Page 40 of Like a Hurricane

“I was raised to do this, Arryn, I don’t care much who I am targeting. Just that I am getting paid for it. And the Ware’s aren’t exactly clean now, are they?”

“No,” She agrees.

I place a plate of food in front of her, handing her a glass of whiskey and a fork, “You don’t have to be scared of me, princess.”

She takes them both, “I’m not scared of you, Everett.” Her eyes meet mine, “I pity you.”

Chapter Nineteen

You know what they don’t teach you in school?

How to braid your own hair.

This shit is a whole arm work out and puzzle all at the same time. This piece wraps over this one, and this one under that one, all the while your arms are going dead from being upright too long. And don’t get me started when it isn’t tight enough or you miss a strand and have to do it all over.

Like I just did.

I stifle a frustrated scream and rip the braid loose. My sister used to braid my hair and I used to do hers after our mother died but it was our mom who taught us. She used to braid it for us all the time, even as we got older, she used to do it. Mine and then Olivia’s.

I hang my head, pushing back memories.

God this silence was really playing tricks, clearly. It was so silent here you could hear the snow falling outside.

“Here,” Everett says.

My head snaps up to him. He’s holding the comb and sitting with his knees parted, a pillow already between his feet ready for me to sit.

“What?”

“Come here.”

Curious, I shuffle over to him, sitting between his knees. He immediately starts combing my hair, bringing it away from my face and sectioning it gently. And then he begins to… braid it.

He does it quietly, gently, simply braiding my hair like he’s done it his whole life.

“How?”

“I have a niece,” He murmurs quietly, “I wanted to learn for her.”

“How old is she?”

“Nine now,” He says, “I only met her last year. Her name is Harper. She’s sweet, been through a lot in her short life and the men from before failed her.”

“Before?”

“She isn’t my brother’s daughter, but she may as well be. Maya, my sister-in-law, she came from a bad place with her daughter and then she met Torin, that’s my brother, and I wanted it to be my job to show that little girl not all men are like her dad.”

“What happened?”

“Not my story to tell,” He says, “But I learned how to braid hair so I could do hers. Her mother does it for her, but I wanted to learn too. Torin and I watched videos,” He laughs quietly, “Even went out and got one of those mannequins that salons use for practice.”

“Torin learned how, too?”

“Yeah,” He replies.

“That’s actually really sweet,” My breath catches.

He ties the band to secure the braid and smooths his hand over the ridges of the style, tugging playfully on the end.

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