Page 47 of Blurred Lines

Alec glares, his bravado momentarily shaken. He flees, muttering curses under his breath.

"She's a whore," he spits out, all pretenses gone. "And don't think I don't know what you're up to here," he lashes out at me. "Using these men for your twisted games …"

I want to rip into Alec, to scream at him until he flees back to whatever hole he crawled out of. But a bone-deep weariness holds me back, stealing my fury. Before I can even form a retort, Silas advances with a snarl.

"Consider this your final warning," he rumbles, barely containing his anger. "One more step on this property, and it won't just be a shove you'll get."

Alec blusters for a moment, his eyes darting from Silas to Caeleb and Finn who flank him menacingly. My heart swells with a strange mix of warmth and a fierce sense of protection. He doesn't stand a chance against these three.

"You'll regret this," he snarls, but it's empty, a pathetic echo of his earlier bravado.

Caeleb steps forward, a giant of a man, and his voice is like the rumble of distant thunder. "Regret's a dish we serve best around here, son. Would you like to try a bite?"

Even Alec, with his boundless arrogance, seems to understand he's outmatched. He throws a final venomous glare, his eyes lingering on me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl.

"This isn't over, Emily," he snarls. "You can play games with your new friends, but you know what I know. And you can bet I'll use it."

Alec turns on his heel, the slam of the door his only farewell. The room is charged with barely restrained fury.

"That slimy …" Finn breaks off, shaking his head in disgust.

"Don't worry about him anymore," Silas says, his voice a low growl. He steps closer, his dark eyes searching mine, and something in his gaze softens the hard edges of the moment. "We'll handle him."

"Thanks," I whisper, my voice raw. I still feel unsettled, Alec's words echoing in the silent room.

Flora breaks the tense silence, her usual bubbly demeanor replaced by fierce determination. "Well!" she claps her hands together with forced cheer. "Creepy half-brothers aside, we have a puzzle to solve! Who's ready to dig up some treasure?"

Caeleb chuckles, a warm, comforting sound. "Might need to break out my best shovel for this. But first"—he gestures towards the kitchen with a flourish—"treasure hunters need to eat!"

A sense of normalcy returns as the heavenly aromas of bacon and fresh coffee fill the air. It's a testament to Caeleb's culinary genius that even Alec's intrusion can't spoil the mood for long. We eat together, the men recounting stories of past misadventures, each tale adding a layer of camaraderie I already crave.

As I finish the last morsel of food on my plate, however, something disturbing lands in the recesses of my mind.

Alec didn't look like he was joking when he said that bit about having dirt on me.

The question that bothers me isn't related to him having dirt. I scan the eyes of the men seated at the table, biceps on display, smiles like the sunlight. For the first time, I think I could have a chance at something solid.

Unless, a voice creeps up into my mind. Unless Alec knows what you're doing with them, in which case …

Although the afternoon is unseasonably warm, I shiver. It would be a scandal.

18

CAELEB

"Guys," Emily says softly after lunch is over. "I really appreciate all of you coming over to help me. But I'm wiped, and I could do with a nap that'll probably spill over into nighttime. Can we pick up tomorrow, or any other day when you're not busy? I don't want to impose."

I'm swimming in a sea of free time, an unexpected luxury for any parent. My son has become a temporary expatriate in the kingdom of Grandma, where the laws of spoiling are not just encouraged; they're the constitution. My mom, with her trademark sass—which has only gotten sharper after she found a second chance at love at sixty-five, often jokes that her patience with me was a long-term investment banking on the high returns of grandchild cuteness. Judging by the current spoilage rates, she's hit the jackpot.

I can't help but crack a smile, imagining the grand duo's latest caper: ensconced on the sofa like two peas in a pod—if the peas were swaddled in a blanket fortress and the pod was made of couch cushions. Their snack of choice? A daring culinary fusion of cheese and caramel popcorn, a snack that boldly challenges the very fabric of snack norms. It's a snack-tastrophe waiting to happen, yet somehow, under Grandma's rule, it becomes haute cuisine.

I miss my little rascal, sure, but my heart's at ease knowing he's in the safest hands possible—hands that are probably feeding him cookies before dinner. Ah, to be young and under the benevolent dictatorship of Grandma.

"I've got a meeting tomorrow," says Silas regretfully. Turns out Finn is busy, as is Flora. Emily looks at me, waiting for my response. My heart does that stupid thing where it decides this is the best time to skip a beat. "I'm free," I tell her.

She quirks a brow. "We have a date, then."

Silas does a fake stabbing motion to his chest. "Caeleb, you lucky bastard!"

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