“Callisto,” I whisper into her hair.
“Mmm?” she murmurs back, rubbing her cheek against my chest like a cat. The motion goes straight south, and while the brain in my pants wants me to ignore what I see, the rest of me can’t.
“What’s that?” I ask, gently turning her sideways and pointing. “Right there, in the moonlight by the wall.”
She frowns. “I don’t know. Could be a strip of tarp that was buried?”
I hear the doubt, recognize the search for an answer that doesn’t hurt. But as we walk toward the delicate curve of white, there’s no way around it.
We’re looking at a bone.
“Oh my God,” she gasps, whirling toward me with wide eyes. “Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”
I don’t want anything to do with digging up a corpse, but I make myself say, “Only one way to find out.”
Grabbing a sliver of wood from the ground, I crouch before the bone and dig lightly around it. I’m not squeamish by nature, but as the dirt loosens and is swept away by my fingers, my gorge rises. I was really, really hoping it was a squirrel or rabbit. Maybe even a coyote.
Callisto steps closer. Before I can tell her not to look, she makes a wounded noise.
“That’s a human skull.” Her voice is steady, if reedy.
“Looks like it.” I point to the space directly beside the empty eye socket. “And I’m no detective, but I’m pretty sure that’s—”
“A bullet hole,” she finishes.
I wipe my hands on my jeans and pull out my phone to snap some photos of the skull. Weeks ago—even days ago—this would have made me shout in victory.
Now all I see is the deep sadness on Callisto’s face.
“If there’s one body, there’s more,” she says softly, then meets my gaze. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? This will ruin the family.”
I stand, tucking my phone in my back pocket. “I can’t fucking believe I’m saying this, but I’m not so sure anymore.”
Her brows lift in surprise, though her expression doesn’t change, soft with shock and misery. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I don’t want to be a part of something that ruins you and your sisters, too.”
She laughs—sharp and dry. “Don’t go soft on me now.”
“I’m never soft when I’m around you, but that’s beside the point. I’m just saying we need to think about this. We have options.”
Like I knew she would, she ignores my poor attempt at humor. “You mean leverage.”
I nod. “What are the chances these bones were here before your uncle made it his workshop?”
“None,” she answers decisively. “Sometimes when he was working, he gave me a garden shovel to dig in here. He said”—she shakes her head, eyes welling—“that maybe I’d find dinosaur fossils. It was just a way to keep me occupied.”
“And he wouldn’t have told you that if he thought you might find a body.”
“Yeah, no,” she answers dryly.
I heave a breath. “Okay, here’s what I’m thinking. The family kept the ranch for a dumping site, and these bodies can’t be blamed on Anthony. That means Vivian is screwed.”
“Right, but even if this comes out, she could easily blame this on my father. Or throw Enzo or Franco under the bus. Or she could just pretend she never knew about it.” The volume of her voice increases steadily.
“We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” I say, grabbing her quaking shoulder. “One thing at a time. I don’t know about you, but I’m skeeved the fuck out. Let’s get out of here, then we can hash this out.”
She nods jerkily. “Good idea. Should we, uh…” She nods at the skull.
“I’ve got it.”
As I cover the skull with dirt and pack it down, doing my best to make it look undisturbed, I muse that of all the things I’ve considered doing to impress a woman, this never made the list.
Callisto is the enemy of my enemy, but more dangerous than I ever imagined. I’m starting to think there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her.
31
The drive begins silently, each of us lost in dark thoughts, but when we reach the interchange for the 101, I blurt, “Can you take me to the apartment instead?”
“Sure.” He pauses. “I don’t know if Molly’s there. She was going to see if Selina would talk to her tonight. I can call her, if you want?”
I shake my head. “It’s okay. I just don’t want to go back there. Not tonight.”
“I don’t blame you.”
Silence descends once more. Every time I close my eyes, I see the bullet hole in the skull. Single shot, close range. An execution. Whoever the shooter was, they wanted their victim to see them and know what was coming.
I think about Enzo’s cold smile. Franco’s shifting eyes. Vivian’s perfect mask. Which one of them pulled the trigger? Maybe it was my father. Without knowing how old that skull is, I can’t remove him from the equation.
Still, there’s a lot that doesn’t make sense. Why would Vivian bring up the ranch in the first place? What is it she wanted me to find? I can’t believe she’d want me to find a body.
“You okay?”
The question makes me aware that I’m trembling. My teeth chatter softly. Finn reaches across the divide to grab my hand. Warm, sold fingers curl around my palm. Anchoring me.
“That was a pretty big shock, huh?”
I wish I could summon sarcasm. A pithy response. Something to make him remove his hand, shift our dynamic back to familiar ground. But I can’t. I cling to his fingers like a life preserver, remembering our embrace in the stable. How right it felt to be in his arms.
Before the skull. Before I saw final, irrefutable confirmation that someone in my family is a cold-blooded killer.
“Thank you for coming with me,” I whisper. “I can’t image if…” I shake my head.
“Neither can I. I’m really glad you didn’t go alone.”
His voice—so solid, deep, and comforting—cocoons me and sinks beneath my skin. I stop shaking, my thoughts clearing. But I don’t let go of his hand.
“Tell me again why we shouldn’t call the police?” I ask.
“I’m not saying we shouldn’t,” he says, picking words carefully. “It would be the right thing to do.”
“It would. But like you said, it would drag the entire family into hell. Lizzie and Ellie, too.”
“No doubt. But on the other hand, we have to consider the victim we found. What about their family? They deserve justice.”
“I know,” I murmur, then huff a humorless laugh. “I’m so stupid. I actually thought the evidence I’d eventually find would be something innocuous. A USB drive. Crooked financial records. Blackmail on recorded phone calls. I guess a part of me wanted to believe that despite my intuition, they wouldn’t stoop to murder.”
Finn is quiet for long minutes, then says, “I was there. When your father killed mine.”
My fingers spasm, reflexively releasing his hand. Horror swamps me. “Oh my God. I didn’t know.”
He shrugs. “No one does. Because of the high-profile nature of the case, the threat of retribution, and because I was underaged, the judge ruled that my identity should be concealed. I testified in closed chambers, just me, my mom, and the judge.” He clears his throat. “That’s why I’m pretty sure your father didn’t kill whoever we unearthed back there. He said something before he made my father get on his knees then put a gun to the back of his head. My dad called him a coward for not being able to look him in the eye.”
My stomach roils. I clench my hands so hard I feel my nails pierce skin on my palms. “You don’t have to—”
“It’s okay, I want to. Rafael said, ‘I’ve never killed anyone who was my equal. You don’t deserve to see my face.’ Then he pulled the trigger.”
Thick tears slide down my cheeks, dripping off my chin. “I’m sorry, Finn. So, so sorry. He was a monster. They’re all monsters.”
“Hey.” He takes my ha
nd again, squeezing it tightly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you that, not after what we just saw.”
Wiping my face with my free hand, I say, “No, I’m glad you did. I just can’t believe you saw your father die.”
I think of witnessing the heart attack that took my own father’s life. The panic and fear in his eyes fading to nothingness. What I felt in that moment was an emptiness so vast I feared it would swallow me. Not the emptiness of shock or grief, but of indifference. How would I have felt if Rafael Avellino had been a good man, a good father? I can’t imagine it.
“I knew something was wrong when he was getting ready to leave that night,” Finn says at length. “He looked scared. I heard him tell my mom that he had to attend a meeting about the fire that killed twenty people in an apartment building earlier that month. Do you remember that?”
I duck my head, my neck hot with shame. “Not really.”
He doesn’t seem surprised. “The apartment building was your family’s, and the fire was due to faulty wiring. Cutting corners during construction. My dad was the one who did the investigation and found the proof. Rafael tried to blackmail him. My father refused.”
“I guess I never learned about the trail because I didn’t want to know. It was easier to cling to ignorance.”
He squeezes my hand again. “You were a kid.”
“So were you,” I mumble.
“I was an impulsive hothead who snuck into the trunk of my dad’s SUV and became a witness to his murder.”
A silent sob seizes my chest. Lifting his hand, I kiss the back of it. “I’m sorry. For everything. For what my father did to your family.”
I don’t realize the car is parked outside the apartment complex until his other hand frames my face.
“Look at me, princess.”
Blinking away tears, I meet his steady gaze.
“It is not your fault. Do you understand? Not. Your. Fault. I don’t blame you. No one will blame you. There’s nothing you could have done to change any of it.”
“I could have stayed,” I babble. “Tried to stop them six years ago. But I didn’t, and now it’s too late. My poor sisters, when they find out… God, this is a nightmare.”
Finn scoots forward until his forehead drops against mine. “I think your sisters are stronger than you give them credit, just like you’re stronger and braver than you think you are. What kind of woman does what you did—escapes that life—then gives it all up to come back and make a difference?”
“A nut job,” I say weakly.
“If you’re a nut job, I’m certifiable, too. Maybe we can share a padded room.”
His lips are curved, the sensuous slope of them teasing a new awareness from inside me. A vast, gnawing need to erase the last few hours from my skin. And the conviction that he’s my perfect remedy.
“Can we go inside now?” I’m breathless. Squirming in my seat.
He moves back an inch, his eyes searching mine. There’s no doubt he picked up on the shift in my tone.
“Of course we can, but, uh, maybe now isn’t the time—”
“Finn,” I interject. “I want you. Now.”
I’ve never seen a man move so fast.
32
Thank God Molly isn’t at the apartment, because Callisto is on me the second the door closes behind us. Taking full advantage of my male brain, I gladly shut off everything but what’s happening. The fascinating, gorgeous, courageous woman dangling from my arms. The tantalizing, creamy scent of her arousal. Soft, full breasts against my chest and small fingers clenching in my hair.
Her kisses are urgent and deliciously artless as I carry her into my bedroom. The only light comes from a streetlamp outside, a golden hue that stretches across the bed in stripes from the half-closed blinds.
When I lay her down, she whimpers in protest, but I’m only apart from her long enough to drag my shirt over my head and kick off my shoes. What she doesn’t realize—can’t possibly realize—is how long I’ve waited for this. Even when I didn’t know I wanted her, I wanted her. And I plan on taking my sweet time.
But then her hand cups the bulge in my pants and squeezes, and once more, I forget everything but the moment. My intentions—honorable, dammit—fade like smoke.
In minutes we’re naked, panting, rubbing against each other like beasts in heat. She bites my thumb as I devour her throat, breasts, the soft canvas of her belly. Down, down I go.
“Yes, yes.”
My first taste of her is a kick to the heart. Perfect. She’s perfect. I’d happily spend the rest of my life with my face between her legs, breathing in the ambrosia of her scent, her flavor on my tongue.
Mine.
I’m already in too deep, never having felt this way in bed with a woman. I pulse with a raw, primitive need to stamp her, claim her, bind her to me. It’s jarring. Scary as fuck.
But then again, I’ve always been a risk-taker.
She comes on a broken, gasping cry, her thighs trembling against my ears. Triumphant and oddly sated myself, I treat her to languorous licks until she yanks my head up by my hair.
“Inside me. Now.”
I reach for the condom on the nightstand, rolling it on with the last of my sanity. I’m witless, enslaved to her. In this moment, if she asked me to fuck her ear, I’d try.
Poised above her, I stare into her dark eyes. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
“I do,” she counters softly, “because you do the same to me.”
My lips find hers as I rock forward. She’s slick from her orgasm but tight, so tight, as I ease inside her. Don’t hurt her. Go slowly.
“More,” she groans, nails scraping down my back. “Harder.”
The tenuous hold of brain over body snaps. I drive into her like a madman, savage and unstoppable. But as I fill her, over and over again, she fills me too—with her cries, her sweat, her lips, and the primal undulation of her body in sync with mine.
My orgasm begins as a tickle, a teasing pressure that narrows as it builds in intensity. Callisto bucks against me with a ragged cry, her pussy clamping on my cock, and suddenly nothing on earth can stop me from coming right along with her.
“Jesus, fuck, holy shit,” I groan, my head hanging listlessly beside her face.
“Same,” she pants. “That was…”
“If you say good, I’m going to spank you.”
She laughs soundlessly, nudging me onto my side. My poor, spent dick whimpers as he’s forced to leave her, while my brain kicks on and worries that she thinks this was a mistake.
But she merely snuggles up against me, her head nestled beneath my chin. And I feel… content. Insulated. Fucking ecstatic.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
“Anytime, princess. And I mean that literally. I’m one hundred percent available to do that again whenever, wherever you want.”
She kisses my neck. “Shut up.”
I smile into her hair, and I’m still smiling when I pass out. Minutes or hours later, I wake to the sensation of fingers trailing down my stomach. Her fingers. Her hair tickling my shoulder. Her soft breath on my chest.
I’m immediately so hard it hurts.
“Finn,” she whispers.
My body responds for me, my arms eagerly pulling her above me. She gasps when her breasts flatten against my chest, her smooth belly against my harder one. Or maybe her stuttering breath can be blamed on my hips, which lift into her so she can feel what she does to me with a mere touch.
Safe in our small, dark world, the truth overrides all the lies we’ve told.
“I want you,” she says, fingers wrapping around the base of my cock. She squeezes me, and still her fingers barely touch. “I want this.”
“And I want this.” I grab her ass, squeezing the globes until her breath turns to pants, then parting them. My fingers sink and find her pussy. She’s blazing hot. Dripping wet. “Ah, fuck, my sweet Callisto. How am I going to survive you?”
Her hand spasms on my cock. “I�
�m not sure I’ll survive this again.” Her voice is dark. Raspy with lust. “But I’m willing to find out.”
That’s all I can take.
Flipping her onto her back, I settle atop her. Her legs instantly wrap around my hips. She bucks against me, marking me with her slick center, her breasts bobbing for attention. I’ve seen Heaven, and it’s in front of me.
I lick, suck, bite, devour her breasts until she’s whimpering, needy and impatient, then let her roll the condom on with her greedy hands.
“Don’t hold back,” she says, her hot mouth against mine.
“You want me to fuck you hard, princess?” I whisper.
Notched at her core, I’m held by only the merest thread of restraint. She nips my lower lip, dark eyes luminous and pleading, half-mad with desperation.
“Make me forget.”
So I do.
We forget everything but each other.
33
For those few, fragile moments upon waking, I don’t remember the ranch. Just Finn, whose body is curled protectively around mine. I don’t want to wake up. Don’t want to let go of how safe I feel with this maddening, mystifying man behind me. But stubborn daylight barges through the gaps in the plastic blinds, tickling my eyelids and waking my mind. Inviting memories I’d rather live without.
Bodies in the ground.
My eyes open at a muted sound from outside the bedroom. Clinking glasses. A cupboard closing softly.
Shit. Molly.
Finn barely stirs as I extricate myself from his arms and find my clothes. Dressed, I give him one last, lingering look—wild hair, kiss-swollen lips, intricate tattoos—before slipping from the room. I find the bathroom first, splashing cold water on my face and fixing the disaster that is my hair. There’s nothing to be done about the freshly fucked glow in my cheeks. I know Molly won’t judge, but I still feel ten kinds of awkward.
As I enter the kitchen, she turns, eyebrows lifting as she takes me in. I register her smirk a second before she says, “I was in my room when you two came in last night.”
The Golden Hour Page 14