still space. Sybil and I froze mid-conversation, our eyes meeting, puzzle pieces pinched in our fingers as the sound repeated once, then twice—like a vibrating phone.
Slowly rising from the chair, Sybil mirroring my movement, we traced the sound to its source, but then it stopped. We both stood stock-still, staring at Gray’s mysterious, locked cabinet.
She eyed me, and I eyed her back, looking like two kids about to discover their parents’ hidden stash of adult toys.
“Is it locked?” Sybil whispered conspiratorially.
I frowned, looking at the built-in keyhole, leveling my gaze on it. “Usually, it is.”
“Try it. See if it’s still locked,” she urged.
We took a unified, sharp breath and held it. I reached out a hesitant hand toward the latch. The moment my fingers brushed the brass knob, the vibrating started again, making us both jump and yelp.
With a nervous chuckle, I pushed onward and tried the knob. It was… unlocked.
A little thrill went through me, partly because I was finally about to see what was inside, and partly because Gray had left it unlocked—he trusted me.
The buzzing continued, shaking me out of my thoughts long enough to swing the door open and find its source.
Inside, resting on a shelf next to a few handguns and passports, was a bulky satellite phone. The name “Ethan” was scrolling across its old-fashioned digital screen.
“Who’s Ethan?” Sybil asked.
I picked up the phone. “Gray’s FBI contact.”
Sybil’s eyes went wide and gleamed at that. She’d been into spy stuff lately and loved the novelty.
“Should I answer it?” I asked. “He’s called twice. What if it’s important?”
Sybil was chewing on her sleeve, only pausing her nervous tic to say, “Do it.”
I nodded, hitting the call button before it stopped buzzing. I put the phone to my ear.
“Gray, we have a problem...” a man’s voice began.
I blinked a few times, stunned silent before I stammered a rusty, “Problem?”
The line went quiet for a moment before Ethan asked, “Betty?”
“Yeah,” I confirmed. “This is Betty. Gray is outside.”
I heard him sigh, sounding exasperated and a little distracted by the noise on his end of the line. He was somewhere busy, with phones ringing and people talking in loud voices. “Betty. Okay, listen, darling. Your dad has gone missing; we think he was taken.”
My heart squeezed the breath out of me. “What?” My eyes shot to Sybil’s, feeling the world fall away.
Her face screwed up with concern, and she mouthed a silent “What?”
“Dad,” I whispered. “Ethan says he’s missing or, like, someone took him.”
Ethan kept talking, “They left a note for you and Gray. It was straight to the point: Come home, or Jeffrey dies.”
My heart hammered in my chest, my hand trembling as I passed the phone to Sybil. I couldn’t do it; I couldn’t answer him.
As Sybil took the phone, I collapsed to my knees, palms flat on the floor as I panted for breath. My deepest fears were now a reality. Sybil’s small voice sounded filtered through cotton as she continued speaking with Ethan. She paced in circles around me.
Bill, Sybil’s dog, trotted over to my side, nudging my face and licking my hand before yipping, first at me, then at Sybil. He was an anxiety service dog, and was sensing my emotional collapse. He sat before me, placing a paw on my knee.
Sybil arched around me to the door, “Bill, come here. Go get Nash, okay?”
Bill shot up from my lap, responding to the request.
Everything blurred and time went haywire.
There were moments of awareness that devolved into panic, and then back again.
Hand on my chest, I attempted to calm myself enough to grasp Sybil’s continued conversation with Ethan.
She kept the phone pressed to her ear, placing her hand on my shoulder to reassure me of her presence.