44. Chapter Forty Three

Chapter Forty Three

I should be hunting for clues, ticking weapons off the checklist in my pocket. Instead, I'm too busy watching Avery. Moving from the study to the kitchen, I don't want to be anywhere she isn't. Her wide blue eyes and even bigger smile. She's stunning, and I can't take my eyes off her. The slinky satin hugs her body, not leaving a millimeter of skin. I wouldn't put it past Cathy Hughes to have had the dress made just for Avery, just for this occasion. The same goes for Meg. From my understanding, the girls were always together, always present, and Cathy treated them both like her daughters.

Once inside the kitchen, she drifts from countertop to appliance, searching low and high, pulling out drawers, opening cupboards. The island is littered with covered food, divine scents filtering from underneath. It seems the chef pre-made all of tonight's food and left small cards with heating instructions.

Avery's small ‘aha' is endearing, coming up behind her to see what she's found. Beneath the basin, a candlestick stands tall and proud, out of place against bottles of detergent and cleaning fluid. Avery is crouched, marking an X on her sheet, then looking over her shoulder at where I'm lingering.

"Our little secret," she winks, closing the cupboard door. I don't know what comes over me as she stands, except for a surge of need. Gripping Avery to my body, I nudge her back against the counter. Her curves mold to me, her lips popped open in surprise.

"Dr Henderson!" Avery gasps and giggles. My hands land on her hips, gentle, seeking. The satin helps the glide of my palms to the small over her back and upward, holding Avery to me like the most precious woman in the world. I've never been a fuck-and-run kind of guy. My mom raised me with respect.

"Our little secret," I breathe, pressing my lips against hers. She smells divine, vanilla and honey overwhelming my senses. Her lips are so soft, smudging lipstick over mine. I reach for her chin, tipping her head aside to allow my tongue to dip inside. There's no rush, no reason we can't savor the moment alone we've managed to carve out for ourselves. Avery pushes into me, every part of our bodies touching, all the way down to where her leg intertwines with mine. My hand slips into her hair, carefully holding her. Delicately worshiping her.

A shuffle by the door interrupts us, members of the wait staff arriving to prepare our next course. Avery's eyes are bright, her lips seeking more as I reluctantly move away.

"Where's next?" I ask, reaching for her with one hand and rearranging my stiffened cock with the other. I don't need fast-paced and heavy to get me excited; Avery's body resting against mine will do it every time. Avery opts to head back to the dining room, muttering conspiracy theories. One of which is based on Wyatt's military presence, given Axel's communication device and its potential.

"It has legs, I'll give you that." We break apart as we re-enter, finding both Huxley and Wyatt lounging by the large window. "They do look mighty suspicious." Avery nods in agreement, narrowing her eyes and making an I'm-watching-you gesture. Huxley mimics it back, Wyatt looks bored.

"My darlings!" Garrett swans in, his heels clicking lazily behind me. I keep my focus forward, noticing Wyatt's curiosity suddenly peak. It's the most animated I've seen him all night, but not in a good way.

Sauntering past, Garrett is throwing his hips from side to side, making a show of his corset-given curves. I roll my eyes. Nothing Garrett does surprises me anymore. On one gloved finger, he's swinging something that looks identical to a gun, the black metal catching the lighting. On second thoughts, maybe he can surprise me after all.

"Garrett," Wyatt is tense and still. Deathly still. "Put it down."

"It's Miss Rose to you, hot stuff." Garrett bats his ridiculous lashes, not sensing the shift of atmosphere in the dining room. Huxley, although seeming confused, holds up his hands and edges closer.

"Seriously, Gare. Do as Wyatt says. Put it on the table and step back."

Moving to the head of the table, Garrett leans over the high-backed seat. "This old thing?" He grabs hold of the butt and extends his arm, closing one eye while the other is trained on Wyatt. "It's just a prop." A shift of movement puts Avery flush against my side, her hand desperate and seeking. It wraps around my wrist, her breath skating over my neck. I spear her a glance, our blue eyes meeting with unease. It's not common for Wyatt to be spooked.

"Garrett, what the fuck?!" Axel walks into the dining room with Meg, the first sight being his lover pointing a gun at Wyatt's head. It's wrong. Everything about it feels wrong. After a tense moment, Garrett sighs loudly. His shoulders slump, causing the dress' bust to curve away from his body.

"Fuck's sake guys. I thought I was the one meant to be wearing panties. It's just a game." His arm jerks aside, his finger pressing on the trigger. No one truly expected the crack of gunfire to explode from the barrel, a bullet lodging itself in the wall. Two inches over and it would have sailed through Wyatt's head. Garrett freezes, his mouth dropped wide open. He shakily tosses the gun onto the table and trips over himself in an attempt to scramble away. "How…how did you know it was real?" Garrett is sheet white beneath his make-up, finding himself trembling in Axel's arms.

"The red stripes on the grip. It's my father's. All of his guns are modified, back from when he used to take me shooting as a kid." Wyatt replies gravely, the vein in his head pulsing. He hesitantly reaches over to click the safety on. "Where did you find it?"

Instead of responding, Garrett skitters on his stilts and with Axel's help, guides us to the games room. Dark oak paneling blends into rich, leather armchairs flanking an empty fireplace. In the center of the room, a pool table takes up most of the space. Shelving units stand tall, overstuffed with books and knick knacks. A vintage jukebox in the corner adds a nostalgic touch, if the side panel wasn't lying on the wooden floor. Garrett points towards it, one shoulder offering a half-shrug of apology .

"If I was going to hide something, I'd choose the jukebox."

"Apparently, so would someone else," Huxley comments. He lowers, pushing his hand into the jukebox's open cavity. He withdraws a padded brown envelope, packed with stacks of money, the holster that the gun came from and an old, dusty diary. The cover which was once red, is now peeled and a shade of sun touched pink. The strap holds a keyhole which I believe has been pried open, given the limp status of the bronze clasp. Avery's grip on my arm turns bruising, her breath sawing out in a rush.

"I've seen that before." Releasing me, she edges forward and accepts the diary from Huxley's large hand. "It's my mom's." The spine creaks as she opens the front cover, revealing ‘ Property of Cathy Hughes ' just inside. Snapping it shut, Avery hugs it to her chest, taking a step back. Her gaze is firmly, intently squared on Wyatt. No words are needed to portray what she's thinking, that he'll storm forward and snatch it from her.

A bell rings, indicating it's time for us to take our seats for the next course of dinner. No one moves, except for Meg stepping closer to Avery.

"Why would your mom hide money and a gun?" she asks the question we're all wondering.

"And what was she scared of?" Wyatt adds. He looks distant again, lost in his mind. With that, the fun and games are over. Wyatt strides out with clipped boot-steps, indicating we're done here. We follow as I draw Avery under my arm, protecting her while she hugs the diary like a lifeline. A tangible connection to her mom, something she long thought was lost.

Stepping off to the side, Axel draws Garrett into a hug, soothing hands stroking his mass of brown hair. "I nearly killed him," Garrett whispers into the crook of Axel's neck, visibly shaken. Using one hand, I unbutton the lab coat, mid-sigh when I crash into Huxley's back. He's just done the same to Wyatt, in the doorway of the dining room.

"Garrett!" Wyatt roars. I peer around Huxley's huge frame, struggling to see the cause of Wyatt's standstill. But that's the point - I don't see it. The gun, from the table, is missing. I drag Avery aside, keeping her firmly in my protection as Wyatt wheels around, seeking out his target. His boots eat up the space between them, where he tears Garrett from Axel's hold. "Where the fuck is it?!"

Garrett's eyes lock down immediately. Any sense of regret and vulnerability vanishes. He shoves Wyatt a step back, before coming chest-to-chest with him.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he grinds through his teeth, but his fists are no less clenched. Garrett may be a six-foot man in a red dress, but he stands up to Wyatt, unwavering in his heels. Foreboding ripples through me, pre-empting Wyatt's following shove and the swing of his fist. He clocks Garrett in the jaw, and the air is sucked out of the lobby. We've never fought. We help beat on others, defending our brothers even when they're in the wrong. But we don't fight each other.

"I'm giving you one chance to step away from me, Riot." Garrett tries a last ditch attempt to diffuse the tension in Wyatt's shoulders, despite seething with anger himself. I release Avery, tucking her back beside Meg. Hux is with me, chests puffed out and ready to break them apart. It's only Garrett's quick glance over Wyatt's shoulder and a miniscule shake of his head that keeps us back. Then he moves. Garrett's hand is around Wyatt's neck, the movement too swift to track. Spinning him, Garrett forces Axel to dive out of the way so he can pin Wyatt against the wall.

"Give me the fucking gun," Wyatt chokes out, his hands clenched around Garrett's arm. His green eyes wander, looking over the lack of places Garrett could hide the weapon. It doesn't deter him from kicking out, hitting Gare's shin hard. Garrett is unaffected, his hand on Wyatt's throat tightening. Veins bulge, Wyatt's face turning an unhealthy shade of red. I inhale sharply. Garrett isn't backing down.

"Come on man, that's enough," I break free of those watching and tap Garrett on the shoulder. I'm not foolish enough to use force, not when Garrett's face is taut and his posture stiff. Like a feral animal, it's always best to proceed with caution, or we'll all be the subject of his rage. "We know you don't have the gun. Let's look for it instead, it can't be far." My reasoning falls on deaf ears.

Slowly shaking his head, Garrett mutters something under his breath. Wyatt's struggles fall limp, his face stubbornly tense until the light goes from his eyes. Garrett releases him the instant he passes out, his limbs crumpling in a heap on the marble floor. Huxley is right there, scooping Wyatt up into his arms.

"Was that really necessary?" he huffs in Garrett's direction. Finally stepping back, Garrett rubs his jaw, a bruise already starting to appear.

"Yes." And with the dramatic flair I would have expected, Garrett swishes his skirt and sashays up the stairs, one hand on his hip and the other floating through the air like some sort of queen. My attention falls to Axel, a bystander in all of this.

"Never a dull day," he sighs, and heads in the direction of the dining room. At least someone is going to address the actual problem, now that Wyatt's mini-suicide mission is over. Huxley carries the limp man in question to bed, and I'm left turning back to the girls watching on with wide eyes. As I approach, Meg's miniature bag begins to vibrate.

"Shit, Aves. I told my mom I'd update her. I promised I'd head back home tonight, spend some time with her before I head back to school. But I can stay, you clearly need me," Meg's hand extends towards the diary still clutched to Avery's chest. Avery shakes her head, tears on the edge of her blue eyes.

"It's fine. I'm just going to go to bed and read for a while. I'll call you a car," Avery steps away, actively distancing herself. I step in then, seeing where I can actually be of use in this shitshow of a night.

"I'll drive you home," I nod to Meg, then address Avery. "As long as you're sure you'll be okay?" Avery nods, finding a small smile to reassure me.

That's how I find myself in a white Bentley, following Meg's directions through a city I don't know, and have never had any desire to drive in. I find a cigarette box in the door and ask Meg to light for me, while I puff and abide by a ridiculous amount of traffic lights.

"I didn't know you smoked," she comments, then lights one for herself. I spare a look that says ‘ditto' .

Luckily for myself and all of those around me, I don't have an addictive personality. I can take or leave smoking, but in times of heightened stress if there's one available, it's something to do. A brief distraction, then back to the problem at hand. What am I stressed about tonight specifically? Stupidly, it's that Avery didn't get the party she'd hoped for, not the fact the staff must have misplaced a gun, probably thinking it was a prop to our game like Garrett did .

Turning into a long street, Meg directs me to a parking space beside a tall building. It looks the same as all the rest, mounted by stone steps and a metal railing. Five floors high judging by the repetitive windows. She doesn't immediately thank me and leave as anticipated, so we sit there for a while. I sense her watching me each time approaching headlights illuminate the car and then plunge us back into darkness. After a while, I can't simply listen to the low beat of the radio anymore.

"What is it?"

She twists her lips, still fully dressed as Isabella Sinclair from the nineteen-hundreds. To that effect, I'm in a lab coat and if we were to have been pulled over, I can only imagine what the cop camera footage would have looked like. Finally, she sighs.

"I think I like you." I tense, dropping my hands from the wheel.

"Is this a test? If so, I believe I'm spoken for."

"No, it's not a test," Meg laughs to herself. It was definitely a test. "I mean, out of all of them, I think I like you the best. You're different with Avery. Protective, yet subtle about it. I just want to make sure when shit hits the fan, you'll do your best to handle the fallout."

"What makes you think there will be a fallout?" I ask, catching Meg's incredulous look. Her raised brow says it all.

"You saw what happened tonight. Wyatt is a loose cannon. He's just arriving into this world of mysterious letters and items going missing. But not Avery. She's used to the secrecy, and has developed the ability to look past it. There's been things happening in that manor for a long time, if only she'd let herself acknowledge it."

"Do you know something?" I breathe, my lungs locking. The atmosphere in the car shifts, weighing me into my seat. My heart beats for Meg's next words.

"Perhaps. The real question is, can I trust you to keep her best interests at heart? Even when Wyatt starts to realize he's been lied to all this time? Even when your group starts to choose sides and fracture from within. Even when it comes at the risk of losing Avery all together?"

She's wrong. The Shadowed Souls are too strong, have been through too much shit to let anything come between us. In times of strain, we don't break down or split up, but come together. It's what we've been doing for Wyatt since Avery arrived on campus, although he refuses to acknowledge it. He wouldn't have survived his hatred for her, spotting her in the halls or seeing her in the bleachers at our games. He'd have lashed out, become reckless. We unintentionally brought Avery in, allowed him to exorcise his demons with us nearby to keep him contained. We let him work out his troubles and start to see a way through them, that light at the end of the tunnel. And in reality, we didn't do it for Avery. We did it for him.

But that doesn't change the fact that Meg is staring at me, her eyes guarded. She's holding the strap of her bag tightly, chewing on her bottom lip. She's scared, and believes everything she just said to be true as if it's already been set in motion.

"Fucking hell, Meg. What do you know?"