I palmed a stash of joints.
I’d poached them from Reed’s bag before he left, just to fuck with him for the punch. Leaning against the hood of my car, I watched Emery run her fingers across the massive double gates to the Winthrop Estate.
She crooked her head to study its height. “How likely are we to get arrested for trespassing?”
The weed wafted to my nostrils. I reeled a joint out of the bag and tossed the rest through my open car window. “Considering it’s the Fourth of July and Eastridge is about as corrupt as a North Korean election, not at all.”
I neglected to mention I was the unhappy owner of the sixty-one-acre property. Maintenance fees for groundskeeping and cleaning staff auto-paid from one of my personal bank accounts.
My efforts started and ended there.
Emery tipped her chin at the joint nestled between my thumb and forefinger. “Are you going to light it up?”
Half my damn face throbbed, but I ignored it. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Corrupting you sounds more fun than it actually is, Miss Winthrop,” I lied. Mostly because the opposite was true, and she tasted of bad decisions and something to fight for instead of just something to fight.
Her blue-grays glinted with the challenge. Two fingers drifted down her shirt and thumbed the rim of her jeans, dipping just inside. “Do you like it?”
I swallowed, following the path of her fingertips. “Yes.”
She tugged a fraction, flashing me a peek of smooth skin. “How much restraint does it take to not devour it?”
“Fucking all of it.” Tossing the unlit joint to the leaf-covered ground, I crushed my heel on it. “Are we breaking and entering or what? I’m beginning to think you’re too vanilla for this criminal lifestyle, Jailbait.”
Emery gifted me with her throaty laugh, so pure and fucking genuine, it traveled straight to my cock. Her teeth grazed her lower lip, chancing a final glance at me before she began climbing the gate.
If I pinned her to it and fucked her hard, she’d probably beg me to fuck her harder. She’d been giving me those eyes since I let Reed go to town on my face. Blue one darkening. Gray one lightening.
They spoke all the words she’d never say.
I need you inside me, they challenged. Give me everything you’ve got.
It took all my self-control not to slide her jeans down her legs and sink inside her.
She was still a walking, talking, breathing rift between me and my brother, and I needed Gideon’s location.
A conversation was long overdue.
Not to mention, Ma had pulled me aside at the house and told me Brandon stopped by a few times to talk to her, too. I realized I’d been so wrapped up in discussing Emery that I never asked Dick the PI who the second party to profit from the Winthrop Scandal was.
Now, Brandon was on my ass like a rash, stalking Ma and Emery. I’d burn myself with him, just to see him wither to ashes.
Emery whooped from the top of the gate, straddling it on either side. I edged forward in case she fell.
“How’s this for vanilla?”
I tilted my head. “The sun’s shining right on your tits. Are those hearts on your bra?”
“I’m not wearing a bra.”
Fuck.
She covered her palms with her hoodie, slid down one of the gate’s iron pillars, and landed with a Selena Kyle crouch. Her brow lifted as if to say, beat that.
I skated into my driver’s seat, inched to the gate box, typed the code, and pulled up beside Emery.
She swung the passenger door open. “What the hell? You know the code?”
“It’s the same one.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“Worked out just fine.” I parked in front of the mansion’s double doors. “I’m in the company of a criminal mastermind.”
“Do you think someone’s in there?”
“No, but we’ll knock in case.”
Emery followed me up the steps. She knocked while I retrieved the spare keys beneath a rock. “It doesn’t bother you that we’re breaking in?”
“Word around town is no one lives here.” I swung the door open.
Her lips parted at the sight of the foyer. The ridiculous Dionysus statue welcomed us, pristine given the weekly cleaning service I paid for.
Emery’s fingertips trailed along the staircase’s railing, coming up without dust. “Isn’t this weird to you?”
“What?”
“Somebody bought this place, and it looks like they never touched it.” We walked past a few rooms and into the kitchen. “Even Virginia’s Swarovski dinner plates are set in the dining room. They’re not even dusty.”
“What I find weird is you calling your mom Virginia.”
Actually, I found it weirder she hadn’t called her that from the start. The woman made the evil step-mom from Hansel and Gretel seem like a peach.
“What I find weird is that I bothered to call her Mother for twenty-two years, and it took a text from her to get me to stop.” She flung open the refrigerator, which the staff kept stocked for themselves, and pulled out a bag of frozen peas. “This isn’t even expired.”
I said nothing, watching her as she approached me.
She pressed the bag to my eye, gentle at first but firm when I didn’t react. “It was always you, wasn’t it?” she asked. I had no idea what she was talking about. She sucked in a breath. “Able was a dick, and I had revenge on my mind. If you hadn’t hurt him, I would have. Thank you.”
She was staring at me hard, looking at me like I might have a heart. I pulled at my collar, remembering after that I wore a Henley, not a button-down. Her breath fanned my cheeks, rushing to my neck. Mint and the strawberries she’d eaten at Ma’s.
If she didn’t move, I’d kiss her.
Fuck Reed.
Fuck Gideon.
Fuck Virginia.
Funny, how I never wanted to kiss anyone before, and now all I could think of was owning Emery’s lips.
“Keep the ice on it.” She replaced her hand on the peas with mine, lingering, eyes jumping to my mouth. “I wonder if my room is the same.”
It was.
I didn’t tell her.
Her eyes dropped to my lips once more. The sharp inhale confirmed she wanted them on hers, too. Three more seconds of staring, and I’d give it to her.
Two.
O—
She stepped back and strode to her bedroom. We passed the library, piano room, her parents’ room, and the game room without stopping in any of them. If I didn’t know better, I would think she hadn’t grown up here. That these walls, this roof, the fucking statuario beneath our feet meant nothing to her.
In fact, she acted like she had no claim to the place. It bothered me. Not in the fairy tale Emery-and-I-met-here kind of way, but something that had less to do with us and more to do with the fact that she thought she had to be strong by pushing the past away.
She didn’t.
I’d been there, done that, bought the t-shirt. It fit three-sizes too small, and every time I wore it, it damn near choked me to death.
Probably why I blurted, “I bought it.”
She squinted at me and kept walking. “You bought what?”
“The Winthrop Estate.”
Her feet stopped, but her back faced me. “Why?”
“I don’t know.” Always lying.
Because I thought it would lead to clues to take down your family. Turns out, I was wrong. You’re probably innocent. Your Dad is probably innocent. Two more victims of this mess. So much of that going around.
Instead, I offered, “You can have it.”
She finally turned to face me, conflict written all over her face like a billboard to her thoughts. “I don’t want or need your charity.”
“At the very least, the things in this room are yours. You can take them or leave them here to retrieve whenever you want.”
The bag of peas hung loosely in my hands, brushing the side of my thigh. She focused on my eye, released a breath, and nodded.
In her room, she walked straight to the nightstand and pulled out a music box. The contents rustled when she shook it. Her relieved sigh piqued my curiosity. Setting it down, she disappeared into the closet.
I peered in the box, skimming over the tightly rolled papers. The corner-most one appeared loosest. Grabbing it, I unraveled the strip as if it were a fortune cookie.
You ever look to the stars and wonder if there’s life out there? If there is, the aliens are probably pissed we keep crowning humans as Miss Universe.
I bet they’re floating in space with their superior technology, thinking—we could help them cure cancer if only those humans would stop considering themselves as the center of the universe.
Think that’s why we’ve never met any aliens?
(Hey, Alien Supreme Leader, if you’re spying on me or Emery and read my note, take us with you. This place smells like sewage, and I caught Virginia forcing Em to eat with baby spoons to take smaller bites. By the way, I packed you an extra brownie, Tiger. I hope you eat it in front of Virginia and tell her it’s laced with weed.)
NASH
I’d written that after a bullshit astrology breadth course lecture, taught by a philosophy adjunct in need of spare cash.
I opened another.
Reed said you’re obsessed with stars. I told him, if you’re obsessed with stars, you’d be obsessed with daylight, considering the sun is a star and we lose its light at night.
He said I’m wrong, that you stare at the night sky because it proves light peeks out of the darkness. (What in the actual poetic bullshit is that?)
Wanna know what I think?
It’s the darkness you’re after, Little Tiger.
Isn’t it?
NASH
And another.
One day, you’ll reread this, and it’ll be like spying on your own memory. Hope it’s a happy memory.
Also, Virginia tossed the cottage, looking for weed. She thinks I’m dealing. I take it you ate the brownie. Worth it.
NASH
Emery’s footsteps approached. I rolled the letters up, deposited them back into the tin box, and leaned against the vanity.
It dawned on me that we shared the same memories.
“Almost ready.” She exited the en suite in a dark dress so short, it would have been lewd if she didn’t look so fucking pure in it. “I’ve grown a few inches since I wore it last, but Virginia hates this dress, so it is what it is. You think it’s too short?”
No.
Yes.
I didn’t answer, watching as she cocked her head and examined herself in the mirror. Satisfaction unfurled across her face at the sight of the dying roses printed on the dress. She reached behind me on the vanity and grabbed a tube of mascara at least four years old.
I snatched it from her. “You don’t need it, and I’d rather avoid explaining to the press why my Fourth of July brunch date has pink eye.”
She hummed in the back of her throat. “There’s golfing involved, too. Neither of us are dressed for it, which will probably be the only fun part about it.”
Her hand found an ancient tube of Chapstick. She rubbed it across her lips, probably infecting them with some disease, but I’d still slam my mouth onto hers.
Her legs kicked at the four giant boxes beside the vanity, dress sneaking up her thigh. “Think I can fit these in the closet?”
“The closet?”
Her hand shot to her mouth. “Shit.”
“The closet?” I repeated, trying to figure out why she suddenly looked panicked. “Spill.”
“Nash—”
“I’ll find out.” I opened one of the boxes. Piles of Winthrop Textiles shirts filled it. I didn’t know what to think of it other than I needed her shirts, but I hated where they came from. “You know I’m persistent. It’s easier for both of us to tell me.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Tell me.” I emphasized, “No lies.”
She caved at the word lie, guilt crossing her face for a fleeting second. “I’ve been living in a closet at the hotel.”
I blew up.
Fucking. Blew. Up.
She pissed me off.
Could she be any more self-sacrificial, infuriating, contradicting, confusing, generous, deviant, remarkable, or fucking goddamn consuming?
My body shook with the vigor of a pipeline drill. I needed to sprint a marathon, swim the entire Pacific, or trek the Amazon. Literally, anything to expend this energy, because mostly, I pissed myself off for not seeing any of this sooner.
I’d started this revenge quest with somewhat noble intentions, but I’d chosen the absolute last person I should have tormented.
“I’ll move.” Emery had the decency to look guilty, just about the wrong damn thing. “I swear, just give me some time to find a place.”
“You think that’s why I’m mad?!”
I shook my head, then shook it again, wondering if it’d rid me of this nightmare situation.
Nope. Still your fucking reality.
Piece of shit, meet your twin. Me.
Backing away from the vanity, my footsteps pounded against the carpet like artillery fire.
“Are you serious?” I didn’t wait for an answer. “You’re starving and homeless, but you’re giving some chick you don’t know over two grand a month for tuition? What the actual fuck, Emery?”
“You know about Demi?” She shook her head, as if it would wipe away the shock.
Nope, sweetheart. Tried that. Didn’t work, and here I am, feeling like the biggest asshole in the history of Earth. Napoleon Bonaparte, Christopher Columbus, and Nash motherfucking Prescott.
“What about yourself?” I scrubbed my face. “When are you going to start taking care of yourself?”
“When the guilt fades!”
“What guilt?! Why are you guilty?!”
Fucking hell, this was it.
The moment she told me she’d been involved in the embezzlement.
The moment I learned she was guilty and, worse, wanted her anyway.
She glanced at the hickory clock on her nightstand. “We’re going to be late.”
“I don’t care.”
“I have to be on time.”
“Still don’t care.”
“Virginia is holding my trust fund over my head…”
Shit. Cocksucker. Dickface.
I folded my arms across my chest. “We’re talking about this later.”
“Sure,” she said, but I didn’t believe her. She didn’t comment on the frozen peas I’d left on the nightstand, tossing the bag to me. “I said to keep this on your eye. It’s already swelling and turning dark.”
“I can handle a black eye, Tiger. I’ve had plenty.”
“Suit yourself.” She tipped a shoulder up, glimpsed at the full-length mirror again, and fingered a dead flower on the dress. As if she couldn’t help herself, she spun. The dress moved with her, drooping petals suddenly alive.
It was such a fucking Emery Winthrop thing to do, my nails pierced the bag to stop my hands from pinning her to the mirror and tearing that dress off her body.
“I like that you’re watching me, mostly because I know you hate that you’re doing it,” she called over her shoulder.
With her spinning in a dress of dead roses, frozen peas pressed to my eye, I succumbed to the fact that I wanted Emery Winthrop.
This was happening.
I’m going to hell.
