Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Hennessy: Someone else doesn’t have to be wrong for you to be right.
The first beat of Eva’s voice flowed through the trees, and I slid off my hoodie, instinct swiftly taking over me. My knees softened, lowering my center of gravity as my hips found the exact rhythm of the cajón, an instrument. My bare feet skimmed the earth, gliding me through the grass and dirt.
My shoulders rolled with the procession, while my rib cage followed the movement naturally. The music wasn’t something I ever counted. It was just something that lived inside me. It was all feeling, all heart and soul.
I turned beneath the moonlight, and everything else disappeared.
The fire crackled with the music, its amber light chasing the shadows over my skin as I surrendered to the rhythm and the night.
My hips drew slow circles before snapping sharply to the beat of every instrument, playing loudly in the air. My weight shifted effortlessly from one foot to the other. Every step melted together in a slow, sensual way.
I dipped low, my fingertips grazing the tops of the wild grass before I rose again with my arms over my head. My back arched with the music as though the melody itself had wrapped around my spine and pulled me upright again.
As I flipped my head back and forth, my hair slipped free. The flame of the fire immediately made it wild and curly. I smiled, finally feeling alive. Laughing into the night sky, I loved the feel of my body being one with the earth.
Every sway, every turn, every drop, my hips stripped away another emotion that involved the Graves Academy. It was buried beneath the rules. Out there, there was nothing but Mother Nature and me, and that made me feel right at home.
There were no expectations.
No university.
No rules.
No brotherhood.
With the fire to my back, the earth beneath my feet reminded me of who I was. I closed my eyes, letting the rhythm carry me faster with the cool night air kissing my heated skin.
Until the forest stopped breathing, and then my smile quickly faded. Growing up in the Peruvian , I learned this before I even learned how to walk or talk. It was instilled in us.
The sounds of the jungle were never to be feared. It was only when they disappeared, replaced by an unnatural silence, that you knew it was a warning. My body stilled on instinct. Every one of my muscles tightened, every sense I had sharpened to the point of pain.
Something changed. I just didn’t know what yet.
I remained perfectly still, not moving an inch.
The music switched to another Afro-Peruvian melody, bleeding through my phone speaker.
This one only held sounds, not words. The cajón grew louder, filling the silence the woods had abruptly abandoned.
That was when I saw it. It moved with an eerie grace.
There in front of my eyes was a copperhead snake.
It rested under the moonlight, its copper bands blending almost perfectly into the grass. Completely still like me. My lips parted as I slowly shifted my weight, careful not to crowd it. It was maybe two, three feet away from me.
It was watching, listening, waiting…
Exactly like me.
Neither of us moved. My breathing slowed until it matched my heartbeat. We studied each other, waiting to see who would make the first move. Its head lifted, and my pulse steadied, expecting what came next.
It struck toward me, and I instantly stepped back, far enough for its fangs to hit air instead of my flesh. Then it recoiled, settling back into its protective stance.
Before I could consider what I had to do, I heard a familiar voice order in a slow, stern, steady tone from behind me…
“Move.”
Onyx
The smoke caught my attention from my bedroom window before the fire did. Thin layers curled around our tree line against the evening sky. It was impossible to miss. Someone had built a fire, and I didn’t have to wonder who the hell that was.
I grabbed my crossbow without thinking. I was the captain of our university team. I had perfected its use by the time I was eight. It was in my bloodline. Around here, walking into the woods unarmed was unheard of. It was a death wish, especially at night.
On my way out of the garage, I grabbed the keys to the golf cart, not bothering with walking. It was safer this way.
The path grew darker the farther I drove in, the golf cart bouncing over the ground, until, out of nowhere, I heard music. I killed the engine, not wanting to be heard. Grabbing the crossbow and flashlight, I made my way toward it.
I knew the woods better than I’d known most people. The beats led me the rest of the way. Branches brushed my shoulders as I silently made my way through the trees, not wanting to make a sound and startle whatever she was doing.
I saw the fire first, then I saw her. She was barefoot, dressed in clingy white clothes. Her shorts barely covered her ass cheeks, riding up higher with every sway of her round hips. Her top had also risen, showing off all of her stomach and the bottom of her tits.
She had no idea she looked like that, which made her extremely dangerous to a man like me.
Her long, curly hair was framing her face wildly. I’d been in ballroom galas, debutantes, charity performances, and strip clubs, but I’d never seen anyone dance like that.
Dance like her.
I’d never even heard this song. I stood there, hiding behind the trees, watching her with curiosity as she whipped her body around in perfect symmetry. It was such a sensual dance that I couldn’t look away from her, not even for a second.
She was no longer in my Connecticut woods, but more like she brought her with her.
I should’ve walked away. Instead, I watched her for longer than I should have, utterly captivated by the woman who was sinfully dancing only for me.
I was never meant to see her, yet you couldn’t pull me away from her.
For as long as the dance lasted, I allowed myself to get lost in her, forgetting why I’d come out there to begin with. I didn’t check the clearing like I normally would out here in the darkness. That was my first mistake.
The second was letting myself get consumed by her, when all she was doing was dancing. That mistake nearly got her killed. The silence hit me first. It wasn’t loud; it never was. Not unless it was coming out of my own mind like a fucking lunatic.
Once the silence hit me. there were no birds, no insects, no noise other than quiet stillness… I fucking knew. My gaze swept the clearing the way it should have the moment she came into sight.
Fuck…
The copperhead rested perfectly among the grass, near the bushes. It was when she finally noticed what was a few feet in front of her. In seconds, it struck her, and I didn’t hesitate.
I lifted my crossbow, and my voice cut through the clearing, ordering her to move.
She tensed, but didn’t move an inch. “Don’t,” she replied.
“Hennessy…” I coaxed, trying to control my temper. “Move, or it’s going to try to bite you again.”
My crossbow stayed trained on my target.
“That’s only if you give it a reason to.” She didn’t look at me. “It’s just a copperhead.” Her tone was calm. “So stop pointing that crossbow at him.”
Him? Is she out of her fucking mind?
“Just?” I stressed.
In a casual tone, she remarked, “I’m used to dealing with anacondas.”
Every instinct inside me screamed to pull the trigger anyway. She took one careful step toward the snake, and I tightened my grip.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
She didn’t pay me any mind. Slowly, she deliberately searched the ground beside her until she found a long-forked branch.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” I demanded, knowing where she was going with this.
She faintly smiled, never taking her eyes off the copperhead. “I was taught to respect all living things in their own territory and to be grateful when they allow me to step into it.”
“Respect doesn’t stop venom, Hennessy.”
In the blink of an eye, she eased the branch toward the snake with a steadiness that made my finger ready to shoot. The branch settled just behind the copperhead’s head, and the snake struck, but it couldn’t move from her pinning it without hurting it.
My pulse suddenly slammed against my ribs.
Still crouched, she reached down with her free hand.
Rendering me speechless, she slipped her fingers behind the snake’s head and, in one fluid motion, firm enough to control it, she lifted it only a few inches from the grass and flicked her wrist, tossing it into the dense brush several yards away.
I lowered my crossbow a little, unable to tear my eyes away from her, spewing, “What in the actual fuck was that?”
She turned toward me with a smug expression. “It was just protecting its territory. You have that in common.”
I’d seen a lot of shit in my life, but that was out of control.
“You really don’t have any survival instincts, do you?”
“Says the man who just got saved by a woman.”
“Trust me, sweetheart, it wouldn’t have bitten me.”
“Not when you’re out here looking like Hercules.” She gestured to my crossbow, but it wasn’t just that.
I was on my way to the gym in the west wing of our house, wearing gym shorts, a muscle shirt, and sneakers, when I saw the smoke. As I lowered the crossbow to my side, her gaze followed the movement before her eyes shifted to all the tattoos on my body.
Curiosity took over. Her stare shifted from one of my tattooed sleeves to the other, landing on my chest piece.
I ignored her deep regard, exclaiming, “What are you doing out here anyway?”
Her brown eyes sparkled, never leaving the details of my tattooed art.
Waiting a moment, she kept her attention on my ink until finally confessing, “I’m dancing for the gods. What are you doing?”
Cocking my head to the side, I questioned, “Which one of them forgot to give you any common sense?”
Her concentration on my tattoos didn’t diminish.
If anything, she started studying me like I was this jagged puzzle piece she was trying to fit into a tight place.
I hated being the center of attention. I was more of a “hang in the background” kind of guy, which was why I never dressed in anything other than casual, comfortable clothing.
I wasn’t pretending to be someone that I wasn’t, dressing in the same pretentious attire to project this perfected, polished image that everyone in town worked so hard to maintain. It was utter bullshit. You could throw a rock and hit corruption at the Graves.
Those who lived in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. Except everyone here hid behind granite and brick. It was how old money survived generations of lies and manipulation. Nothing else mattered but ensuring the legacy continued, no matter what.
History proved that much.
It was why I knew where the bodies were buried.