The House of the Wicked (The snake and the raven #1)

26. August

August

How do you think Ricky has gained such unfettered access to illegal firearms?

S tretched out on the expansive wooden deck, my eyes have been glued to the horizon for over an hour, tracking the sun’s slow dip from the sky. Until Yves flings the doors open and thrusts an ice-cold beer into my hands. Watching his quick retreat into the house over the rim of the bottle, I take a deep sip.

“What’s for dinner?” I call out as he crosses from the living room back into the kitchen.

“Tacos. Seems easier than anything else.”

“Yeah,” I agree quietly, not sure if he can hear me. Fuck, I’m exhausted. Trauma and stress, my brain’s stockpiled for days, weighs my limbs down. Taking another swig of the beer, my body drops into the relaxed feeling gradually inching over me. Nora’s been out for hours; at least one of us will wake up mildly rested tomorrow.

“Gracious is out,” Yves says, and I nod because I knew this. It’s good news, but it means everything w ill move forward quickly from here, and I’m not sure if we’re ready for that.

“He’s supposed to come up with Alley in a few days,” I confirm.

“And Nora?”

“What about Nora?” The sleepy rasp of her voice sends a bolt of need straight to my dick. Pushing myself up, her voice like a magnet, drawing my steps toward her until I’m in the living room, staring at her as she hovers in the doorway of the master bedroom. A baggy t-shirt brushes the middle of her thighs, hair a knotted mess of curls and tangles around her shoulders—fuck, she’s beautiful.

“Gracious is out of prison,” I repeat Yves’ words. “He’s supposed to come up here in a few days’ time.”

“And how do I fit into that?” she asks, padding barefoot over to the sofa.

“That’s what I was just asking,” Yves chimes, saving us from having to come up with another excuse. “I’m making tacos, by the way.”

Nora says nothing about the tacos or anything else as she pulls her body into a ball on the sofa. My eyes track each of her movements as I lower myself into the seat next to her. If the last few days have left me feeling exhausted and frayed, what have they done to her...

“If you leave the doors open, the mosquitos will eat us alive tonight,” she says after a few seconds of tense silence.

“But the cricket sounds are so calming,” I whisper, an attempt to tease her out of the melancholy she’s clearly struggling to shake. “You okay?” My hands itch to reach out, to touch her, to drag her into my arms, to hold her.

“N o,” she smiles sadly at the floor. “But I guess that’s normal.”

“It is,” I confirm. “Stephen called while you were napping. Ricky’s being arraigned next week. Seems like all the charges are related to manufacturing and trafficking, so if Stephen can prove the evidence was fabricated, he should be out soon.”

“Will I have to be there? For the arraignment?” She chews her bottom lip, watching me as she waits for my answer.

“Yeah. We need to have a call with Stephen, a virtual deposition. I think he said tomorrow or the day after.”

Her deep brown eyes dart toward the kitchen and then back to me. “I—” she starts.

“You have nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah.” She sighs. “You’re right.” Despite her words, she doesn’t sound convinced. She stands abruptly and walks toward the doors leading out to the deck. “I need some fresh air,” she announces to no one in particular before disappearing onto the deck. Something’s up, exactly what, I don’t know.

Forcing that growing need to comfort her away, my hand tugs along the back of my neck. Whatever has her spooked—whether it’s the arraignment or something else—is none of my business. And yet, seconds after she leaves, I’m standing, moving toward the kitchen, grabbing two beers and following her outside,

“Beer?” I ask, offering her one bottle.

Her fingers close around the cold neck of the bottle. Little drops of condensation trickle from the glass onto her hand.

“Thank you.” Her words are soft, so sad they draw me closer to her. The urge to pull her into my arms is now overwhelming.

“Are you okay?” I ask again, as we turn to face the water. The house is built into the curve of a cove. Even with it being partially hidden from the lake, it still has a breathtaking view of the estuary.

“I don’t think so,” she mutters.

“Is it the arraignment? If you don’t want to testify, we could talk to Stephen, see if there’s another option?” She laughs at this. Bitter and angry, and it leaves me at a loss for what to say next.

“I have to testify, August.” She turns to face me, her eyes moving across my face, calculating, measuring, and then, as if she’s decided I’m worthy of her truth, she starts, “Ricky’s protection only extends as far as himself. Believe me, when it comes to his safety, everyone is expendable.”

“You’re just there to offer an alibi, though, right?”

“Yes, but…” She takes a deep breath.

“But what, Nora?”

“How many guns did you and Yves bring for this trip?” she asks softly.

“I have no idea. Less than twenty, more than ten.” My brain races to calculate the size of the arsenal we packed.

“How many of them are registered firearms?” she questions cautiously.

“Zero. Come on, you know that.”

“How do you think Ricky has gained such unfettered access to illegal firearms?”

“I assume he has some agreement with the cops? Or an arms dealer?”

“That would be expensive.”

“It is, but that’s the way. What other option is there?”

“What if there was a magic wand that could wipe the history of any firearm, a wand that could take an illegal firearm, and make it legal? Clean its bloody footprint, wipe existing ballistics records, essentially ensuring any gun could be used infinitely, any gun could be legally assigned to any person.”

“I mean, that would be great and terrifying, but no such wand exists.”

“ I am the wand, August.” Our eyes lock and the gravity of her statement hangs heavy in her gaze—along with something else, something that looks a lot like shame.

Slack-jawed, and glaring at her, I ask, “What do you mean?”

“You know, the whole ‘she’s good with computers’ comment Ricky makes? I am good. So good, in fact, that Ricky and Gracious put me to work cleaning the digital footprint of his arms trafficking business.”

“Fuck.”

“So, you see, I can go to the arraignment. I can offer an alibi. But I also have a lot to be afraid of. I have a lot on the line by placing myself in Detective Andrews’ crosshairs.” She sighs before turning to look at me.

My mouth opens and closes as words struggle to form in my mind. There’s no right way to respond to this and when Yves yells that dinner’s ready, the coward in me is grateful that I don’t need to.

“ N ora, you’re on dishes duty,” Yves announces, dropping his fork onto his plate. Who the fuck eats tacos with a fork, anyway?

“It’s my house, though, so you should repay my hospitality by doing the dishes yourself,” she replies evenly.

“Except I made dinner.” He grins at her.

“August can do them.” Nora looks at me, just in time to catch my epic eye roll.

“C an’t, I have first watch.” Gesturing to the deck where I’ll be spending most of the night, watching the back of the house—our most vulnerable spot—I smile.

“Well, you two figure it out. As the only woman here, I simply refuse. It would set feminism back by decades if I agreed.” She pushes out of her chair and stalks toward her bedroom. The door slams shut, the sound of water running in the tub drifts toward us.

Yves grins at me, his mop of dark brown curly hair, floppier than it was hours ago. “Ayo, do you remember that time we camped out and watched ‘Girl, Interrupted’?” he asks.

“Yeah, it was like two months ago, man,” I say, thinking of the night we hung out at my apartment just before I started working for Ricky.

“Remember that scene when that one crazy lady says, ‘Everybody knows. That he fucks you. What they don't know... is that you like it.’ It’s like the best part of the movie. You remember, right?” He pulls off his thick, black-rimmed glasses before looking toward Nora’s shut door and then back at me. That stupid fucking grin still on his face.

“That’s a really horrific part of that movie which you’re using in the wrong context and also, I’m not fucking her,” I insist.

“Yet. But everyone’s gonna know that you want to. Gracious, Alley, everyone. The second they see you with her, they’re gonna know.”

“Get some rest. You’re on watch from three AM,” I snap, before standing and storming into the kitchen. I’ll stack the fucking dishwasher and then I’ll do my watch. Slamming the dinner plates on the counter, annoyed and angry, my mind whispers that he’s right.

H ours pass. Yves’ moving around in the bedroom upstairs. The moon’s full and bright and the air is chilly. It’s a struggle to stay focused, to be here in this moment, to keep watch; thoughts of my mother and Nora twist through my brain.

Knowing she spent time here with Nora’s parents.

Knowing I had as well...

Seeing the photo of my mother.

Gracious needs to move his ass; I need support; I need more people; no meaningful distance between Nora and myself can exist if we’re forced together like this. What I really need is to get away from her.

The sound of the water lapping at the walls of the boathouse below me is strangely unnerving. It’s hard to focus when every sound is so unfamiliar, so new.

A loud creak on floorboards echoes behind me. My head snaps around. Nora’s hovering in the living room doorway. With the goddamn Power Puff Girl pajamas, again. Short shorts and a loose tank top hang perfectly off her plump tits.

“I can’t sleep,” she announces, walking toward me and dropping into the vacant seat next to me. “Yves is so loud. I think he’s in the room above mine. Stomping around like an elephant.”

“Want me to tell him to shut up?”

“I don’t know if it’ll help. That nap was a bad idea.” Her eyes are fixed on the dark waters of the cove. “It’s so quiet here.”

“Yeah, but your house is quiet, too.” Growing up in abject poverty teaches you that silence is a luxury. This calm is foreign to me, but it shouldn’t be for Nora.

“I know,” she agrees, settling into her spot. “I have a Jacuzzi on my deck,” she says a few minutes later.

“That’s cool.” I turn to look at her. “You should use it.”

“I thought about it and then I thought my parents probably fucked in there and that kind of put me off.” She laughs.

“Yeah, that would do it.” I smile at her.

“Where are you sleeping?” she asks softly, and something surges and rises inside me. Why’d she ask? Is she planning on seeking me out? What would I do if she does? And then Yves’ words come rushing back to me.

“The room next to Yves,” I say.

“That used to be my room. Before my parents died,” she whispers.

The silence between us is heavy. My brain wanders to a younger version of her sleeping alone in that room while her parents slept soundly downstairs. Parenting isn’t something that’s crossed my mind. It’s not on the cards for me. But something tells me that if I was ever lucky enough to be a father, I’d want my children close to me, always.

My eyes drift toward Nora. She’s curled up in the chair, staring at the water. Whatever’s happening between us needs to be reined in. It’ll be up to me to do it. Normally, I’d fuck her out of my system, but that’s not who she is. When I told her that when I fuck her, I’d only want more. I wasn’t kidding. But more than that, sleeping with Nora would damn us both. Right now, while Ricky’s in prison, I need to focus. This shit between us needs to be strangled.

“You should go inside,” I say.

“Tired of me already?” She looks up at me with those sleepy doe-eyes that undo me. Soft, pillowy lips slightly parted, begging to be kissed.

“I never tire of you, Nora. But you’re a distraction, and right now, I need to focus.”

“Is it so bad to be distracted, August?” And fuck, the way my dick jerks to life at the sound of my name on her lips is a clear sign that yes, it’s bad.

“It’s bad when my attention should be focused on keeping us safe, but all I can think about is how you’d look wearing my hand as a necklace while I fuck you raw, little raven.”

Her mouth drops open as she gapes at me, the softest blush darkening her honey brown cheeks.

“Go ins—” Before I finish my sentence, my phone rings. Pulling it out of my pocket, my eyes lock on the caller I.D. “It’s Gracious. I need to take this.” Glancing at the door, my dismissal is clear.

In a huff, she stands and walks back inside. The angry vibration of my phone ripples in my palm, but it’s not until I hear her bedroom door shut that I finally answer.

“Dad?” I hiss.

“How’s Nora?” No ‘hello’, no ‘how are you’? The lack of pleasantries shouldn’t surprise me. That’s never been his way.

“She’s fine. All things considered.”

“I can’t leave. Ricky has a lot going on and he needs me to take care of things here.” Fuck, this isn’t what I need to hear. “I don’t want to say too much, but Adam’s coming up the day after tomorrow, with Alley. His little girlfriend is joining too.”

“Nora will be happy,” I say.

“Have you made any progress with her?” he asks. Fidgeting with the strap of my holster, I scra mble for my words, unsure of how to answer my father on this.

“Not much,” I say eventually, deciding on the truth. “But she told me about the guns, Dad. How could you let her do that? You and Ricky both.”

“It’s more complicated than you think.” He sighs. “Watch Adam and keep Nora safe. We’ll talk more soon.” With that, he hangs up, the silence on the other end of the line deafening.