Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

ZANE

Rain lashes against the windshield, raging faster than the wipers can bat them away. I slow the car to a crawl.

What a crap-storm.

And I'm not referring to the weather.

I lost Grey and now she could be who knows where.

Angrily, I slam my fist against the steering wheel. After she escaped, I intended on getting in the car and chasing after her, but Dutch's high tech car refused to start and insisted I needed the key. Since I opened his truck with the passcode, there was no key to be had.

By the time I figured out a way to by-pass that anti-theft alarm and get the car started, it was too late. Grey had disappeared.

Which is dangerous.

There's a killer on the loose.

Matters with The Grateful Project have gotten chaotic, but I haven't forgotten that someone cut the brakes on Grey's car. I haven't forgotten that she couldn't sleep for fear that the killer would come back. I haven't forgotten dad's warning about the people we're messing with.

Slavno's gone.

But the real murderer is out there.

And I have a sinking feeling they're biding their time, waiting for the right moment to strike.

A dial tone rings through the car's speakers. I look away from the road, perusing the giant interface in the dashboard as it calls Grey's phone. A moment later, an automated voice tells me that I should leave a message.

"Dammit." I punch the steering wheel harder this time.

Immediately, the dashboard lights up with a call from Dutch.

Gritting my teeth, I brace myself for a tongue lashing and accept the call.

But Dutch's voice is calm when he says, "Where are you?"

"Heading home."

"With Grey?"

"Grey's…" I clear my throat. "I'm alone."

There's a harsh whisper on Dutch's side and then my twin says, "Quick question, are you aware that most honeymoons happen in a hotel?"

My breath stalls.

"Is there a reason you chose to have yours in my car?" Dutch adds.

I slam on the brakes and my chest rams into the steering wheel with the force of a boulder. I bark out a cough.

"I'll use the lambo until you take my truck to the cleaners."

"Does everyone…?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"Cadey's disappointed in you." He pauses. "She wanted me to pass that along."

I can imagine my short sister-in-law glaring daggers at the phone while Dutch reads me for filth. But that's rich coming from her. If I remember correctly, Cadey lost her V-card to Dutch on a kitchen table next to a sandwich.

"It wasn't ideal," I admit.

Dutch waits.

I say nothing more.

"You good, bro?"

The phrases ‘we screwed' and ‘I'm screwed' both apply to me right now, so yeah. I'm freaking peachy.

In the silence, Dutch mumbles, "Look, I disagree with Cadey. You two did what you had to do. Would I have preferred you did it in Finn's car? Yeah, but it's still a good thing."

Nah. ‘A good thing' would be me driving my wife home, holding her hand, bringing her palm to my lips every now and then just to press a kiss there. It would be her smiling at me as we fight over who controls the music—of course I'd insist she play our latest single. I'd tease her about living in the days without internet and she'd correct me by listing all the now defunct social media websites that used to be popular.

Instead, I'm alone.

Miserable.

And I can still smell Grey's perfume lingering, which makes everything even worse.

Dutch picks up on my somberness because he asks again. "Zane, you sure everything's okay?"

"I'll see you at home."

I end the call.

I want a drink.

Hell, I've wanted a drink since the wedding. Every day of our marriage has been stressful. I would have gone on a bender already, but Grey doesn't like it when I drink. Plus, she prefers the taste of wine when we kiss.

All of that means I barely touch the stuff anymore.

Forcing my mind to other things, I maneuver the car back on the road.

How did Dutch already find out about me and Grey? It only takes a second to remember our friendly neighborhood blackmailer. Should have figured the gossip would spread by now. Making love to Grey that close to Redwood was almost an invitation for Jinx to wreak havoc.

Even so, I don't regret it.

Do I regret what I said after?

Hell yeah.

That part.

I'm going to age ten years by the time our one year anniversary rolls around. If we even get to that mark.

I thought marriage would make things easier. I thought my love for Grey would wear her down eventually. And if it didn't, the sex should be enough to keep her coming back. But amazing sex did not stop everything from blowing up in my face. And it is not enough to save a marriage. If I don't get rid of this giant wedge between us, forget a one-month anniversary.

I'm losing Grey forever.

After arriving home, I park in the garage and shuffle into the house, calling Grey on my phone. This time, I leave a voicemail.

"Grey, don't be like this. At least let me know where you are and if you're safe."

The voicemail tone beeps.

Embarrassing.

This woman has me begging her like an idiot.

On edge, I plod to the wine cellar and snatch a bottle from the lowest shelf, not caring that it's from mom's vintage collection. I'm drinking directly from the mouth of the wine bottle when the doorbell rings.

Heart racing, I run to the foyer, thinking Grey might have forgotten her keys. The sound of the rain slamming the roof gets louder when the door opens to reveal a delivery guy.

Disappointment is swift and severe. I don't bother hiding my sour expression as I look the delivery guy up and down. He's dressed in rain-spattered khakis and a grey shirt beneath a plastic raincoat. A black hat is pulled low over his head, crushing his black, chin-length hair. Lightning flashes behind him, illuminating his slender frame like a spotlight.

I'm not surprised by his presence. Since Viola and Cadey came to live with us, they've been internet shopping like it's an Olympic sport. I could probably build a fort with all the boxes that get thrown in the storage shed.

Robotically, I extend a hand to collect the package from him.

My palm hangs in the air.

Waiting.

A second passes.

Rather than handing me a box of makeup or organizing shelves or whatever crap Cadey and Viola spotted on social media, the delivery man moves in.

Unease claws at me, sharpening my attention. In the breadth of a heartbeat, I look him over again. Black cap. Long, black hair. Downturned head. Rain coat.

Normal.

Except…

Right beneath the collar of his uniform shirt, there's a black line. Almost like a tattoo creeping out of his chest.

The guy takes another step toward me.

Thunder claps through the evening sky.

I step back, my eyes dropping to his hands.

They're extremely pale.

But that's not what gets me.

It's the fact that those hands are empty.

He's not here to bring my packages.

Time slows down until it's crawling, sluggish and thick. The stranger reaches for something under his coat, his muscles lean and his movements so practiced that I know whatever's about to happen will be over before it begins.

I react clumsily, shifting backwards. It's instinctual. The leftovers of a survival instinct, reaching back from a time when humans had to hunt monsters twice their size.

A noise comes from inside the house. Something like a door knob turning. Footsteps thudding.

Someone's coming in from the garage entrance.

Grey?

I mentally return to that nightmarish moment when Grey's brakes got cut and she lost control on the highway. I remember the way the black car came out of nowhere and crashed into her, crushing the metal frame of her truck like chewing gum. I taste a hint of the blood that flooded my mouth as I bit my tongue while watching her car flip off the road.

No. Not again. Never again.

Shifting strategies, I grab the knob and try to shut the delivery man out, but he slams his hand against the door to keep it open.

The footsteps get closer.

My heart squeezes in an acidic vice.

I look back, like an idiot, switching my gaze from the creepy delivery man to the person that I hope like hell isn't Grey.

From the corner of my eye, I sense movement. The delivery guy is taking advantage of my distractedness. His hand slips under his coat just as Finn sprints toward us.

My brother's hands fling me to the side. My hip slams against the ornate glass table that Cadey decorated with stupid little music trinkets and a framed photo of us at one of our concerts.

The frame loses its balance. It rocks back and forth twice before giving everything up to gravity and hurtling to the ground. I hear the crash seconds before another clap of thunder booms through the house.

Wincing, I look up.

Finn's in front of me, knees crouched slightly and hands lifted in a fighting stance. The delivery man has one foot in the house and the other on the porch. He tilts his head to the side, allowing the light to illuminate the bottom half of his face. He's clean-shaven, but that's about as much as I can tell about him.

Slowly, his hand retreats from whatever he was reaching for.

The rain coat flaps into place.

Scrambling to my feet, I join my brother at the door. I'm not much help with one arm in a sling but, between me and Finn, that's three arms. And three arms are better than two.

The tension in the stranger's shoulders releases and he lets out a breathy laugh. "Sorry. Wrong house."

There's a hint of an accent to his words, reminding me of the heavy accent Finn had when dad brought him home after his first ‘sorry, I almost killed a mother and her children drunk driving' apology tour.

My eyebrows hike when the delivery man runs back into the night. Soon, an engine rumbles to life and two headlights pierce the sleet of rain.

Finn straightens and looks me over. "You good?"

I nod, my eyes glued outside as I peruse the driveway. The boxy delivery truck roars down the street, cutting around the corner and disappearing from sight.

"Who the hell was that?"

Finn tenses his jaw. "Not a delivery guy."

"That was obvious." I wince when I shift my weight from one leg to the next and feel a throbbing in my hip.

Finn's sharp eyes catch my expression. "You got hurt?"

"The glass table did some damage, but I'll live. We should call Dutch. Tell him to reroute. I don't think the girls are safe here tonight. Might be better to take them to the lake house."

"Where there's even less security?"

"You think our gate security and a few cameras can stop that guy if he comes back?"

Finn glares a hole in the ground. It's the most aggravated I've seen him since… well, earlier today. Between all of us, I can get on Finn's nerves with precision, and I find it personally rewarding to do so. But I can tell there's something more going on than mere annoyance with my suggestions.

"How did you know something was off with him?" I ask, watching Finn's face for any clues.

He shrugs.

I wait for more.

He says nothing else.

I ponder my next words carefully, considering the best way to get Finn to talk. Something about what he did at the door niggles at me. I can't shake the feeling that my brother is holding something back.

"When did you get home today? Why didn't you use the front door?"

Finn narrows his eyes until they're slits. "I'll call Dutch."

I set my hand on his shoulder.

He twists his neck, looking at me. My determination must show on my face because he rattles off an annoyed explanation.

"It was raining so I went through the garage, but someone left the door open." He gives me a pointed look and I swallow sheepishly because I always forget to lock that door. "I went upstairs first, but I heard your voice. Something told me to check what was going on. I changed directions and saw you staring at someone outside."

"You saw me staring and just… knew the guy was a creep?"

"Where's your wife?" His pointed look tells me he's intentionally changing the topic and pissing me off in one fell swoop.

"I'm going upstairs," I grumble. Marching past Finn, I take the first step and glance back.

Finn's staring at the front door, his lips in a thin line and his nostrils flaring.

He definitely knows something.

But there's nothing I can do for now except be patient. I know my brother too well.

Finn will protect us all with his life…

… And he won't talk until he's ready.