Page 32 of Grave Stone

“Knock it off,” Sin ordered. “We’re here.”

I rolled down my window as Sin pulled up to the call box.

“Can I help you?” a woman asked through the speaker.

“Yes, I’m Stone Hart, here to speak with Whitney Carlson or Hadley Montgomery.”

“Well, hello, Stone. Who are those handsome fellas with you?”

Oh, fuck me.

“My brothers, Sin and Tomb.”

“He can park right there. Then I need y’all to stand in front of the camera and let me watch you remove your weapons and lock them in the truck. Then I’ll buzz you in.”

“Is she fucking serious?”

“Yes, I am, and we can start with you. Raise your shirt and bare your entire chest. Then turn in a complete circle.”

She continued giving me directions until she was satisfied. Then she did the same with Sin. But when she asked Tomb to bend over for the third time, I realized she was fucking with us.

I glared directly into the camera. “How would you feel if we did this to you?”

“All right. Y’all can come around to the back.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Tomb said. “We could be walking into an ambush.”

“You think these three women are going to ambush us on the beach on Labor Day?”

“They might. They don’t seem like average women.”

I led the way to the back of the house because I didn’t give a fuck if it was an ambush or not. I wanted to make sure Whitney was okay, and then I wanted to know who the fuck was killing people on her behalf.

Whitney and Stevie were standing on the far side of the patio, with an in-ground swimming pool separating us. “I’m not yelling this shit across a fucking pool.”

“Dude, what are you doing?” Tomb groaned and took one step forward. “Ignore him. He’s cranky when he’s tired. He meant to ask if we could speak somewhere more private.”

The fucker. I wasn’t tired. I was worried about a woman I didn’t know for reasons I didn’t know, and it was pissing me off.

“Who are you?” Stevie asked.

“I’m Tomb, that’s Sin, and the asshole is Stone.”

I made eye contact with Whitney. “I need to speak with you alone.”

She nodded and pointed to the chairs beside the pool. “Over there.” Then she turned and whispered something to Stevie, who didn’t like whatever she said judging by the face she made.

“You need to be nicer,” Tomb said quietly.

“Why?”

“Because that girl is gonna have one of two reactions—freak the fuck out or kill you. Nice is the only way to go.”

“Secrets, secrets are no fun. Secrets make me hurt someone.” My head shot up to see Hadley pointing a large gun at us from the second-floor balcony.

“I was just telling him it’s easier to catch flies with honey.”

“Depends on the type of fly,” Stevie said. “It’s easier to catch blowflies with a dead body.”