Chapter 10
TEN | COLTEN
“I’m not going to get her fucking dog.”
Cam folds his arms over his chest, glaring at me while Bren lights up a cigarette—an addiction he picked up a few weeks after my father was arrested to help combat his anxiety.
I have enough shit to worry about right now as is.
Someone has to keep this property maintained and the company running.
Between the books, logistics, physical labor, and keeping this family high above water, I can’t fuck around like my twin brothers.
And I say high above water because we know too damn well that even touching the water gives it the authority to drag us back under.
My siblings and I spent too long fighting to get out of the current fed by all the family issues caused by my father; it won’t fucking happen again.
I played my part.
I got her here.
It’s done.
She’s been too much of a distraction already.
I toss the wrench aside and tug the oil pan closer. The metal grating across the concrete floor produces a screech that raises the hairs on the nape of my neck.
Wiping my grimy black hands on the red towel on my lap, I lean against the massive back tire of our green tractor. Propping one arm on my knee, I release a frustrated breath tainted with annoyance.
“It will only take you an—”
I crush the cloth in my fist, aiming for Cameron’s dick. It soars rapidly but contacts his stomach. His grunt of surprise fills the air, along with more tension than there already was between us. The towel lands on one of his boots.
“What the hell, man?” Cameron barks.
Bren conceals a snicker beside him.
I push myself to my feet, marching toward him. “I am swamped around here, and you two need to start pulling your weight again!” I point a finger at his chest. “Why don’t you two go fetch her dog? I have more important things to do around here, and peak season is approaching.”
Cam throws an arm out. “Because Bren and I have to go get the damn truck she left at Crocks!”
They should’ve thought about that and the dog when they made their plan. But no, they wanted to play with their food. On the other hand, I have no problem demolishing it right there and reveling in the fight they give me before hopelessness dawns on them. It’s poetic.
“It will be easier to get back to normal once she’s settled,” Brennan mentions. “She’s just being—difficult right now.”
I hold back the smirk that’s attempting to pull at my lips. Thinking about her feisty personality and foul mouth has the blood rushing straight to my cock.
“I hope so,” I agree sternly. Their matching green eyes magnetize toward each other’s.
“You need to forget about how she makes your dicks feel for one goddamn minute and remember that the reason why she’s here in the first place is that I need your help around here, and Jess is leaving for school.
I’m not paying you to be pussy-whipped.”
Lindenvale Hill Orchard doesn’t run independently, and I’m getting exhausted. I always thought one day I’d receive the family inheritance and all that comes with it, but it’s different when you can prepare for it versus it getting dumped on your shoulders overnight.
I had barely any responsibility, was mourning, and woke one day with everything on my shoulders. It’s a lot of fucking weight to carry, and it’s been slowly dragging me to the depths.
“You’re one to talk,” Cameron snips, breaking the silence. “Do you think we miss those women coming in and out of your cabin every night?”
They’re a warm cunt. A release. Nothing more. Because all relationships are hopeless, and someone is bound to end up with a knife in their fucking heart.
They are the ones who willingly come back because they enjoy my particular taste in pleasure. And keeping them on a repetitive loop will keep me from indulging in the one thing I’m afraid I’ll want.
Raising my arm to my head, I wipe off the bead of sweat dripping down my brow. I glance down at the ink snaking across my arm, admiring how it glistens from the moisture under the shop lights.
Running my tongue on the inside of my bottom lip, I peer out the two large doors pulled back to give a view of the edge of the orchard across the field.
Keeping my eyes trained on the trees, I follow the movements of their branches and fruit swaying from the steady afternoon breeze.
The circulating air carries the scent of approaching rain, the smell bringing a little clarity when I inhale deeply.
We thought about every detail but somehow forgot to figure out what we were going to do with that damn dog. Though I know Tristan and Elena won’t complain, they’ve been begging me for one ever since we watched Homeward Bound a month ago.
So much for wanting to avoid attachments.
Reality is brutal. People and things come and go, leaving nothing but a hollow space in your mind where they used to be—which is why abducting Taryn was the best option.
A way to protect my delicate family and young siblings from any further heartache after losing the two people who were always supposed to be there.
Until they weren’t.
After everything I’ve studied about Taryn Meyers, this method keeps her from escaping once she’s committed. Because once she meets Elena and Tristan, she’s bound to get attached. Her nature—the teaching part of her soul—is compassionate and warm.
Maybe it’s a form of manipulation, but sometimes, we resort to eccentric methods to protect the ones we love.
But I know her history. She floats from one place to the next, barely staying long enough to create meaningful connections. Taryn can’t stay still for long, and if we didn’t take the measures we did, she would bolt.
I won’t fucking let that happen.
She was walking through life like a ghost anyway.
But she’s our little ghost now.
After my mom’s disappearance and seeing my dad thrown behind bars for being the monster he is, this family is fragile.
And I am barely holding us together. We need someone who can help.
Someone who is steady. Jessica leaves for college soon and we didn’t have time to waste trying to convince Taryn to work for us.
We did things the traditional way at first, going through résumés of candidates who may have been a decent fit.
But we weren’t looking for decent. We weren’t looking for someone who would be temporary.
We needed someone more permanent.
Taryn fits the role perfectly, even if she’s being forced into it.
The twins gaze a hole into the side of my head, and I face them. “Fine, I’ll go get the damn dog.”
Cameron straightens, folding his arms over his chest with a satisfied look crossing his features.
“But…” I warn. “She’s not, under any circumstances, allowed to have it in the house until it becomes better acquainted with the kids. I’ll keep it around my cabin until then.”
“Wow, you hear that, Cam?” Brennan smirks. “Colten’s using Elena and Tristan as an excuse because he’s afraid of the dog.” He chuckles. Some of the smoke from the cigarette gets sucked down wrong, and he hunches over, having a coughing fit as Cam slaps his back.
Asshole.
My truck rolls to a stop in the driveway of the old yellow house, my pulse hammering as I give it the first good glance since I bought it from the Donahues three months ago.
Our grandparents—the Donahues—no longer wanted to have an attachment to the Lindenvale name because of my father, and finally put it up for sale after packing up and not looking back.
After Jane’s disappearance, my mother’s parents left everything behind to start over.
Left their home to rot and wither away just like their hearts after losing their only daughter.
The speculations about Lindenvale Hill are dark.
Some people think she ran, leaving her husband and children behind, since her body and car have never been found.
Others believe something more sinister lurks behind the fence and through the miles and miles of forest and orchard.
They think the only way to learn the truth is to listen to the trees when the wind blows through them, as if their rustling branches and leaves are whispers.
It’s a bunch of bullshit.
And because of all the whispered theories and secrets, the property I once loved is now plagued.
This home, my grandparents’ house, has been unoccupied for four years. The paint is slowly chipping away, and the yard has been left to be reclaimed by nature. The deck and wood floors are aged and whine under any amount of weight or pressure.
I wonder what her first thought was when she looked at this place.
When I posted the rental on Zillow, I used old photos—pictures that made the place appear like a quaint and peaceful home. I carefully crafted an email that was a convincing advertisement. The hook of the rental was the unbelievably good deal on rent.
I needed her to want it.
It’s a shithole. It is. But she wasn’t going to be living here long anyway. It was just one step of the plan and served its purpose.
Now, I don’t want to look at it anymore.
All I see when I stare out the passenger window is an impeccable yard, the grass thick and green below the tire swing my brothers and I used to mess around on.
I can imagine the ghost of childhood Jess sprinting out the front door and down the steps of the deck, wanting to join us like she always did because hanging with her brothers was the only place she ever wanted to be.
When I open the door and finally step outside the truck, cheerful voices blend with the breath of the wind blowing through the willow leaves. My parents’ and grandparents’ laughs drift from the backyard, coating the back of my throat with unwelcome emotion.
The visions play behind my eyes, the air heavy and suffocating with the feeling that warmed my body back then—when my parents were happy. When our family was whole and content.
But it wasn’t until after Tristan was born that things started to change. The slight shifts in my parents’ relationship seemed loud and obvious, but I was the only one of their children to notice. And what my twenty-two-year-old self witnessed the night before she disappeared will forever haunt me.
As I walk down the sidewalk, everything fades, blurring into oblivion because the laughter is dead.
The memories are dead.
This house is dead.
There may not be a body, but I know she is, too.
Because she promised she’d come back.
And she never has.
I hustle with my head down, fumbling with my key in the lock, and enter the house, heading straight for the back door.
I focus my mind. Get in. Grab the things she’ll want. And get out and back to work.
Lifting my head, I see the beautiful black lab lying on the other side of the glass door on the deteriorating deck with its head on its paw.
It must hear me because as I near the door, its ears perk up, followed by its head, revealing the white patch of fur on its stomach. But just when I think it will bark and get territorial, it stands up, its tail wagging back and forth, comforting my unease.
Nice and easy now.
Slowly peeling back the sliding glass door, I keep my eye on it while the animal keeps its eye trained on me.
I expect its eyes to darken with suspicion, but they’re calm. We exchange a look that relaxes the muscles in my back as it comes closer and sits in front of me. I tilt my head, glancing underneath it—or him, shall I say.
Reaching for his head slowly, I begin scratching his head with my black-stained fingers from working on the tractor.
“Hey, boy,” I greet gently.
He licks my arm, his tongue leaving hot trails that chill my arm a second later. The little slaps and nibbles almost make me smile.
Taryn lives alone, for Christ’s sake. She should have a dog that protects her from monsters like us.
After digging through the pantry to locate the dog food, I feed him a bowl that he scarfs down while I stroll into her room curiously. I push open the door, the old hinges creaking.
She slept in here. It may have only been a few nights, but it was long enough for her scent to soak into the sheets.
The sweat that glistens on her skin, the hint of perfume she wears, the rose shampoo she uses—because it’s labeled in the shower—all blend together, creating her distinctive, lingering scent, hitting my bloodstream like a drug.
The first time I got a whiff of the sugared vanilla and citrus radiating from her, I wanted more.
And admitting that was my first mistake.
It only becomes an addiction if I give over dominance.
But before I know it, I’m standing in front of the mahogany dresser, running my fingertips over the wood before they drift of their own accord to the brass handle of the top drawer.
Pulling it toward me, my breathing ragged, an array of colored lingerie is folded neatly in piles. I reach in, running my calloused and dirty hands over the perfectly clean garments, trying to picture what set she is wearing right now.
Picking up a red pair, I rub the see-through lace on the pads of my fingers and draw it closer to my face. But I stop, gritting my teeth.
My eyes fall closed. Tilting my head side to side, the taut muscles stretching and pulling, I crack my neck to clear my head, which has been slowly deteriorating since I saw her email pop up in my inbox.
Clenching the material in my hand, I toss it back into the drawer and slam it shut, rattling the floorboards under my boots.
Obsessions have the power to destroy you, and Little Ghost will not become one of mine.