Page 124
“I’m not lying to the media about what happened to my son.”
“You don’t have to. I’ll be speaking on behalf of his distraught and grieving parents. There will be a reward for anyone who has information about him. All you have to do is keep your mouth shut and play along. Sheriff Townsend has agreed to do the same.”
Of course he has. He’s one of my father’s little cult buddies, and will, without question, take the secret to his grave. They all will, because that’s the Blackthorne curse. That’s what’s earned us the reputation of crossing paths with a black cat. That’s why no one will dare dispute a word of this, and Roark’s death will forever remain a mystery.
I turn my gaze away from my father, from Amelia, and Mayor Boyd. “This is wrong.”
“Welcome to the world of power, my boy.”
Chapter 47
Isadora
Present day …
Freshly showered, Lucian exits the bathroom, wearing only a towel wrapped around his lower half, the perfect V disappearing into the crisp white fabric. He leans in to kiss me, where I lay on the bed, having left the shower ahead of him. This is the moment I’ve dreaded. When we part ways and the awkwardness settles between us. I almost wish he’d been a dick afterward and ditched me last night, because at least then I’d be familiar with this. I’d know what to expect between us.
“You’re welcome to stay here today, if you’d like,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “No sense packing up, just to turn around and come back.”
The idea of staying seems even more awkward, especially when I haven’t figured out if this was just a onetime thing between us. A weekend of sex, and we’ll be back to boss and employee come tomorrow, when the work week starts over. “I can’t. I have to run a quick errand in town, and I told my aunt I’d have lunch at The Shoal.”
“I see.” The disappointment in his voice almost sounds as if he’d prefer that I stay. “I guess I’ll see you when you get back, then.”
“You could come with me.” I flinch as the words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them.
Again.
Especially when the expression on his face is what I’d expect if I’d just eaten a bowl full of maggots in front of him.
“Have you seen the crosses along the road? They call me the devil, in case you’ve forgotten. The mere sight of me will have them all believing the apocalypse has arrived.”
The thought of such a thing brings a smile to my face. What I wouldn’t give … “I don’t blame you. They treat me like shit, too.” With a sigh, I sit up on the bed, holding the crumpled sheet to my breast, and glance around the room. “If I lived here, I probably wouldn’t want to leave, either.”
“They treat you like shit, too. Why?”
Shrugging, I pull my knees up to my chest. “Because of my mom, mostly. I guess I inherited her reputation.”
“Isn’t that always the case.” It’s not a question, and there’s a kindred spark behind his eyes as he studies me.
“It was really bad, my first couple years of high school. The other kids and their parents, teachers, they all treated me like I was some kind of plague.” Memories of my first day filter in, when I sat eating lunch under the staircase, just looking for a place to breathe. “It gets easier after a while. Almost like their hate becomes part of your skin.” I run my finger over the tiny ridges of scars along my forearm. “Surface. As long as it stays on the surface, it can’t touch who you are inside.”
“On second thought, I would like to accompany you today.”
A zap of surprise washes over me with his sudden change of heart. “Really?”
“Really. I’ll drive.”
* * *
Expecting to see Lucian dress casual is like expecting a star to be less brilliant. No matter what he’s wearing, he always looks like a million bucks.
As he takes my hand, leading me down a hallway I haven’t yet ventured into, wearing a short-sleeve, black button-down and dark jeans, I have to remind myself not to stare at his ass the whole time. It’s uncanny to me, the way the man can fill a pair of denim with the same ruthless sex appeal as when he’s dressed in one of his sharp suits.
A delicious orange sandalwood scent trails after him, watering my mouth, as I follow behind.
The hallway ends at a door, which Lucian opens before flipping a switch on the wall beside him. Lights flicker on, illuminating what reminds me of an airplane hangar, as enormous as the room is, with high ceilings and massive shelves storing two wrapped boats. On the open floor of the place are rows of vehicles, maybe two dozen. Luxury, compact, sport. Various colors and sizes, makes and models.
“Oh, my God,” is all I can muster, as I scan the room.
