Page 24 of Brother's Keeper

I rolled my eyes. “Be quick about it, would you? I don’t want this to take all day.”

Maggie shaded us allthe way to the parking area where Nash’s 1950s Woody Wagon sat. The old Ford was garage kept and in immaculate condition. Cream paint and well-oiled wood panels made it the strangest-looking vehicle I’d ever seen, but it was spacious with a side aisle down the back and bench seats where I could sprawl out. I laid across the rear bench, and Donovan took the one in front. Maggie claimed shotgun so she could give Nash turn-by-turn.

The drive progressed in mostly quiet. Donovan scrolled through his phone while Nash asked questions the zombie girl answered with chirps and squeals. Their banter had me chuckling by the time we arrived at our destination. Sitting brought a headrush, but I didn’t pause, instead pushing through and out the side door. I exited on Donovan’s heels, regaining myself with both feet on the smooth, black asphalt outside a toweringbuilding.

The Elite Inn & Suites was denoted by the sign at the road. A red brick exterior and black gridded windows gave the place a European feel. Gardens stretched along the sidewalk, overflowing with shrubs and evergreens. I braced myself for an onslaught of comments from my brother, further slander about our current abode when luxury accommodations were, clearly, an option.

Thankfully, Donovan kept his peace, joining Nash and Maggie on the curb. The zombie girl hopped, then spun a little circle, either delighted to be home or pleased with her newfound chauffeur. Nash watched my approach from his post beside her. When I stepped up next to him, he slipped his hand into mine.

It stalled me, and I glanced down, testing my fingers in his grip. It felt nice. His palm was dry, and his skin was soft. Looking back up found his face in profile, casual as could be. I wanted his touch—craved it—, but a sinking sense of dread tainted those warm feelings.

Whatever I had with Nash was fun, but inevitably fleeting. It was deeper waters than I’d allowed myself to tread with anyone else, preferring one-night stands and casual encounters. Holland had joked once about my “little black book” of sexual conquests, but the truth was I didn’t even take it that far. Everyone knew my name, but I never bothered to learn theirs. I certainly never invited them over to my place or let them hold my hand.

I was a novelty, like Grimm said. A whore. Useful until I wasn’t. Easily replaced.

Nash pulled me physically from those thoughts, following the zombie girl as she skipped toward the hotel’s entrance.

Donovan closed the gap to come along my other side and whisper, “Are you gonna tell me he’sstillnot your boyfriend?”

I felt conspicuous enough, disheveled and injured, so I tugged my hand free, using it to scratch my nose and then stuffing it in my pocket.

Nash cocked his head, but I shooed him ahead to follow Maggie as Donovan and I fell back.

Facing my brother, I hissed through clenched teeth. “Still not. We fool around. I like the way he fucks me. You want more details?”

Donovan crossed his arms, as smug as he had been about earning an invite on this adventure. “You invited him to the houseboat,” he said. “You had someone over. You’ve never hadanyoneover. Ever.”

To the motel? Never. Grimm was there, lording over my comings and goings, and was bound to take an interest in anyone I did. But I was free of that place and the constant fear that came with it. Now I only had to face those feelings at work.

And I didn’tinviteNash over. He just showed up.

Finally, I growled, “Respectfully, Donnie? Fuck off.”

Turning, I hurried to rejoin the other half of our group where they stood across from a red-coated bellboy.

“Ah, Miss Bardot!” the doorman said, extending a hand Maggie ignored in favor of a full-body embrace. The doorman laughed and patted her back before pulling away. “You’ve brought guests, I see.” He tipped his hat to Nash and Donovan, then me.

Maggie nodded enthusiastically before stepping backto hug an arm around my waist. The ensuing squeeze drove a pained grunt from me. It was easy to forget how strong the petite zombie was.

“Go ahead, I’ll buzz you in.” The doorman waved us on. “I expect Mister Vaughn will be along shortly?”

The question was fair game for any of us, I figured, and responded accordingly. “We were hoping to catch him here, actually. I guess that means he’s not in?”

The doorman frowned. “I haven’t seen him today. He went out early yesterday. If he made it back last night, I may have missed it.”

Nash and I exchanged looks of concern.

“Is that normal? For him to be gone so long?” I asked. “Without her?” I nodded at Maggie, who had gone ahead of us and was using the revolving door like a carousel ride.

The doorman tugged at his shirt collar. “Apologies, sir. I may have already said too much. Mister Vaughn is a private man. I do my best to respect that.”

If I hadn’t before, I now understood Holland’s frustration at Isha for withholding helpful information. Maybe if I had a badge to flash at the doorman, he would get to talking. But, alas, I was only a consultant, and damn if I didn’t know it.

“Bellboy’s worried,” Nash murmured as we crossed the threshold, using the sliding doors beside the revolving one where Maggie continued to spin and giggle.

I grunted in response as I surveyed the lobby of the old building. Rich shades of brown and red decorated the space, carrying through the historic vibe with woodfloors and tasseled drapes on the windows. It reminded me of Maximus Lyle’s office, complete with a stately fireplace across from the check-in counter.

Nash, Donovan, and I lingered until it became clear Maggie was nowhere near done wearing herself out. I threw out a loop of thought, catching hold of one of the revolving door’s panels and gradually slowing it. When it came to a stop, Maggie gave it a final, pouty shove before looking over to find the three of us waiting.

---