Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 162520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Trevor sits up on the other bed, seeing the severity in their expressions. Even Oliver is way more uptight than usual. I send my brother a look like, What’s going on?
He lifts his shoulders and brows, then takes a sharp inhale like, Shit’s fucked-up. What can I say? I watch him slip on designer sunglasses, which means he’s sick of me reading his reactions.
I try not to worry about him. He wouldn’t want me to.
“What were you talking about?” I grimace at Rocky. “I hate to even want this, but please tell me Trent is still alive.”
“No one killed Trent,” Rocky says, running his fingers through his hair. “We’re discussing the possibility of Varrick not wanting a team in the end. If his motive is solely to have a baby.”
“What?” My face falls.
Hailey squeezes my hand, like she’s already thought about this. She’s comforting me. When I should be comforting her. She’s the pregnant one. I might be…I might not be.
Nova snatches the paper-bagged bottle from Trevor. “He means Varrick isn’t a team player. Never has been. Why would he believe Rocky would ever work with him?”
“He doesn’t believe that I would.” Rocky sounds so assured. “Because he’s not going to work with us. That’s not what this has been about.”
“If it’s just about having a baby to raise as a grifter, then…” I can’t process this. “He could’ve had one any other way. Adoption. Gotten another woman pregnant.”
Rocky arches his brows. “Honestly, I think it’s a fuck you to Elizabeth, Addison, and Everett for not telling them he had children two decades ago. He really wants revenge, and we’re caught in the fucking middle.”
My blood runs cold. “So, what is he going to do?”
Nova chugs from the bottle, then wipes his mouth with his bicep. His anger is palpable. Jake is rolling his sleeves to his forearms. Oliver sends me and Hailey tiny, fleeting smiles of reassurance.
Rocky works his jaw before saying, “He could steal the baby and run.”
Oh.
Okay, yeah. It hits me like a brick wall. I feel like I just got knocked out. “My dad might kidnap Hailey’s baby. That’s what you’re saying?” I refuse to acknowledge that I might be pregnant.
Oliver leans on the dresser, blocking Trevor’s view of the TV. “Nicolas Cage did it in Raising Arizona. Maybe our dad has a thing for the actor.” He holds up his right hand. “Raising Arizona.” Then lifts his left. “Matchstick Men.”
“That’s the film about con artists?” Jake asks.
“Yep,” Rocky says.
“I hate that movie,” Trevor mutters, trying to switch channels with Oliver in the way. “Too predictable.”
“Okay. Okay.” I let go of Hailey’s hand, needing to stand up. “So, easy fix. Varrick can’t know Hailey is pregnant. He has to be dealt with ASAP.”
“He will be. That’s the plan,” Rocky reminds me.
There’ve been two jobs happening at once.
I know.
There will be two ropes pulled.
Rocky looks around at everyone, at Hailey, at me, as he says, “This stays here. Do not act like you hate him more than you already do. Don’t act like he’s the scum of the fucking earth. Do exactly what you’ve been doing.”
I’m more nervous than I have been. All I’m going to want to do is stab him between the eyes. “Everything about this is dangerous.”
“Yeah,” Rocky agrees with me. “And the next generation of Tinrocks and Graveses will be dangerously ours. He’s not getting shit.”
FORTY
Oliver
Tonight is too heavy. Love a motel though. I try to hang on to the new location change. The ten p.m. swerve.
Fun. Cool.
I’m not that surprised we needed to get out of Victoria for a night. Needing safe places to reconvene is pretty typical.
Problem: The twenty-pound weight plates on my chest have quickly amassed into a hundred pounds.
I can’t throw them off.
Cannot breathe.
Beside the TV behind me, my sister’s phone is counting down to her pregnancy test results. I don’t want to be here when it beeps. She doesn’t need me for comfort. Rocky has that handled.
I twirl a finger in the air as I walk backward to the door. “Making a vending machine run. Text me junk food orders if you want anything.” I make a peace sign on my way out.
I shut the door. Leaning against it, I inhale.
Exhale.
Breathing should help. Why is that not helping? I tug at the collar of my shirt, grimacing, and I make my way toward the outdoor vending area.
Crickets chirp, and moths flap beneath the dulled lights illuminating the concrete pathway. The heat is sticky. Cumbersome. I dig my phone out of my khaki slacks.
I know what has me so fucked-up.
I know my brother and sister would not approve of this. So I cast a quick glance backward, then I dial a number. Phone to my ear, I stroll toward the flickering lights above two vending machines.
“Spider,” she answers fast.
Mom. I run my tongue over my molars. My eyes scald faster than they should. I can control this. I can control this. I can…not.