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

31. Nora

Nora

elias umberto

H ours ago, after walking back from the beach to grab some beers, I stood at the small porthole window in the kitchen, my nose pressed against the glass as my eyes longingly took in the outside world. August’s car was gradually vanishing down the dirt road, moving away from the house and to his guard post on the road up ahead.

Something like jealousy and resentment had coiled in my chest. Jealousy because August got to leave, resentment because he left me here, alone. The feeling was irrational and dramatic, considering the number of people in the house with me. But still now, hours later, it lingers. A part of me demands I examine it, demands I accept that over the past few weeks, I’ve come to rely on him, seeking comfort in his arms and the shield of protection his presence offers. It’s ironic that he claims he won’t protect me when he always seems to be there whenever I need him.

“Nor?” Thalia’s hand lands on my lower back as she steps into the spot next to me. We left the beach a while ago. The sun, set up for tomorrow’s regatta, was in ful l force, boats and music from the houses scattered along the lake; all of it became overwhelming for both Thals and me.

Smiling as I turn to her, but the haze of sadness and resignation in my eyes is enough to tell her my smile is a lie. Seeing her here, knowing that Adam has lured her back into our hellish world, breaks something in me. She was supposed to get away. One of us is supposed to live.

“You okay?” I ask, leaning into her half hug.

“About as okay as you are,” she replies. Turning into her completely, her arms envelope me. After a few seconds of comfortable silence, she smiles down at me. “So, August…”

“Hmm...” It’s all I can manage, a noncommittal hum for a noncommittal situation.

But her eyes dart across my face, cunning and curious, as she tries to ferret out some kernel of truth I’m not ready to share. “Have you?” she asks.

“Have we?” I deflect, suddenly uncomfortable with what should’ve been a familiar hug.

“You have.” She grins broadly, scrutinizing me.

Sighing, I step back and untangle myself from her arms. Fuck it. “We have.”

Thalia gapes at me for a second, and I cringe. “Is that all I’m getting out of you?” she demands.

If she wanted the truth, she was going to get the ‘here, damn’ version of it. “Thals,” I groan. “The tension between us has been snowballing since we arrived here, and the other night it just kind of snapped and came crashing down.” A lie, maybe. Because it came crashing in the alcove in the gallery, and then again in the motel room, and again in the boathouse, and again the night we… God, August and I are a series of expl osions, an expansion of lust that builds to an unbearable pressure only to shatter and detonate over and over again. This is our pattern.

“Do you like him?” My head snaps toward her as her words sink in. Do I? Is that what this is? A crush? I laugh softly.

“I don’t know him. Which sounds insane, but I don’t. He’s practically a stranger to me. Do I like him? I mean, I like the way he makes me feel; I like the way he touches me; I love the way he fucks me… But I don’t trust him.”

She brushes her hand along my arm, an offer of comfort for what, I’m not sure. “Be careful, Nor.”

I’m about to reassure her, to promise that I will be, but the sound of Alley's melodic laughter drifts toward us as she walks inside from the deck.

“Nora girl, we need to talk.” Alley stops a breath away from Thalia and me, staring at Thalia in what can only be described as a clear dismissal.

Glancing at my friend, a silent apology heavy in my eyes. “Let’s go to my room,” I say to Alley, not missing the orange folder tucked in the crook of her arm.

She follows me across the living room to my bedroom, closing the door behind her as I drop onto the bed. My eyes shift between the smile on her face and the folder still tucked in her arms.

“Well?” I ask.

“Well…” She looks around the room dramatically. “It reeks of sex and August in here, by the way,” she says, a statement that makes my cheeks burn. “Did you bring your laptop?”

“Yeah,” I turn, reaching into the small overnight bag tucked partially under my bed. The laptop is heavy in my hands as I lift it out of the bag. Setting it down on m y lap, I tap it affectionately as I wait for her to continue.

“We have some work to do.” She offers me the orange folder, and I set it down on top of my laptop.

“I.D.s?” I ask.

“I.D.s,” she confirms. “And bank accounts if you can manage both.”

“I can manage both,” I confirm. “How much time do I have? I’m not exactly afforded much privacy here in case you hadn’t noticed?”

“Auggie riding you hard, princess?” She laughs and I can’t stop the answering smile that stretches across my face.

“Harder than you could imagine. I mean, the size of his dick alone would send you into a coma, Alley,” I reply smugly.

“Please.” She holds up her hand in protest. “I have a sensitive stomach.”

Laughing at the dramatic statement, I pull my legs up, crossing them and settling against the pillows on my bed. Picking up the orange folder, I flip open the cover and look up at Alley. “How many?” I ask.

“Three,” she answers as my eyes drop to the first photograph in the folder.

Elias Umberto… There’s something familiar about his face. Glancing up at Alley, I frown before looking down at the photo again.

“Who is he?”

“Just a man,” she says.

“A man from where?” I push.

“You’ve never cared before.”

“I know,” I say, still staring at the face of the middle-aged man. “But there’s something familiar abo ut hi—”

It hits me then, like a freight train. Like an anvil. Like a ton of fucking bricks. This is the same folder August had in his car the day he took me to see Fawn. It’s the same folder I caught him staring at in the kitchen. Slamming the cover closed, I level a serious stare at Alley.

“What?” she asks.

“I’ve seen him before,” I start cautiously. “Alley, be honest with me right now. Who is this man?”

Before she answers, a soft knock sounds at the door. The handle wiggles and Yves steps into the room, his massive body filling the doorway. Propping one shoulder against the wooden frame, he adjusts his glasses as his eyes move between Alley and me.

“Well, isn't this fucking cozy?” He smirks. A second ticks by and then he picks up on the tense atmosphere hovering between Alley and me. “What’s going on?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Alley and I say almost in unison. But it’s not enough to placate him. He steps forward, moving with lightning-fast speed, grabbing the folder from my hands. I watch in horror as he opens the cover and stares at Alley and then at me.

“Explain,” he barks.

“Fuck you,” Alley replies.

“Two seconds, Als, and then I’m calling August.” His eyes land on me. “Princess?” He taps the folder as he watches me. My lips clamp shut. Not only will I not betray Alley, I won’t fuck over the only stream of revenue I currently rely on. “Fine.” He sighs, dragging his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans. “Have it your way. ”

T wenty minutes later, August breezes into my bedroom, the door slamming shut behind him as his eyes land on Alley, then me. We’re seated at the edge of my bed, Yves standing over us like a parent about to launch into an epic reprimand.

“Nora?” August’s eyes burn into mine, and I look away from him. “Alley?” He tries again.

“They’re not talking.” Yves says as he walks over to August. “But I came in here and I found Nora with this.” He offers the orange folder to August. August doesn’t bother looking at it. He knows what it is. I see it in his eyes, I see it in the way he immediately looks at Alley.

He rolls the folder up, gripping it in his fist as he stares at us. “Both of you get out,” he snaps. Alley and I stand, August smirks. “Not you, little raven.”

Defeated, I watch Alley and Yves slink out of the bedroom, shuddering a little as the door closes behind them. My heart races wildly as August walks over to it, turning the lock, the click instantly triggering my claustrophobia.

“Feel free to start explaining at any time, Nora,” he says.

“Who are these men?” I ask.

August glares at me, his face entirely devoid of emotion. There’s no way to tell what he’s thinking or feeling as he stares me down.

“That’s not how this is going to work. I’m asking the questions, Nora. You’re answering them. Why did Alley give you this?”

My eyes jump from the folder still clutched in his hands to the floor, to the windows, to the deck and the hot tub sitting outside like a stoic reminder of how much the dynamic between us has changed in a few short hours. I don ’t know how to answer him because I don’t know what he’ll do with the truth. Taking a deep breath, my eyes land on his again.

“I don’t want Alley to get in trouble,” I mutter.

“Right now, you should be more worried about yourself, little raven.” He sighs.

My hands grip the covers of the bed, holding on to fistfuls of the soft fabric somehow keeps me anchored here in this moment as I contemplate my next words. My laptop rests on the bed next to me and I glance at it briefly before finally resigning myself to the reality of this situation. I can’t lie my way out of this. I don’t have enough time to think of anything but the truth. So, with one final deep breath, I square my shoulders and start talking.

“A few months ago, before you started working for Ricky, I approached Alley. I needed help,” I say.

“Help with what?”

“Let me finish,” I snap. If I’m going to make a full confession, I need it to be an uninterrupted one or I’ll lose my nerve. “I needed money. No, don’t look at me like that. I know how it sounds. You see, the life I have and assume I have money, I don’t. I have what Ricky doles out, what he deems appropriate for me. You know I’m desperate to get away, August.”

There. The hardest truth of them all falls so easily from my lips.

“You literally chased me down less than a week ago in Mossville. I hate this life, I hate the work I’m forced to do, I hate the murder and the violence, and I hate that the one thing that should belong solely to me, my life, belongs to Ricky. So, I need money because I need to get away. Alley needed help to make fake I.D.s; the work was sporadic at first, one or two jobs a month. She paid me well and beyond creating the identities, I never had to do anything else. I never asked questions, and she never offered any information.” Pushing myself off the bed, I stand and walk over to him. Slowly, I extract the folder from his clenched fists.

“Today she brought this folder to me, asked if I could help with their new I.D.s and bank accounts. When I opened the folder, I recognized the first man, Elias Umberto. I couldn't remember where I’d seen his picture before. But the longer I stared, the more familiar he seemed. And then it clicked. You had this exact folder the day we went to Fawn’s. After we picked up my dress for the mayor’s ball, I saw it in your car.” My heart’s racing, but nothing will stop me from asking the next question. “Why? Who are these men, August? Who have I been creating fake identities for, and why do you have a folder containing every detail of their lives?”

The silence that settles between us is thick and menacing and I wait, desperate for his answer, for an explanation. The words in my mother’s letter suddenly racing back to the front of my mind. If I can’t trust Ricky, can I trust August? My gut screams yes, but logic whispers no.

“This.” He takes the folder from me and waves it between us. “This is a kill file, Nora. These men are supposed to die, by my hand. Those are my instructions from your godfather. I have this folder because, in exactly three weeks, I’m supposed to present Ricky with confirmation that I’ve killed each of them.”

My knees go weak as understanding blooms inside my mind.

“All those people…” My words trail off.

“Yes, all those people you’ve created fake I.D.s for were supposed to be killed by Yves and me. ”

“Why?” I demand.

“Why?” He laughs, repeating my question. “Because both you and I are tethered to a greedy man. Ricky’s investment in the Dahlia Estate relies heavily on the people of Dahlia Heights finding somewhere else to live. Most of them have lived in The Heights longer than both of us have been alive. Most of them have refused to sell to Ricky’s developers. So, what does a man like Ricky do when he doesn't get his way?”

I’m silent. I refuse to answer. I can't bring myself to say the words.

“What does he do, Nora? How does he handle problems that don’t bend to his will?” August demands.

Still, I can't reply. He steps forward, his hands landing on my shoulders as he holds me in place, forcing me to acknowledge his question. “Answer me,” he whispers.

“He removes them,” I say.

“And how does he remove them?” August asks.

“August, I—” I stutter over my words.

“He kills anyone who stands in his way, Nora. Well, actually, that’s not entirely true. He forces me to. But these people?” He taps the folder aggressively. “These people are good. They’ve done nothing wrong. All they want is to live in peace. They don’t deserve to die. So I don't kill them.”

“You just get fake identities made for them and send them to live somewhere else? How does that stop Ricky?”

“Why do you care? Is stopping Ricky suddenly something you’re interested in? I thought you wanted to run away?” His words slice through my heart. “You shouldn't have done this work for Alley. She shouldn't have roped you into this. Not only because it’s dangerous, but because it exposes all of us.”

“You think I’ll tell Ricky?” I ask.

“I think I watched you lose your fucking mind after some mild questioning by a police officer. I think if anyone with even a fraction of Ricky’s malice questioned you, you probably wouldn’t be able to keep your mouth shut.” Well fuck, that hurts.

“You don't know me well enough to make that statement, August.” I yell.

“You’re fucking right about that, little raven. I don't know you. Not at all. And this.” He brandishes the folder again. “Has nothing to do with you.”

“You, Alley, and Yves are all working against Ricky, aren't you?” I say, knowing this should unsettle me, should make me feel unsafe in their company. It does the opposite.

“Leave it alone, Nora. Go drink on the beach with your friends, maybe later you can come back here and I’ll fuck you like you’re not a spoiled, self-centered little brat and we can go back to pretending that I’m just here to watch you eat tacos and get a tan.”

“Why are you being so cruel?” My voice breaks as tears I don’t want to shed gather in the corners of my eyes.

“Because you need to grow up, Nora. You need to take a look around you and see the truth staring you in the face.”

“What truth is that?”

“Your whole life you’ve been groomed to believe that Ricky and the Cartel are somehow saviors, that the Devil's Knights and King are these big bad boogeymen. But Nora, hear me when I say this. You are one of the bad guys. You felt like shit when we left Marna’s because you know what I’m saying is true. You know that what you do, how you live, every scrap of wealth and privilege you enjoy has been hacked from the backs of decent men—men like Elias Umberto. And making fake I.D.s so they have a scrap of a fucking chance to flee their homes doesn’t change that.”