Page 64 of Forged By Shadows

“What?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“Oh nothing,” Huxley plays with the stem of his glass, his fingers stroking a repetitive pattern. I reach for my glass, suddenly needing a drink myself. “I’m just enjoying watching you.” Butterflies flutter deep down, my cheeks heating slightly. Huxley in his fine suit, his long hair styled, his jaw freshly shaved. But I’ve seen that all before. No, it’s the hunger in him tonight which is drawing me in like a moth to a flame. He seems to be insatiable, and it’s not the dinner he’s looking forward to. I duck my head, removing the napkin from my lap.

“Because that’s not creepy at all. We should investigate before you try to stab me with a butter knife.”

“I’m not the murderer here, Lucy White. Are you?” Huxley’s chocolate eyes sparkle with mirth as he leaves the dining room, leaving me alone with my racing heartbeat and thoughts. Why did that sound so hot, and what the hell is wrong with me for thinking it did?

Chapter Forty Three

Ishould 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.

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