Page 130 of Deceit

The sound of the ferris wheel starting up again forces us both forward, and I tense immediately. I feel Asher’s arms wrap around me, tucking me safely against his chest as he shushes me softly.

“Shh, it’s okay. We’re heading down now. Almost done.”

I nod, burying my face further into his chest having no shame as I take a slow inhale of his cologne. It’s fresh and clean, with a hint of something oaky beneath it. I find myself wanting to get lost in the scent, who needs fresh air when I can have this?

The ride jerks to a stop and the attendant lifts the bar for us. Neither Asher nor I move for several seconds, though. Instead, we cling to each other, like we’re the only people in this world, in this moment. Okay, it’s really that I’m clinging to him and he’s holding me, but same thing.

Eventually, he’s the first to cave, a featherlight press of his lips against the crown of my head as he squeezes me encouragingly.

“C’mon, let’s get you home.”

I nod, slowly pulling away as Asher steps off first offering his hand to me. I take it as I step off the ride. When we’re out of the fenced part and joining the leaving crowd, I expect him to drop my hand. He doesn’t, though. In fact, when I try to pull my hand free, his fingers intertwine with mine, giving me no choice but to accept it.

Looking up at him, I’m desperate to read his face, to see what he’s thinking…what he’s feeling. He gives nothing away, though. That stoic look and rigid posture perfectly in place as he keeps his eyes forward.

I’m disappointed, as I slowly turn away and we walk wordlessly, hand in hand, the entire way back to the car.

Chapter Forty Five

Ronan

I’d much rather be at the carnival with Skyla, or in bed with Skyla. Really anything to do with Skyla, than where I am right now. Instead, I’m in my brother’s home, our childhood home, in his office.

I hate coming here. It’s filled with more horrors than any home should ever possess. The things these walls have witnessed are nothing short of undiluted evil. Growing up I swore I would never carry on the dark habits of our family’s Legacy. Christopher, though? He always had it in him, dare I say, he may even rival our father.

“How were the boys in your opinion? Who needed the most guidance? Who took charge? I need more details than this piss-poor excuse of a report,” he snaps, slapping down the folder I gave him after Asher and Liam had handled their assignment, with my assistance.

I hate having to get into details. The truth is, if he knew how hard of a time Liam had with everything before, during and after, he’d kill him without hesitation. There is no room for weak men in the Brethren, let alone in the Elders. Don’t get me wrong,I really like Liam, he’s a good guy but…he doesn’t have what it takes. Not on the level he’ll be expected to perform.

Despite him being a good kid, my girl loves him and there is no way I’m risking her going through that kind of heartache. So I lie, easily, casually, and with all the right words to satiate my blood thirsty brother.

“They did well for their first time, they clearly need more practice. Something we already knew,” I say, with an exaggerated eye roll. “Asher most definitely took charge, not that I’m surprised. Liam has followed in his shadow his whole life. It was all too predictable that the same dynamic would apply in the field.”

Christopher watches me carefully, as if he were trying to discern if I’m lying or hiding anything from him. Shit, at this point, what am I not lying about or hiding from him?

“Do you think he should be removed?” Christopher asks, with a tilt of his head.

I don’t answer immediately, showing I’m giving this idea some real thought before I look at him and fold my arms over my chest.

“I think it’s too early to say. I’d need to see more, maybe him without Asher and forced to take the lead. He has potential, and as the Walcott’s only heir, I think it would be in the Brethren’s best interest to see if he can prove himself.”

Christopher thinks over my words carefully before nodding.

“I agree. I’ll have something arranged for him shortly after the ceremony. You’ll oversee him,” he says, making it clear that if I had any protests, they’re a moot point. This is non-negotiable.

This may be a mis-step, but I can’t resist the door he has unknowingly cracked open for me.

Gesturing to the black leather bound book with the sacred B crest stamped onto the front, I ask, “Why are we having the ceremony moved up, brother? It breaks tradition. You of allpeople are dedicated to upholding all traditions and laws that are written there.”

It was our ancestors’ journal, Thomas Putnam. The man who founded it all. The creator of the Brethren and more famously known as ‘the father of Ann Putnam’ one of the largest accusers from the trials. Because of her mouth, Thomas’s hands and the help of the Parris family, over sixty people were accused and tried. A fact that Thomas brags about often throughout the journal.

My brother places a possessive hand on the journal, his and the Brethren’s most sacred possession.

“I do what I do, because I must.”

“For what purpose?” I push. “On Hallows Eve of all nights?”

To my surprise, he doesn’t snap into a blinding rage. Instead, his eyes trace around the room, verifying it’s empty before continuing.

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