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)
Immediate regret pummels me. I shouldn’t want a single thing from him. Not even the fucks he pretends to give.
Oliver’s curiosity doubles mine. I can see it in the way he bows forward slightly.
We don’t have time to dig any deeper. Varrick checks the time on his watch and tells us The Ithaka should be docking at Stonehaven in the next ten minutes. He says to make our way to the main deck when we’re ready, but Oliver and I watch him descend the stairs with an unconcerned, confident gait.
As soon as he’s out of earshot, Oliver lets out a weighted breath. His eyes catch mine, and they say the same thing: He’s good. Maybe too good.
Oliver raises his champagne flute to his lips. Before he finishes it off in a heartier swig, he says, “This is going to be a long fucking summer.”
THIRTEEN
Jake
On my sixteenth birthday, my eldest brother called me on his way home from college, promising to hand-deliver a surprise present. The best a big brother could offer. I contemplated driving to Concord, pretending I was sick with the flu, breaking my own leg, and spending the day in the hospital.
Anything to get me out of whatever surprise Trent had up his sleeve.
But Kate, my eight-year-old little sister, ran into my room with a handmade birthday card. It said, You have permission to ride Bowie all day—today only!
Her face lit up like she’d given me the world. Her prized horse was never to be ridden by any of her brothers, including me. I didn’t want to disappoint her, so I spent the morning at the stables. There was no avoiding Trent once he arrived. No denying him. I tried at least.
I said no when he pulled me into his brand-new Lamborghini Murciélago.
I said no when he drove me to New York.
I said no when his friends showed up and dragged me into a strip club.
I said fuck no when Trent paid for a VIP room for me. He grabbed the back of my neck, his fingers digging into my flesh. “Don’t be a pussy, Jake,” he whisper-hissed. “Most little brothers would be on their knees in appreciation for this gift. Take it. Thank me the fuck later.” He pushed me off the couch so forcefully I stumbled into the stripper, having to grab her around the waist before she fell back into the hard edge of the stage.
He laughed.
His friends laughed.
I just wanted to leave, and I realized Trent at least gave me a way to escape them. So I stayed in the VIP room all night, talking with Destiny and learning that she was a grad student at NYU studying microbiology and dancing at the club to pay off her student loans.
It was that night that I realized my brother did not understand the word no.
It’s why I don’t say it today while he ransacks a closet, tearing my button-downs and polos off the hangers and tossing them like garbage to the floor. Barely an hour at Stonehaven, and we’re already at odds. But I expected as much when the yacht docked at the three-story mansion, and Varrick explained there weren’t enough bedrooms for everyone to have their own. He made arrangements for the brothers to room together.
Not a problem for Damian and Sandon Bennet, Grey and Trevor Thornhall, or even Oliver and Nova Smith.
But Trent and I—we have a massive fucking problem. We can barely share the same air. Sharing a bedroom might as well be asking him to sleep inside a coffin six feet under the earth.
Instead of politely telling me to gather my things—things that were meticulously folded and placed in drawers and closets by the Stonehaven staff that unpacked our luggage—Trent has decided to go nuclear.
I’m half expecting him to take out a match and just light my shit on fire.
It’s not beneath him.
I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, the door shut on Trent’s request. “Is this really necessary?” I ask.
He takes two hands to scoop my boxer briefs out of the drawer and dump them on the rug. “You weren’t going to do it.”
“If you gave me longer than thirty fucking seconds—”
“You’ve always been slow at everything. I doubt you’d have this handled in thirty minutes, let alone seconds.” He thrusts open the next drawer. “Just thank me and be done with it.”
“What am I thanking you for exactly?”
“Solving this fuckup.” He tosses my shorts onto the pile of clothes.
“I’m sure Varrick Wolfe would love to hear how you believe his arrangements are a massive failure—”
“Twisting my words already.” Trent shoots me a glare. “You shouldn’t even be in this room. My lawyers advised me not to be alone with you.”
I laugh. “Is that why we haven’t been alone together since Mom died?”
“Obviously. I actually listen to my legal counsel.”
Yeah, right.