Chapter 9
GENEVIEVE
“Remind me why we agreed to this?” I asked Isaiah as we stood on the sidewalk outside Bryce and Dash’s house. They lived at the end of a quiet road, far from neighbors and bordered by an open field.
“Did we have a choice?”
“No.” I glanced behind me, wishing I could get back in my car.
It was parked on the street along with Isaiah’s bike.
As always, he’d refused to ride together to dinner.
His excuse this time was his headlight. It had been flickering or something and he wanted to test it out.
I’d baked cookies to bring over so riding with him was out.
It wasn’t dark yet, but I expected on the drive home later, there would be no flickering headlight in my rearview mirror.
Why wouldn’t he ride with me? I was a good driver. I’d never been in an accident and my driving record was spotless. If he preferred to drive, I’d gladly surrender the wheel.
“How was your mom?” I asked, hoping to delay this dinner for one more minute.
Isaiah’s mom had called him right before we’d left the apartment. He’d ducked outside to talk to her privately. “She’s good.”
“Have you, um . . . told her about me?”
He sighed. “No.”
“You’ll tell her eventually, right?” Or was I going to remain a shameful secret?
Isaiah lifted a shoulder.
What the hell does that mean?
We’d been married for a month. Soon, it would be two. What if this marriage lasted years? I couldn’t imagine it would be easy for him to tell his family that he’d married a stranger. He’d have questions to answer and concerns to appease. But was I really that bad?
My heart, already black and blue, wasn’t going to hold up if the punches kept coming.
I didn’t press Isaiah for an answer. His shoulders were bunched and his jaw locked. He was the king of clamming up and shutting people out. Especially his “wife.”
Bryce spotted us from a window and waved. I clutched the plate of cookies in my hands, plastered on a smile and walked toward the front door.
I loved spending time with her, and had this been a girls-only dinner, I would have looked forward to it all week.
Helping her plan her wedding had been a blast. I hadn’t been in a wedding before—excluding my own—and she’d included me in every detail.
I’d thrown myself into my tasks, reveling in the flowers and the dresses and the bridal magazines.
I tucked ideas into the far corner of my mind in case one day, I got a real wedding too.
But tonight wasn’t only Bryce and me. How was I going to avoid Dash in his own home? Not only was he a jerk, he was arguably worse than Draven at scrutinizing our marriage.
“We’re going to have to amp it up tonight. I think Dash suspects something. Maybe kiss me a few times.”
Isaiah’s lip curled. It was faint, a ghost of a movement, but I caught it.
I tried not to take it personally.
It wasn’t like I didn’t dread kissing him too, though I feared it for a different reason.
I feared how much I looked forward to those chaste kisses each morning before work.
I feared the hitch of my breath and the race of my heart.
I feared the way I craved more than just a brush of Isaiah’s perfect lips.
“We don’t know each other. They’re going to see right through us,” I whispered, my eyes locked on the wooden door. It was stained a dark honey, matching the beams and gables.
Their home was something out of an HGTV episode, and for a reason I didn’t have time to dissect now, that made me more nervous. We were about to step into their beautiful home and taint it with our lies.
“We’ll be fine.” Isaiah’s hand found mine, his fingers threading with my own. They were rough and calloused and long. And they were strong. I borrowed a teaspoon of their strength as the door swung open.
“Welcome!” Bryce smiled. “I’m so glad you guys are here.”
“Come on in.” Dash shook Isaiah’s hand, then reluctantly looked at me, muttering, “Hey.”
“Hi.” I handed him the plate of cookies. “These are for you.”
“Thanks.” He stared at the cookies like they were poisoned.
Asshole.
My half brother was an asshole.
Why was I here again? Before I could sprint for the car, Isaiah pulled me through the door.
Bryce took the plate from Dash’s grip, shooting him a glare, then smiled. “Oh, I love these cookies. Thank you for making them.”
“You’re welcome.” I unlaced my hand from Isaiah’s and followed Bryce to the kitchen, taking in their home as I walked, the inside as beautiful as the outside. “What can I help with?”
“Nothing. Dash is going to grill the steaks. I’ve got veggies ready and a salad. We’re all set.”
Dash and Isaiah came in behind us, Dash opening the fridge. He took out one amber bottle, twisting off the top. “Beer?”
“None for me,” Isaiah said.
“No, thanks.” I didn’t drink if I was driving. And these days, I was always driving. “If you want to have a couple beers, I’m sure we can leave your bike until tomorrow. I’ll drive home.”
He dropped his voice. “I don’t drink.”
The words were for me, but Dash heard them. He leveled me with his gaze. “You didn’t know that?”
Shit. A wife should know that her husband abstained from alcohol. And the reason why.
Three minutes into this dinner and it was already a disaster.
“Dash, knock it off,” Bryce said, then sent me an apologetic gaze.
I stayed quiet, unsure of what to say. I didn’t owe Dash an explanation and maybe he’d drop it.
His hazel gaze hardened to granite. Or maybe not.
My palms were sticky. My heart crept into my throat. And Dash didn’t so much as blink.
How could Bryce live with this guy? Why would she marry him? He was terrifying. I felt like I was on the wrong end of a flamethrower.
Dash lifted an eyebrow, reminding me that he’d asked a question—one he expected me to answer no matter what his wife said.
“No,” I choked out, holding Dash’s stare. My tan wedges were screaming my name, but I didn’t drop my gaze to the floor. “We don’t really know each other yet.”
“We’re still learning.” Isaiah threw an arm around my shoulders, the touch my excuse to look away. “Bet you guys are too. You and Bryce met a few weeks before Genevieve and me, right?”
Bryce snorted. “Very true.”
I swallowed a laugh. Isaiah might as well have told Dash to shove it.
Isaiah hadn’t commented much on Dash’s attitude toward me. I knew he was toeing a tough line as Dash’s employee, and I didn’t fault him for staying out of the drama. But I should have known he’d have my back.
I leaned into his side, looking up to mouth, “Thanks.”
“I like that we don’t know everything about one another,” Bryce said. “It’s fun to learn something new every day.”
Bryce was smiling, but there was a sharp edge to it—a silent reprimand, and Dash’s frame fell ever so slightly.
Did he feel outnumbered, three to one? Would that work in my favor? Or would he fight harder to come out on top? Dash didn’t strike me as the type to lose. My stomach knotted as I worried things were about to get worse.
“Any word from the Warriors?” Isaiah asked Dash, changing the subject.
He shook his head. “Nothing. Not a sign either.”
“I’ve been keeping up on Ashton news,” Bryce said. “I reached out to the newspaper over there to introduce myself, and they’ve been sending me their weekly editions. The only news connected to us was the Warrior’s funeral.”
Bryce used her position as co-owner of the newspaper to keep us all informed. She spent time the rest of us didn’t have reading the news from neighboring counties, and she knew more about the happenings around town than anyone else.
I’d been combining all of the information she’d collected with research of my own.
And so far, nothing had jumped out at me, but I wasn’t going to quit. I’d pulled files on every single living Tin King member and had begun collecting names for the Warriors.
It was a slow process, but I had time until Draven’s trial. If Jim had noticed that each day I spent my lunch hour glued to my screen and notebook, he hadn’t commented.
Turns out, he wasn’t smarmy at all.
He was actually the most understanding and supportive employer I’d ever had. He praised me constantly, thanking me for doing the job he was paying me to do. It had taken me weeks to realize the man was utterly sincere and nothing about his appreciation was because of Draven.
Work had become such an enjoyable part of my day that I’d stopped checking the job service website for openings at the other firms in town.
Besides, I had all the connections I needed at the moment to keep digging.
The first Warrior I’d researched had been the one from the cabin.
Weeks after our kidnapping, the authorities had released a statement on the fire, including the identity of the man who’d died in the cabin. His name was Ed Montgomery and he’d been thirty-three. Even thinking his name gave me chills.
Ed had lived in Ashton, a town about three hours away that the Arrowhead Warriors called home. Because the fire in the cabin had burned so long and so hot, the police had been forced to confirm Ed’s identity through dental records.
He hadn’t been wearing a Warrior cut that day.
Our kidnapper had, but not Ed. I could still picture Ed’s clothes with extreme clarity.
Faded jeans. Black hoodie. Heavy boots. I’d never forget the sound of those boots.
The thud was the soundtrack to my nightmares.
When I was alone, when fear got the better of my common sense and I let terror swim in my veins, those boots echoed with every beat of my heart.
But Ed was dead—a charred corpse. For that, I was eternally grateful.
“It’s been a month.” Isaiah’s forehead creased. “What are the chances the Warriors have ruled us out?”
“It’s a toss-up,” Dash said. “The Warriors lost a man. They might be quiet, but they won’t stop until they have justice. All we can hope is they realize it wasn’t us.”
I dropped my eyes to the hardwood floor because avoiding Dash’s gaze was the easiest way to hide our lies.
“Any updates from Jim on the case?” Bryce asked.