by L. J. Woods
Swallowing hard on the air in my throat, I stare at the page. The top reads, “The Glendale Grove Police Department Incident Report,” stamped in black ink. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I shine my light on it.
When I begin to read it through, the night comes flooding back.
Darkness.
Smoke.
Flames.
My chest feels as tight as it did that night, my eyes blurring out the words in front of me. When my gaze lands on a sentence, the room begins to spin.
“Intentional structure fire—arson.”
I must’ve said it out loud because his hand lands on my shoulder when a tear rolls down my cheek. I can’t tell if I’m angry or sad. Frustrated or shocked. I’m stunned. And I can’t find my words when Damien asks, “So … it’s true?”
“Yeah.” The paper crumples in my hand. “It’s true.”
“You alright?”
I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay knowing what I know now. This only leads me to more questions. More heartache. Who the fuck killed my parents? “D-Did Cindy do this?”
“I don’t know.” Damien places another paper on Cindy’s desk. “But Cindy’s shady.”
“What’s that?” The paper in front of me has a bunch of numbers on it, names I don’t recognize or understand. It looks like bank information, one usually saved for an accountant or something.
“It’s the billing information for MOCHA,” he explains. “And for some reason, Marion Roy has received a shit ton of funds since her first day in Eden. It’s the same amount of cash that should be going into King Financial.”
“What does that even mean?” I ask. “I don’t speak ‘rich people’.” And my mind is still going a million miles a second from what I just found out. I can’t even begin to comprehend what he’s saying right now.
He perches his butt on Cindy’s desk, long leg hanging off the side. “It means, my aunt is taking money from my dad’s company and I need to find out why.”
“And I need to find out what Cindy knows about my parents. Why does she have this?”
“Looks like we both have a mystery on our case.”
“Great. More things in common.”
He smirks, “You know what else we share in common?”
“Do I wanna know?” Leaning back in the chair, I cross my arms, an eyebrow arched.
“We’ve both fucked at MOCHA.”
The images of Damien and I tangled together on the bathroom countertop surfaces in my mind. That’s the day everything changed. Where I realized this thing I have for Damien is deeper than I thought. “And I still don’t know what we are.”
“We’re Jo and Damien.” He leans in closer, bringing his lips temptingly close to mine. The way they curl up to his cheeks tells me he knows it drives me wild.
I keep my eyes on his but they’re no better than his lips. “And you think I killed your father.”
“Wanna share another thing in common?” Swinging those long legs over the desk, he invades my space.
Swallowing hard, I push my own questions out. “Why do you keep doing that? Why do you keep dodging my question when you’ve made it very clear what you think?”
He swivels the chair, taking my hand and pulling me off before he sits me on his lap. “I wanna fuck you right here and share another thing in common.” To back him up, I can feel his cock stiffening under my ass, his hands sliding up my waist. “I hate seeing you in this,” he growls, top lifting as he climbs his hand higher, shivers rolling through me.
“Jo? King?”
A voice comes from outside and my heart starts to beat faster.
“Fuck,” I mutter. We can’t get caught in here. I know I’ll be the one getting busted for breaking in.
“Perez?” Damien recognizes the voice before I do and when we look towards the bathroom, Christian’s peeping in through the window. Damien groans, “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”
“Me?” Christian’s sparkling white Converse comes through the window before he’s hoisting himself in. “What the fuck are you guys doing?”
Damien slides me off his lap, coming to his feet, arms crossed as he watches his friend come into the room. “Handling business.”
“You mean, committing a crime?” Christian looks at both of us. He’s in a black coat, jeans, a green scarf around his neck.
Damien takes a step forward, approaching him when a hand comes in front of me. He pushes me behind him like he’s my protection. “You follow us?”
Christian doesn’t move. “Well I tried texting and when you said you were going to MOCHA I didn’t think you meant breaking in. Don’t you have a key, King?”
Wait. “He what?”
“I’m not going to tell you again,” Damien growls. “Mind your fucking business.”
Christian squares up and I can’t believe they brought this silly little battle here. “And Jo’s your business?” Christian asks, Damien a few inches over his head. “No wonder King Financial is crumbling.”
Shit, shots fucking fired.
“I am so pleased you came to meet with me, Cindy.”
My body stiffens, Damien glancing at the door. I know that French accent.
Marion.
All three of us freeze before we’re all scrambling into the small bathroom. Papers fly, shuffling everywhere but I make sure to grab that police report before I’m sandwiched between two strong chests.
“Oh, Damien parks here when he’s going off with my daughter and their friends. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.” Cindy’s voice is louder now, and I can hear the jiggling of the office door.
Damien’s in front of me, blocking our path to the window, my tits pressed to his chest. Christian’s behind me, his crotch pressed to my ass. “We should go,” I whisper but Damien brings a finger to his lips. I can feel both their hearts beating against my back and my chest. And I can feel something hard on either side. It’s making my skin clammy, giving me goosebumps, and it’s making me very aware of the King triangle I’ve created.
“There is a lot on my mind, Cindy.” Marion’s voice is closer now too but Damien won’t move. I hope Cindy doesn’t have to use the bathroom anytime soon. If she finds us in here, I’m dead.
“He spends way too much time with that girl, he’s too close!” Cindy says in her bored drawl fit for Eden. “He’s grieving like a washed-up rockstar and that’s going to interfere with my investments. Edwin’s campaign won’t survive any scandals or any more downfalls. There’s no way he’s taking his father’s company and you’re the perfect replacements, considering our arrangement.”
“Parfait. You leave Damien to me,” Marion says.
Cindy laughs a haughty laugh. “Well, I’m happy to have you on board. Is it cold in here?”
My eyes widen at the news but Damien finally moves, climbing outside the window. Christian helps me through but by the time my feet touch the ground, Damien’s already gone.
“Shit, that’s heavy,” Christian says once he’s beside me. He pulls the window closed before he leads me out of sight, taking me around to the parking lot. His Jag sits next to where Damien’s Lambo was and how the hell did he leave so quickly? “You alright?”
I don’t even know how to answer that, the cold seeping into my bones when I realize Damien’s gone. Again.
Let’s recap what I found out in the last hour.
One: the copy of the police report means I can confirm my parents’ death wasn’t an accident like I thought for the last decade.
Two: Damien’s aunt is in cahoots with Cindy to take over King Financial.
To be honest, I’m not too bothered by Marion trying to take over King’s company. She’s right. I can’t imagine someone like Damien handling a business. He can hardly handle himself. But that doesn’t have me half as shook as learning what I know about my folks.
It was a plan.
Someone wanted to kill them.
Did they want to kill me too? Willow?
I’m starting to think h
aving the Archibalds as my foster parents is a blessing. If it wasn’t for them, I would never have known this mystery unravelling in Eden. The biggest mystery of my life.
“Jo?”
The words slip from my mouth, “Someone killed my parents.”
And I’m going to find out who.
Ten
“You sure about this?” I ask.
Looking up at the ginormous home, I’m starting to second-guess my decision.
“Yeah. I am.” Christian looks at me from the driver’s seat and I wish I felt as confident as he sounds. “Are you?”
Biting my lip, I still haven’t recovered from what I learned at MOCHA. “It’s not like I have a good reputation around here.”
“Believe me, my parents are way too aloof to know about what’s happening in Eden.” If he’s trying to reassure me with that classic charming look on his face, he’s making it easy.
While I would have loved to be at home in my bed next to Willow, she didn’t give me that option. Hanging out with the cool freshmen, and the Supreme Squad means Willow’s hardly ever home, including tonight. I haven’t even decided if I should tell her what I know, so it’s for the better. But that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want to be alone. Not after what I learned.
“Alright, let’s do it,” I exhale, grasping the last bit of courage I can find. “And, thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” Christian opens his side of the door and I follow. “My parents can be intense.”
I’m in awe as Christian leads me to the front door. If Damien’s house is a miniature castle, and Isaac’s is a modern masterpiece, Christian’s is a combination of both. His home is two-storeys surrounded by greenery and made of what looks like tanned stone. It almost feels like I’ve entered a fairytale. Even with the dying trees and scattered leaves, it’s kind of magical, shrubs lining our path on the way to large castle-like doors. Once he pushes through, I’m floored again. These people have homes that are way too big for their own good. I mean, people are living in tent cities for fucks sake.
The front entrance alone can be its own apartment and while it’s earthier, homier than Damien’s white marbled foyer, it’s still over-the-top. But it wouldn’t be Eden if it wasn’t.
“I can’t believe you!” There’s commotion coming from the room ahead, a chandelier flickering with faux candles above us. Clanks and slams follow before I hear loud yelling in Spanish. Christian’s unfazed when he starts leading me towards the staircase.
“Uh, is everything alright?” I ask.
“Yeah, why?” He stops halfway up when he realizes my hesitation, his hand on the wrought-iron rail.
“Sounds like a war down there.”
“It’s always a war,” Christian mumbles. “C’mon, they won’t even know you’re here. I’ll throw on Superbad.”
Heels clack into the foyer before he continues on his way.
“Carallo …”
When I look over my shoulder a woman stands at the foot of the steps. She’s in a tight tank top, pants that stick to her curves. She flips her dark wavy hair over her shoulder, eyeing me from head to boots with bright brown eyes. “And who is this, mijo?”
Christian’s shoulders drop in front of me before he turns around, “Ma, this is Jo, we were just—”
“You bring a girl to the house and you don’t introduce her to your mother?” She lets out a hand with long sparkly nails, a stack of rings on her olive fingers.
Christian sighs, a hand on the back of his head. “Jo, this is my mom.”
“Bet you didn’t think that, right?” I take her hand as she winks. “Please, tell me I don’t look a day over forty and call me Bianca. Mom sounds old now that my boy’s a handsome young man.” She reaches for his cheeks and when he pulls away, I catch a small smirk.
Bianca doesn’t look a day over forty and if she hadn’t forced an introduction I’d think Christian had another sister. I’ve almost forgotten my manners. I’m not used to the adults in Eden being this welcoming. “Thanks for having me,” I say.
She blinks as if she’s surprised before a smile spreads across her face. I return it when she says, “I haven’t seen Doc Martens like that since the nineties.” That’s legit the first compliment I got on my boots since I’ve been here. Bianca’s not so bad. “Anyway, it’s nice to meet you. Don’t let my son sweet talk you into anything stupid.”
“Ma!” Christian groans to which she laughs, her teeth as sparkling straight as her son’s.
“It’s nice to meet who?” A tall, jacked guy comes into the foyer next and I know that face anywhere. It’s as square as Christian’s, his body tall and wide. His green eyes are easy to spot from across the room, so are his tanned, bulging biceps. He’s got a bit more of a receding hairline than I remember, thick hair gelled back.
“Hugo,” falls out of my mouth and I hope there isn’t any drool coming out with it. Hugo Perez in the flesh. My dad and I used to watch him on TV when I was a little girl, and here he is, right in front of me. I feel special. I’m sure people don’t usually get to see Hugo in his hoodie and jeans.
“Mind your business, Hugo,” Bianca snips.
“He’s my son, he is my business,” his voice booms but Bianca’s not having it and I’m starting to see where Allie gets her sass from.
“If he’s your son then act like a father and be around!”
“This is why Bianca. This is why!”
Christian groans, taking my hand in his again as his parents start going at each other in Spanglish. Is this the family drama Nate eluded to? Sure my parents bickered every once in a while, but not like this.
“Hey, you two wait,” Hugo calls, stopping us in our tracks. “If you want me to be a father, how about you and your date join us for dinner?”
“Dad, you don’t have to.”
“C’mon, Christian,” Hugo says, turning around and walking to where he came from. “I got a steak with your name on it.”
Christian looks like he’s about to protest again but before he can, his mom pipes up, her brown eyes on me, “Help me in the kitchen.”
Glancing at Christian, he already looks defeated. I see the little shake of his head when our eyes meet but if this takes my mind off my woes, I’m down. “Sure,” I say, winking at Christian before he groans again. “I’d love to.”
“I’ll remember this,” he says when he passes me, but the smile he gives when he looks back tells me it’s nothing to fear. Not like Damien.
Bianca leads me to the kitchen, Christian following his dad as his mom babbles on about the renovations she did. The more I move through this house, the more in awe I become. Bianca’s gone with a brown and green theme, the ceiling filled with thick wooden beams, adding to the rustic vibe.
“We can head back upstairs,” Christian’s voice is lower as we get closer to the kitchen near the back of the house. I can see some of it through the large rounded arch from where we are. Marble counters. Wooden cabinets and copper fixtures.
With a glance over my shoulder, I smile, waving him off. “It’s fine.”
“What’s fine?” Bianca asks, stopping in front of a stainless steel gas range.
Christian’s response is quick, “Whatever you’re cooking.”
Bianca smiles, “See what I mean? He’s got the charm of his father, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing.”
“Ma!”
She smiles again, pulling me over to the cutting board before she starts giving us orders. Christian’s dad calls him out to the back porch, telling him to bring the steak and salmon with him. This leaves me alone with Bianca, a small room with a sofa and some candles off to the side. With the stories she tells me about Allie and Christian as kids, and the way she bosses me around like my mom in the kitchen, it’s easy to feel at home.
“You’re a natural,” Bianca says when she sees my knife work.
“Who’s natural?” Allie’s voice comes from the foyer. “No one in this town is.”
“Alejandra! Co
me meet Jo!” Bianca calls.
“Jo?” Allie’s quick to the kitchen, still in her uniform albeit more rumpled than I expected. A smile spreads on her face before her brows knit. “What are you doing here?”
“I—”
“Steak’s almost done!”
“Dad?” Allie sounds surprised to see her father manning the grill. “Okay, what the fuck is going on?”
“Language, Alejandra,” Bianca snips, and I can’t help but laugh. “And we’re having dinner is what’s going on. Hurry up and go change, we’re almost done.” Grabbing an apple from the large bowl on the big dining table, Allie gives me another questioning look before she walks up the stairs.
It’s not long before she’s back in a hoodie and shorts and dinner’s on the table. Steak, salmon, potatoes, grilled vegetables and rice. Bianca lights candles in the middle of the large wooden table and throws on some Bossanova. Allie sits at the table in a hoodie and bike shorts, cross-legged on her chair. I’m sitting beside Christian on the other side, Bianca and Hugo at each end. My plates piled high with veggies and starches, poking at a piece of broccoli with my fork.
“So, I didn’t know ERA started doing scholarships,” Bianca pipes, a forkful of veggies in her hand. She looks at me, then at her kids.
“What do you mean?” Allie asks, poking at her salmon with her hair in her face.
“Well, Jo’s obviously not from around here.”
“Jesus, mom,” Allie replies, dropping her fork.
“It’s okay.” My words are a mess, trying my hardest to chew through this broccoli so I can answer. “I’m from The Grove.”
“Really …” Bianca smiles, looking down at her plate before she meets my eyes. “So am I.”
I almost choke, “What?”
“That’s right. Before Hugo came in and swooped me up,” she says. “And spit me out.”
Now Christian’s piping up, “Mom …”
“But she forgets that with all her renovations,” Allie says to me but she has a smirk on her face like she’s trying to get at her mom. “And late night shopping trips.”
“What? Again?” Hugo asks, finally breaking the attention from his food and phone. “I thought you were taking her to get a new violin.”