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

39. Nora

Nora

two truths and skip the lie

A ugust turns the key in the lock and the front door creaks open. Pressed against his back, every part of me is eager to get inside, eager to wash the sex off my body and hopefully do it again. But my feet stumble to an awkward stop as we cross the threshold of Dima’s house and come face to face with Gracious. He’s seated on the sofa facing at the front door.

Shifting uncomfortably, our eyes. I’m not entirely sure of the greeting I should offer with my mother’s words still so fresh in my mind.

Gracious is someone you can… I can what, Mom?

Gracie looks between August and me, friendly but calculating, like he’s trying to put me at ease but also assessing the situation between us. I don’t dare look at August. Based on the way his entire body stiffened when we stepped inside, I’m positive he doesn’t want whatever we are to be common knowledge, at least not as far as Gracie is concerned. Especially considering that whatever Gracious sees, hears, or do es will get back to Ricky. Moving forward, I lower myself onto the sofa opposite Gracie, instantly uncomfortable but resigned to weathering his stare.

As soon as my ass hits the cushion, he stands and walks toward me. His hand brushes the aging fabric of the sofa before crouching down until his face is level with mine. The sharp burn of his familiar cologne tickles my nose, predator-like intensity in his brown eyes unsettling something inside me as he stares me down.

“Nonny, you look exhausted,” he says finally. I smile lightly. What can I possibly say to that? I am exhausted; after spending three hours in the trunk of a beat up old-as-shit sedan, I got dragged to a strip club where August fucked me over a desk until my legs went numb. But he probably won’t want to hear about all of that, so I just smile and return his stare. “Dima’s gone for a nap. Why don’t you do the same? August and I have business to discuss. We’ll come get you for dinner,” he says.

My head turns, searching for August, but he isn’t looking at me. He’s frowning at Gracious, his expression tense and uncertain; suspicion, but that’s not all together correct. More like mistrust tinged with disappointment. So similar to looks I’d often received from Dima.

“Okay,” I murmur, a second before standing from the sofa.

Fully intending to take Gracious up on the suggestion to rest, I walk back into August’s childhood bedroom and kick off my shoes. Standing at the edge of the bed, the low rumble of August’s voice drifts toward me and I realize, with unshakable clarity, that Gracious just dismissed me. He sent me to my room, like a child, and no, fuck that, I deserve more.

Tiptoeing back to the door, I crack it open, fully intending to eavesdrop on whatever this conversat ion I’m not supposed to hear is about. Hushed voices float down the hallway; I move slightly, angling myself so I’m positioned with half my body in the hallway and the other half in the bedroom. I lean forward, hoping to catch fragments of their conversation without either of them catching me. But it’s close to impossible. Gracious has always been soft-spoken. The natural cadence of his voice leans more toward a whisper on his best day, and while August’s voice is powerful, right now, it sounds like he’s doing his best to talk as silently as fucking possible. Until he isn’t.

“You’re not listening to me!” Anger streams through the deep baritone of his voice as he snaps at Gracious. I can’t make out Gracie’s reply, but after a few seconds of hushed words, August sighs so loudly I hear it from over here. “For fucks sake, Dad.” He says it so loudly I know I haven’t heard incorrectly, but as the room spins around me, some faraway part of my brain screams that it has to be a mistake. There’s no way…

Dad. Dad?

Without even registering the movement, my feet are moving, rushing, racing, sailing toward the living room.

My sprint down the short hallway ends in a skidding stop at the living room entrance, my body trembling with disbelief. Heaving breaths saw in and out of my lungs as I take in Gracious and August. Wide-eyed they stare at me. A barely there flare of panic lights up August’s eyes before he schools his features into his usual mask of calm disinterest. My breath’s trapped in my throat, my eyes filled with disbelief.

“You said ‘dad’.” I point at him as the accusation hurdles out of me. “You called him dad !” I practically scream, my eyes wildly darting betwe en Gracious and August. Every word is saturated with my desperate need for a single grain of truth.

“Nora…” August utters my name like he’s trying to bring a dog to heel. He takes two measured steps toward me. I immediately retreat two steps back.

“No,” I snap, panic rising in my voice. “You said dad. I heard you.” Anxiety and fear surge and throb in every part of my body like a wave pulling back before a tsunami.

“Nosy Nori,” Gracie tuts as he laughs quietly to himself. “Just like when you were little, a ferret scratching out answers to questions you shouldn’t be asking.” He drops onto the sofa directly behind August. “Come sit,” he says, gently patting the empty seat next to him.

There’s nothing threatening in his tone. In fact, it’s the usual patient, kind, and compassionate tone he always uses when he speaks to me. And yet… Something about these two words feels like a command. And something inside that command unnerves me. A part of my mind I haven’t used for months reminds me to feel afraid.

“Why?” I murmur the question, so quiet, so terrified. “Are you going to kill me?” It’s ridiculous to ask, to even think about it. But is it? These men are forged in a fire of violence. They take and use and kill as easily as the rest of us breathe.

Before I can say anything else, Gracie snorts, and August scowls at him briefly.

“Is that what Ricky wants?” I demand. “For you to kill me before the court date? Is that why you brought me here?”

“No, Nora.” August walks toward me and before I realize it, he’s erased any distance between us. “No one is going to kill you.” His hand brushes against the base of my spine and with a gentle press, he guides me toward Gracious is sitting on.

“Is Gracie really your father?” I ask.

“Unfortunately, yes.” August smiles at me as Gracious rolls his eyes. This easy way they tease each other is so out of place for the situation we find ourselves in. They look at each other with familiarity… akin to love. It’s soft and caring, but all I feel is fear. “Sit down, Nora.” August nods toward the empty couch opposite Gracious. With one last look at his deep brown eyes, I drop onto the cushion and fold my hands in my lap, fighting every instinct screaming for me to run.

“In the letter we found, my mom said…” I trail off as my eyes continue to jump between them, between Gracie on the couch opposite me and August on the edge of the chair next to me. Panic swells like a beast surging and growing beneath my skin. My heart’s beating too fast as that panic rapidly takes over. I want the truth, but this truth feels like too much. I take several quick, shallow breaths that do nothing to calm my fraying nerves. “My mom said Gracious was someone I could…” I trail off again as I try to steady my heart.

August glances at his father. “Could you get her some water?”

We sit in an anxious state of pause as Gracious stands and walks to the kitchen. The sound of the water running is as loud as a crashing waterfall in the silence of the house.

A few moments later, he’s back, glass in hand. Dima rolls in behind him. He hands me the water as Dima pushes her wheelchair to the spot next to me. Like two guardians, August and her sit on either side of me, each of us staring at Gracious. Dima laces her fingers through mine.

“August told me that the rest of the letter was destroyed, so we don’t know what your mother was going to say, Nonny. But I hope it was that I’m someone you can trust,” Gracie says, before sighing deeply. “I loved them dearly, your parents. Your father, he was my best friend, like a brother.” He shifts slightly and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of card—no, not a card, a photograph.

He offers it to me, and I glance at Dima before lifting it out of his hand, slowly peeling the two folded halves apart. My heart’s still racing; I stare at the picture, an exact replica of the one I discovered at the lake house. A wave of emotion falls over me. I swipe at the beads of tears gathering in the corners of my eyes. Gracious points at the man in the background, standing on the dock next to my father.

“That’s me,” he says, before moving his finger to the foreground of the photograph, to the woman holding the little baby boy next to my mother, who held me. “That’s my Ellie, August’s mother, and the love of my life.” The pad of his finger dances over her faded face, over August's tiny body, and another bone deep sigh crawls out of him.

The air stills as the four of us sit there; me holding the picture, Dima holding my hand, Gracious dragging his finger over his family, clearly lost in memories from a time long past, and August quietly observing us.

I finally break the spell of nostalgia we’ve all fallen into. “Adam said August is a Knight. That he works for King,” I practically whisper the words, a part of me willing them to be a lie. But then I bolt up off the couch, turning to stare at August. “Oh my God.” My mouth opens and closes like a fish starving for air. “Adam! Adam is your brother!” I cringe as my words bounce around the room like an accusation.

Dima scoffs loudly before glaring at Gracious. “Tell her everything or I will,” she says, her words like stalagmites of ice crashing over us.

“Forget about Adam for a second, and definitely stop relying on him for any accurate information,” Gracious says.

My brows shoot up as I glare at him. “Really?” I laugh. “That’s a weird opinion to have about someone you were ready to marry me off to a few months ago?” The words barely leave before August’s eyes snap toward his father. He was there when Ricky and I discussed it; his first day working at the house. But a lot’s happened since then and he’s likely forgotten. A quiet rage permeates the air around him; an obvious question of what the fuck hangs heavily in his eyes.

Gracie groans as he drags a hand down his face. “It was a stupid idea, forgive me Nonny. I was desperate to get you out of that house.”

“Why?” I demand.

This is ridiculous. At first, finding out about Dima and August’s connection felt like a strange coincidence. But now, as more and more comes to light, it feels like less of a coincidence and more of a calculated move. But who's move? Ricky’s? Gracie’s? August’s? I can’t tell, but I’m fucking sick of being lied to.

“Why?” Gracious echoes my question softly before looking at me. “Let’s play a game—”

“Dad,” August cuts him off, the warning in his tone clear.

Gracie lifts his hands in a show of surrender. “Humor me, please.” His eyes are on mine, pleading, gentle, kind. “Two truths and a lie.”

I laugh bitterly. “How about we play two truths and skip the lie? Fuck knows, I’ve been told en ough of those to last a lifetime.” I feel more than see August cringe away from me.

“Please Nonny.” Gracious smiles gently at me.

“Fine.” I sigh, looking down at Dima’s hand, squeezing mine softly. I don’t want to play this goddamn game, but if it’s the only path to the truth, I’ll take it, gladly.

“Okay,” he starts. “You can trust me. I killed my wife. August is a Devil’s Knight.”

The silence around us is almost tangible. It heaves and stretches, weighed down by my fear. Each statement is absurd, but deep inside the darkest part of my heart, I know the lie.

“You know the truth, Nonny. You know you can trust me. And something about the way you steal looks at my son says you already trust him. You know he’s not a Knight…”

“None of it makes sense, though.” My words run into each other, choppy and unsure. The trip to the strip club, seeing August with those Knights, has left me utterly bewildered. “Why would you kill your own wife … Adam’s mother ?”

Gracie grins at me. It chills my blood. Sinister and cruel and so foreign. “There are only two reasons a man like me ever kills, Nora. Power and loyalty,” he explains.

“She wasn’t loyal?” I press, needing this piece of the puzzle to be placed, needing an answer.

“She was a pawn,” Gracie says.

“For King?” I push some more.

He sighs and looks from August to me before he leans back into the couch, crossing his feet at the ankles. With that chilling cruelty now banked in his gaze, he’s once again the picture of calm.

“Forget about King for a second,” August says as he shifts off the arm of the couch and turns towar d me. “Look closer to home, Nora.”

There’s so much confusion and fear orbiting in my chest, I can’t pull a single thought free. But something far away, buried beneath layers of trauma and social conditioning scratches to get free in my mind. “Ricky?” I ask cautiously. “But you work for him?”

“Technically, I work with him,” Gracious answers.

“But, Adam—” I stop myself. Unsure of where this thread will lead or what I hope to hear. Twisting my fingers together, I try to make sense of all the things they aren’t saying. Fuck it.

“What does any of this have to do with me? With King, and Ricky, and the Knights?” I finally ask the only question that truly matters.

“What do you know about the Knights, Nora?” August asks me quietly.

“They have the knife tattoo,” I reply, thinking about the man, Jude, at the club.

“It’s not a knife, though,” Gracie says. “Not truly. It’s a dagger with a broken blade. Do you know what it means?” He leans forward, as if waiting for my answer.

“No.” I try to wrack my brain for any information on the Knights, their customs or their tattoos, but come up completely empty. “But it’s always in the same spot,” I say, lifting two of my fingers to brush over my carotid artery.

“It’s a symbol of defeat. A reminder that nineteen years ago, they lost their greatest weapon. They place it over the carotid artery so they don't forget. It’s a brand, Nonny.” He turns to face me fully. “It’s a brand that says, ‘we will die before we forget what you took from us’. ”

“But what weapon did they lose? Who are they fighting?” My question hangs between us, suspended in silence. Gracious watches me with a quiet intensity that’s so like his son. Just as he’s about to say more, a loud bang rattles the front door, shattering our silence. We all turn to stare at the door. August moves first, unclipping his Glock from his holster and creeping to the door.

He turns briefly to look at me before inching forward.