18. Juliette #2
There’s a group of people standing together at the edge of the property, half of them on this side of the open gate and the other half on the opposite side.
My bare feet crunch on a loose piece of gravel and I wince, but I keep moving.
Paxton is next to Lance. And then there’s Tyler, standing in front of all of them, his hands curled into fists at his sides, his posture rigid as he stares down the other group.
Anxiety punches me in the ribs, because Tyler has a gun , and he’s not really known for his patience or even-keeled thinking.
Lance grips Tyler’s shoulder and whispers something in his ear. Tyler jerks away, giving a withering look to Paxton and Lance before he throws up his hands and leaves toward the house.
What the hell is going on?
I take a few steps closer to get a better look at the faces of the people my brothers are facing off against.
Rosalie is the first one I notice. Of course she is.
Ever since she started dating Benjamin, she’s been unreachable and causing enough mayhem that my parents have wiped their hands of her completely, refusing to even let her come to family dinners.
She usually gets an invite to these bigger events still, although I’m surprised to see her show up to one.
My gaze flicks past her to the man at her right.
Merrick Carter.
Him, I know well. He attended Rosebrook Prep on the Montgomery Founder’s scholarship, and we were in the same grade all the way from kindergarten to twelfth grade.
Honestly, he was probably invited to this event.
He’s one of the most social people in all of Rosebrook Falls, and there’s rarely a party he isn’t attending.
Even if his best friend is Benjamin, who’s standing at his left.
He’s a slimy, pasty guy with wavy blond hair and pinched features.
Objectively, he’s considered handsome enough, I guess, but he’s always given me the creeps.
He went to Rosebrook Prep also, but considering he’s Marcus Montgomery’s nephew and a Voltaire—a family that’s always been just powerful enough to piss off my dad—I was told to stay away from him.
And then once he got his grubby hands on Rosalie, I didn’t need any other reason to stay away.
Seeing him now sends a shiver down my spine.
I walk the rest of the way to my brothers and look at Paxton. “What’s going on?”
“You shouldn’t be here, Jules,” he mutters, low enough that only I catch it.
Lance cuts a look my way, too. “Don’t you have a debutante ball to plan or something?”
I glare at both of them. “Nice to see you guys, too. Do either of you assholes want to answer my question or are we just doing the whole ‘me man, her woman, must protect’ male posturing thing today?”
“We’re taking out the trash,” Paxton replies, his eyes fierce as he stares at the group. His voice carries, which I’m sure was his intention.
“You know, I’ve always thought you’d make a good garbage man,” Benjamin says to Paxton with a smirk. “You’ve got the right people skills.”
Lance crosses his arms. “Shut the fuck up, Benny.”
My head snaps to Lance in shock. “ Benny? I’m sorry, are we on a nickname basis now with the enemy?”
Lance side-eyes me with a grimace, and Benjamin flips him off. “Sure thing, Boss.”
“Did you just flip him off at our home?” Paxton asks, his voice icy and direct.
I won’t lie; he’s intimidating. More so now than he was years ago. He reminds me so much of our dad.
Benjamin shrugs. “I’ve been known to be disrespectful.”
Paxton tilts his head. “Are you being disrespectful to us ?”
Benjamin’s eyes flick to the security flanking our gates. “Will your security beat us back if I say yes?”
“No. But I might,” Lance cuts in. “Merrick, you better get your boy.”
“You know what, Lance, maybe it’s you who should get your boy. You think you’re God just because you can throw a punch?” Rosalie pipes up.
Lance smiles thinly. “We all know I hit harder when I’m angry.”
“Okay,” I chime in. “This is weird. You’re all being weird. One of you needs to tell me what the hell is going on or I’ll start loudly reciting embarrassing childhood stories.”
Lance smirks, looking over at me. “Blackmail’s not very ladylike, Jules.”
My eyes widen. “Neither is threatening people in our driveway, yet here we are.”
Paxton’s mouth curls up. Barely, but it’s there.
“Come on now, Lance,” Benjamin interjects, throwing his arm over Rosalie and tugging her to his side like he owns her. “You were just fine when you were with us a few hours ago. Why so mad now? You didn’t think we’d make the guest list?”
There’s a collective intake of breath on our side, like all the oxygen has evaporated from the air.
Lance grows very still, and if looks could kill, Benjamin would be nothing more than a smear on the asphalt.
Nobody asks for clarification, but the accusation is there that Lance has been with the Montgomerys, and I can feel the trust between my brothers—the kind that was already thin and bruised—break apart and fall away.
My eyes narrow on the group of party crashers, slowly cataloguing every single one of them and committing them to memory.
I’ve never hated anyone the way that the rest of my family has, but them coming here and stirring up trouble like this? It’s enough to put them on my permanent shit list.
At the end of the day, I’m loyal. And the Montgomerys have always gone out of their way to cause my family problems, both in business and in everyday life. Plus, Tyler swears it was Marcus Montgomery who killed his parents, not a boating accident.
My chest burns at the reminder of the loss.
There’s movement to the side, next to the brick columns that house the entry gate, and it’s only then I notice there’s another person with them.
He’s wearing all black, hidden in the shadows of the setting sun as if he doesn’t want to be seen.
He’s got what looks like an unlit joint in his mouth, and he’s flipping a lighter on and off, the flame lighting up his face just enough to make out some of his features.
Icy blue eyes: ones currently fixed on me.
My heart stumbles, and my stomach flips.
Ryder.
I step in closer, because surely I’m seeing things, but Paxton grips my arm and holds me back.
“Ow,” I complain, glaring at him. “What’s your problem?”
Paxton shakes his head. “Nothing for you?—”
“Little Rose.”
The air stutters and mutates, like it bends for Ryder’s voice alone.
He’s off the brick pillar now, walking directly in front of Lance. I don’t miss the way Rosalie’s eyes follow him with a wistful glaze.
Ryder smirks, looking at me. “Having a party and didn’t invite me? I’m hurt.”
“Who the fuck are you ?” Lance interjects, moving until he’s shielding me better, his body taut.
Paxton’s grip on my arm tightens. “Why is he calling you that?”
I don’t answer him. I can’t , because I’m too busy staring at Ryder.
What is he doing here? And with people like Benjamin Voltaire?
He’s here , I think again. And he doesn’t look surprised to see me.
Which means he knew who I was.
He knew.
And didn’t tell me.
The realization is like ice sliding down my spine, chilling me from the inside out. Every touch, every flirtatious word, every moment of stolen intimacy feels like a trap now.
Ryder’s eyes flash, and he doesn’t so much as glance at Lance. “Welcome home.”
A strange, weightless sensation hits my stomach, like when I miss a step on the stairs and think I’m about to fall.
His voice is calm and a touch flirty, like we’re still us .
But we’re not.
I guess, really, we never were.
Paxton leans down and whispers sharply, “Do you know him?”
Before I can reply, Lance’s voice cuts in. “Don’t talk to my sister. In fact, don’t even look at her.”
“Lance, we don’t want any problems,” Rosalie finally says, moving to stand next to Ryder. “You know as well as I do that I was invited here. They’re just my guests.”
“Bullshit,” Lance snaps. “If you didn’t want problems, you wouldn’t be with them at all, Rosalie, let alone at our front gates. Let’s not be willfully obtuse.”
I rip myself from Paxton’s hold, ignoring the way it makes my forearm burn, my focus still on Ryder.
“Juliette,” Paxton hisses.
I shoot him a glare over my shoulder before stomping up to Ryder until I’m right in his face.
We’re so close, I can hear his intake of breath, and electricity snaps between us the same way it always does. Only this time, it feels like it might burn me to a crisp.
“Jules,” Lance tries.
“Shut up, Lance. I’ll deal with you later,” I snap, keeping my gaze on Ryder. “Who are you?”
His jaw tenses, and he licks his lips. “You already know.”
I shake my head. “Don’t play with me. What’s your name? Your full name.”
He grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You first, Princess.”
Someone next to him scoffs. Rosalie, probably. And I bristle, because even in just the few times we’ve hung out, he only calls me Princess when he’s not being sincere.
“Uh-oh, kitten’s got claws,” Benjamin jokes.
Merrick lets out a low whistle. “Ten bucks says she’ll hit him.”
I lower my voice, dread dripping through my veins like a leaky faucet. “I need you to just…tell me I’m not the stupidest girl on the planet. Tell me who you are and why you’re here with them .”
His gaze breaks away and skims lazily over my brothers before landing back on me. “You’re not stupid.”
He doesn’t answer my other question.
“Ryder,” I whisper.
The tension radiates through me so strongly, it makes my voice shake.
Something that looks like remorse flashes on his face, but it’s so quick, I can’t be sure I’ve really seen it. That inkling from earlier breaks free and gallops through my chest like a stampede, and I back up a step.
I feel like I’m losing my mind. Like I’m staring at all the pieces of a puzzle but can’t figure out how to slot them together.
Footsteps sound from behind us, and the air changes again to something harsher. Colder.
“What’s all this?” The icy tone of my father breaks our stare-off, striding toward us with Tyler at his side.
“They’re trying to—” Lance starts.
My father stops and puts his hand up. Lance presses his lips together and quiets, but I see the way it pains him to listen.
Then my dad turns toward Ryder, and shock covers his face for a brief second, so fast that if I blinked, I would have missed it. Every ounce of warmth drops away from him like a funnel siphoned it out, and hatred oozes from his veins like it was born and bred within him.
“ You ,” he sneers.
Ryder doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t deny whatever was laced in my father’s tone, but his jaw flexes and his expression hardens into stone. Like he knew this was coming. Like he’s been waiting for the hammer to drop.
Which tells me one thing. He didn’t just keep things from me.
He lied.
All the moments we shared. Lie. Every touch, every whisper, every smirk across a table. Lie. Lie. Lie.
“Roman Montgomery,” my dad breathes. “You’re alive.”
And just like that, my world spins and my stomach bottoms out.