Grimstone Teaser

Chapter 2

Dane Covett I hadn’t planned to give the girl the easement, especially once I realized she was the neglectful niece.

I made the choice in the moment because of the look she gave me when she said, I can do anything…

It was part desperation, part stubbornness, and 100 percent too tempting to resist. My mind filled with a flood of twisted fantasies.

Plus, I liked how her body looked, sweating and straining to cut through that chain. The sun shone through her thin shirt, revealing the shape of her dark nipples and the silver glint of rings.

That was the first filthy thought I had about her—the impulse to tie her to the bed so I could slowly tug and twist on those rings…

A dozen others followed. The temptations came hard and fast, images of what I’d like to do with her hands, her mouth…

It surprised me because I hadn’t felt anything like that in a very long time. I haven’t even been hungry, and all of a sudden, I’m craving a ten-course feast…craving it from her…

The rusty orange Bronco and that ridiculous purple hair…it’s eye searing, and I should hate it, but I’m fixated like I’ve discovered some entirely new flavor combination, something you almost want to spit out until you find yourself reaching for another handful…

I want to watch her work on my property, doing whatever I ask. I want to watch her lift and haul and sweat for me.

The annoyance of someone passing on my road is a small price to pay for the leverage it creates against a girl that desperate.

I head back inside to doze through the heat of the afternoon. In the evening, I cook and then read because I have no appointments tonight.

I take my plate of food out on the upper deck. From here, I look out over a carpet of green bordered by a black smudge of ocean. I can’t see Grimstone or that ugly fucking resort, thank god, but to the east, Blackleaf is glowing.

It’s been three years since a light burned in any of the windows. Even though I know it’s only the nephew and niece, I still get a feeling of warmth like Ernie’s there, too. The body doesn’t pay attention to the brain, sometimes.

I don’t know which is in charge when I get the urge to walk over to Blackleaf—probably some part south of my brain, because that’s where I feel a low throb when I picture the girl sweating in the sunshine.

I cross the woods and fields between the two houses, a familiar walk, even in the dark.

But I approach Blackleaf like I never would have in the past: from the side instead of the front.

It’s easy to locate the siblings by the bobbing lights of their lanterns moving from room to room.

Half the windows on the main level are smashed. The industrious Remi has already nailed up fresh boards. Her voice leaks through the gaps in the planks.

“—so I’m going over there tomorrow night.”

“How are you going to fix our place if you’re fixing his place?” comes a peevish voice— presumably the brother. “And why are you going at night?”

“I don’t know. He probably works in the day. And I don’t exactly have a choice, Jude, I told you”—her voice muffles momentarily as she exits the room, still talking, and returns a moment later—“best I can do.”

Whatever the brother says in response is lost as Remi drags something heavy across the room. She sets it down with a grunt, then clatters about for a bit before commencing a repetitive rough scraping sound. I move to the next window to see if I can get a better view.

This window is unbroken, bubbly glass bisected by lead strips. Peering through, I get a watery view of the two siblings in the formal dining room. Their dinner was peanut butter sandwiches. The jar sits open on the table, a knife stabbed handle upward in the peanut butter, next to a bottle of cheap wine. Jude sneaks a quick glance at his sister before topping up his glass.

He’s slim and good-looking, with pale hair and dark eyes. He’s quick and impatient in his movements, picking up a book, setting it down, his eyes returning often to his sister as she works.

Remi kneels in the opposite corner, scraping wallpaper in long peeling strips. The dark green covered at least two previous wallpapers in burgundy floral and navy stripes. The piles of

curled paper show the hours she’s already spent.

She’s dogged, relentlessly attacking the wall. Sweat drips down her face, and her shirt sticks to her back. She’s tied up her purple hair, exposing the vulnerable nape of her neck.

“Play something for me, Jude,” she begs.

Her brother regards a moldering grand piano with a cracked lid. “I doubt it plays.”

“Try anyway.”

He ignores his sister and sprawls across the couch instead, picking at the loosening buttons on the tufting. After a moment, he mutters, “I saw Gideon texted you.”

“Don’t fuck with my phone,” Remi replies without raising her head.

“I wasn’t. I saw the text coming in as I walked past.”

Remi keeps scraping, a little more aggressively than before. Her face is flushed.

“I thought you blocked him,” her brother persists.

“I did. I’m going to.”

“He’s trying to suck you back in.”

“I know.”

I can’t tell if Remi is more annoyed at Jude or this Gideon person.

Her brother waits a few beats, then says, “You don’t want to be the kind of woman who—” “Jude, enough.” Her voice is low and exhausted. “It doesn’t matter if he texts me. It’s over.”

Her brother doesn’t reply, but it looks as though his shoulders relax. After a moment he says, softer than before, “Never mind, Remi; he’s an asshole. You were always too good for him.

Didn’t I say that?”

She laughs, though even that sounds sad. “You’re biased.”

She’s not scraping the paper with as much vigor.

Jude watches for a moment more before abruptly standing and crossing to the piano, where he takes a seat on the creaking bench and begins to play. His sister pauses her work and turns, a smile already breaking on her face.

Her smile changes everything about her looks. Without it, she’s barely pretty, but her grin throws the switch at the amusement park and her whole face lights up, neon bright.

The piano is old and out of tune, but Jude’s fingers plunk across the keys with mad

genius. He draws out a mocking melody that dances around like it popped live from his brain.

Remi listens, her eyes locked on her brother, delight all over her face. She doesn’t move an inch while he’s playing, her scraper held loosely in her lap. When he finishes, she claps, then puts two fingers in her mouth and whistles.

Jude tosses his hair out of his face. “Go on, go on…” He pretends to fan himself.

I’m watching Remi.

Her eyes shine, and her face glows with adoration.

I can see why her brother’s lapping it up.

Love is a drug, especially love that blind.

I thought I wanted to make her scream, but now I want to make her smile, too. It doesn’t matter what order.

I want Remi to look at me like that.

In fact, I just might make her.