Chapter 2
Grace
My eyes trailed up tattooed script etched into the side of a neck before meeting Henley's gaze.
It felt like I’d been dragged thirty feet underwater, a pressure in my ears clogging my hearing and homing all my senses in on him.
He scanned my face, focus catching briefly on my mouth before trailing to my neck and back up again.
A sort of humidity filled the room—or maybe I was getting hot, and the blazing fireplace from the living room was making the place stuffy. Either way, my palms grew clammy, and that shy side I tried to bury seemed to rear its head.
I couldn’t look away, but it also hurt to look. His stare was so…heavy. Like he was flipping through the pages of my memories and discovering all the secrets I hid.
Something in his cheek ticked a moment before he stepped around me, disappearing from my sight. I didn’t dare turn around because looking at him wasn’t important, and I certainly wasn’t wondering what the fuck had just happened.
With a tiny exhale, I turned to find the others were now filing out of the kitchen, carrying food and plates to the table in the other room. I hurriedly grabbed enough utensils for all of us, then proceeded to follow McKenna and Brynne to the dining area.
Austin held McKenna’s chair out for her, Booker doing the same for Brynne. Seeing the two of them being treated like that by these men had a pain pinching in my chest. I loved this for my cousin and her best friend, but it still hurt sometimes thinking I might never have anything similar.
I loved love, but men sucked.
“Grace, could you grab the napkins please?” Brynne asked after a quick scan around the table. “McKenna seems to have been too distracted to get them herself.” Her tone was playful, but elicited a smirk from McKenna all the same.
“It’s not my fault Austin won’t stop touching me,” McKenna defended.
For emphasis, Austin reached over and squeezed her thigh. I averted my eyes when his hand seemed to slip a little higher between her legs.
“Yep. On it.” I set the utensils down in a pile, letting them divide them out themselves.
PDA didn’t make me uncomfortable, but the feelings PDA sparked in me did.
Longing for something someone else had felt like pure jealousy.
I knew not all forms of jealousy were negative, but it still felt wrong.
I guess I should have expected that when coming to a birthday dinner with a bunch of couples.
When I entered the kitchen once more, Henley stood on the far side of the island, making some sort of cocktail. The fancy herbs and zest peels made me assume this was his gift to Brynne, which was a great idea, honestly. I’d do anything to get a sentiment like that from someone.
His eyes never lifted from the glass as he rimmed it with sugar, so I took that as a sign he didn’t want to engage in conversation.
Everything I knew about Henley led me to believe he was the quiet type.
In the past, McKenna had made it seem like he wasn’t the brightest, but the few times I’d seen him, her statement became hard to believe.
He simply appeared…misunderstood. And maybe his newfound silence was due to the image others had painted of him.
I opened and closed a few drawers in search of napkins. I assumed it’d be the same set we’d used for our sort-of Friendsgiving—Booker didn’t seem like the type to have holiday-themed decor or dinnerware, especially not colorful birthday ones.
After digging through four drawers, I finally found the black fabric napkins tucked in the back of one. I grabbed enough for all of us, then shut it and aimed for the exit.
“What’s with the blood?”
Henley’s voice had me nearly tripping over my feet as I stopped. My heart rate kicked up to a dangerous level, the rhythm vibrating through my entire body.
I slowly turned and found him still focused on the drink. He hadn’t so much as looked up when he spoke. “The what?”
Mid-flip, he gestured the glass in my direction before setting it upright. “On your neck.”
My fingers came up to run down the side of my neck, checking for any wet spots. But it’d be dry by now, wouldn’t it? And I’d gotten it all off. Hadn’t I?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, softening my voice to feign as much innocence as I could muster.
His responding silence was deafening, sending my nerves over the edge. I had to force myself not to shake. How the fuck could I explain blood on my skin? It’s not like I could say, Oh, that? It’s just from work. No biggie.
When a minute ticked by and not another word came out, my composure snapped. “If you’re really going to tell a girl she has something on her and not explain better, you’re a dick.”
He set the vodka down harder than necessary. My eyes widened slightly, not knowing where my insult had even come from.
This job was going to make me go insane with guilt and paranoia—if it hadn’t already.
He grabbed the moistened towel by his hand and rounded the island in two big steps, invading my personal space. The sour scent of lemon assaulted my senses as he used his free hand to grab my black hair and move it over my shoulder.
I’d chosen a dark green sweater with a deep V-neck, the tattoos over my collarbones and dipping down into my cleavage on full display. But he didn’t so much as glance at them as he ran the paper towel over the dip under my jaw, right by my earlobe.
Without my consent, my head tilted back slightly, giving him easier access. My breath caught in my throat as every part of my body focused on him touching me.
Seconds felt like minutes as he ran the paper towel over the spot a few more times. I was almost convinced he was lying simply for an excuse to touch me, but when he pulled it back, I noticed it was now tinted red.
I swallowed thickly, blinking at the towel. “I’m not sure how that got there.”
His eyes moved between mine, searching for something, before he stepped away. He went back to what he was doing, like wiping blood off me was the most casual thing. He didn’t even question it.
“Aren’t you going to throw that away?” I asked, nudging my chin in the direction of the towel he had placed beside his workstation.
He looked at me under hooded eyelids, hands still moving, like he didn’t need to pay attention to know what he was doing.
Why was that so—No, Grace. He could send you to prison with the DNA on that towel. He is not hot.
When he made no move to toss it in the trash, I decided to take matters into my own hands.
I walked around the island, grabbing it in a fist. My Doc Marten slammed on the lever of the trash, the lid hitting the wall with a smack. I threw it in, then let the top shut.
With a huff, I left the room.
Fuck him for getting under my skin. I knew damn well he could reach into that trash and ruin my life, but if McKenna’s words were anything to go off, Henley had secrets of his own. He wouldn’t risk it.
Yet when I sat at that table and dined with the rest of them, I couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes as they burned into me every now and then. For some reason, it felt like if I did, he’d uncover every piece of me I wanted to keep hidden.
“Someone is finally taking the management position at the diner,” Brynne spoke up, interrupting the growing irritation building inside me. The annoyance wasn’t aimed at her—it was for Henley.
McKenna’s attention moved to her friend. Austin’s chair was shoved up against hers, his arm around her waist. “And thankfully they’re renaming the joint,” McKenna added.
“To what?” Booker asked, pausing his eating to narrow all his focus on his girlfriend. The man always seemed so broody, his big stature and facial hair making him look even more of a grump, but he was always sweet to her.
“Whiskey Diner,” McKenna answered, a scrunch to her nose.
Austin snorted. “They don’t even sell whiskey there.”
McKenna shrugged, popping a green bean in her mouth. “It’s a part of the town name, smartass.”
My brows rose slightly, but Austin offered no reaction to the name. If anything, it appeared he liked her sass. I guess he had to, knowing McKenna wouldn’t drop the attitude for anyone. I loved her all the more for it.
Booker ignored them. “Who’s taking the position? Dan?” Dan was the cook at that place, but that was as much as I knew about him.
Brynne shook her head, swallowing before speaking. “He decided he’s not fit for running an entire business. Cooking is his real passion.” She took a sip of the cocktail Henley had brought her. “Some guy named Benny Pates.”
“Plates?” Austin asked for clarification.
“Pates.” Brynne enunciated it clearly. “But it would be more fitting if it were Plates.”
That earned a smile from McKenna.
Brynne went on, “I guess he has some big business plan for the place. He doesn’t seem to understand how small towns work, though. We’re not going to have patrons flocking in masses, but he seems to think he can do anything.”
Austin muttered something unintelligible under his breath.
A buzzing in my pocket pulled my attention from the conversation. I tugged out the burner phone, cursing myself for not remembering to leave it behind. I was getting too lazy lately, forgetting the systems I’d put in place to keep myself as protected from discovery as possible.
Keeping the phone hidden under the table, with my posture straight and my eyes downcast, I clicked on the text I’d received seconds ago.
There were no words, only a photo. I clicked it to enlarge the picture, my thumb freezing as I did.
I recognized the man, even if half his face was hidden as he turned his head. Henley was getting in his truck, glancing over his shoulder as he pulled on the handle.
I had what one might call a moment of weakness—my heart seemed to skip a beat, blood draining from my face, my hands growing clammy. No other target had made me feel this way. They were all justified for one reason or another because they were all seemingly bad people.
A hundred different theories flew through my head as I shut the phone off and slid it back in my pocket. Slowly, I raised my head, unable to help the fact that my focus moved directly to Henley, who sat across from me at the table.
He was done eating, quietly observing the group as they droned on about something I didn’t have the capacity to care about right now.
His gaze moved from the four of them, sliding over to me as if he’d felt my eyes on him.
I forced myself to suck in a breath, not having realized I was holding it. I stared at him, unable to peel my focus off the man I was now going to be forced to kill.
But this was a good thing, right? Because he’d seen the blood on my neck and could very well have grabbed the towel out of that trash to use as blackmail—for some reason I didn’t have the energy to conjure up. He could ruin my life.
This would not only solve the issue at hand, but put more money in my pocket.
It wasn’t like I really had a choice, anyway. Once I got a job, I had to complete it, or it was my life that would be on the line.
I gave myself a silent pep talk, beginning to plan every last detail of how I’d kill him. All while he sat across from me, arms crossed over his large chest. The tattoo on his neck flexed with every swallow, his eyes falling on me every so often.
I shoved away any guilt that tried to weasel its way in. He was McKenna’s boyfriend’s best friend. He was important to the ranch. He was involved in my friends’ lives.
As I plotted his demise, every single reason I shouldn’t go through with it forced its way to the front of my mind.
And every single one was shoved to the wind like a piece of litter.
Henley was my next target. And I was all too eager to cash in.