Paths: A Killers Novel, Book 2 (The Killers)

by Brynne Asher

  “You’re a waitress and a glorified babysitter, Maya. You can leave your jobs at a moment’s notice,” Weston says, shaking his head.

  “You’re a waitress?” my mother exclaims.

  “Cool, she’s a waitress.” I hear the smile in Joe’s voice. “This is going to be fun.”

  Grady corrects them as the server returns with his beer in a frosty glass. “She works in the tasting room of a vineyard and she’s the activities director for seniors. They love her and she’s good at it.”

  “It was bad enough she didn’t pursue music in college like she should have.” My mother sighs and flips a hand toward me. “First you insist on physical therapy, and now you’re a waitress. This is embarrassing.”

  I’m about to roll my eyes when I hear from behind me, “She’s back.”

  I turn around and see my father. As always when he enters a room, his presence demands attention, but his is only on me. He’s just as I’ve known him to be all my life—tall, with dark eyes and hair that’s now peppered with gray, but it only adds to his demeanor, making him even more dapper and refined. He’s dressed the way he always is during the week, in a custom-made suit, fit to perfection.

  My father is nothing like my mother. He’s not an asshole, but I wouldn’t enter him into any father of the year contests, either. He built his empire through hard work and long hours. Maintaining his spot on the Fortune 500 is no fluke, but by doing so, he had no time for his family.

  He’s not an asshole—just absent. Even if he doesn’t see it that way.

  Still, he walks straight through the crowd that has formed around us and comes straight to me. Leaning down to kiss my cheek, he says, “It’s good to see you, sweetheart. You look beautiful. I told everyone not to be worried, you were doing what you thought you needed to do.”

  I give him a small smile. “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Clint, talk to your daughter,” my mother starts in. “She’s working as a waitress and doing something at a senior center. It’s time for her to come home.”

  My father looks down at me with a smirk. “You were never shy of a hard day’s work. Good for you.”

  “Dad, this is Grady Cain. Grady, my father, Clint Augustine,” I introduce them.

  My Dad shakes Grady’s hand and doing what he does best, he takes over the situation, but not before glaring at Ron. He’s never liked Weston’s father. “I’m the only one without a drink and I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”

  “I’m always hungry,” Grady agrees, and hands me my Cosmo.

  Thankful for the evening to move along so we can be done with it, I take Grady’s hand and we move into the formal dining room. But the second I walk up to the table set for nothing less than a five-course meal, I’m stopped in my strappy heels.

  “Find your place setting,” my mother directs as she takes her seat at the head of the table.

  I feel my blood boil again as I look down at the finest china and crystal. Of course, my name is placed right next to Weston’s, and Grady is across from us. If I didn’t know better, I’d say my mother was still in middle school. If she thought she could pull this off, she’s crazier than I’ve given her credit for.

  I step forward, grabbing Weston’s paper tented name, scrolled in calligraphy, and toss it to the other side of the table. When I look up, my mother is scowling. I return her look with a smug one as I turn to Grady. “My mother does a lovely job of welcoming guests into her home. Have a seat.”

  I’m surprised Weston has the decency not to argue. Still, he appears to be holding a grudge as he rounds the table to the open chair. We all take our seats—Joe to my left, Grady to my right, and Weston across from us, flanked by his parents.

  The minute we sit, the staff flocks, and my napkin is placed in my lap. I’m grateful for Joe—he starts telling our father about the training session with his medical service dog this afternoon, diverting any attention placed on Grady and me for a bit.

  We’re served petite crab cakes for an appetizer, lemon garlic orzo soup, and our salad dishes have just been cleared. Until now, the conversation has remained bland, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t last long.

  “Grady,” my mother starts, clearing her voice as she demands, “tell us about yourself.”

  I tense and look over to Grady, who’s been nothing but relaxed all night. I wish I knew how he did that.

  He asks, “What would you like to know?”

  “Tell us about your family,” my mother goes on in a tone signifying she doesn’t give a shit about his family.

  Grady shrugs. “I have four sisters.”

  “And your parents?” my mother probes. “What do they do?”

  “My parents are deceased.”

  My eyes widen even though I try to control it, doing my best not to look surprised. I’ve never asked about his parents, only his sisters.

  My father frowns and picks up his bourbon. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It’s been a long time,” Grady says.

  Not satisfied, my mother keeps going. “What is it that you do?”

  I feel Joe kick me under the table before he announces, “I’ve decided to change my major.”

  Everyone looks at my brother, surprised, especially my father, and he asks, “Excuse me?”

  “Not now, Joseph,” my mother clips. “Grady?”

  Grady wipes his mouth before returning his napkin to his lap, and if we weren’t sitting in front of my ex, his parents, and my family, I’d throw myself at him. He ate his entire salad without a peep. I know he ate it to not ruffle my mother’s feathers, but by doing that, he did it for me. I obviously can’t reach over and kiss him at the moment, but if I could, I would.

  “I’m a government contractor—specializing in overseas security. I’m fluent in seven languages and even more dialects.”

  I try again not to look surprised, because I should know these things about the man I’m sleeping with and who’s had his hand down my pants. Even if we’re only actually sleeping together, the act itself has been incredibly intimate, especially when he was relaxing me.

  “Who exactly do you provide security for?” my mother keeps on.

  “I’m tired of finance,” Joe continues, as if he was asked. “Sorry, dad. It’s boring.”

  “Joseph.” My mother throws him the look from hell.

  Grady picks up his water, leaving his mostly full beer to go warm, and takes a drink. “All sorts of organizations. Corporations, foreign dignitaries, Americans traveling abroad. I used to travel exclusively, but I’m home now.”

  Grady looks to me when he finishes, his eyes searching my face, though for what, I’m not sure. But he does lift his arm up around my shoulders, settling it against the back of my chair.

  He goes on. “It’s hard after traveling for so many years, but I’m getting settled. I think Maya is, too.”

  I reach out for him, touching his thigh, hoping to communicate that I am.

  Joe, who’s doing his best to redirect the focus of conversation away from us, continues. “I’m thinking about switching to Fermentation Sciences. I want to learn how to make beer without poisoning anyone.”

  I look to Joe to see if he’s serious, and I honestly can’t tell. What I’m sure of, is my mother hasn’t heard a word he’s said. She’s too focused on her own agenda.

  “Well, don’t get used to it,” my mother spouts. “Maya will eventually tire of spinning her wheels waiting tables and whatever else she’s doing.”

  I straighten in my chair and turn to my mother. “I’ll have my Virginia license in a matter of weeks and I have a PT job lined up for the beginning of next year. I don’t
plan on tiring of anything and I’m not coming back.”

  “But I’ll also learn how to make cheese,” Joe adds. “You know, as a backup career.”

  “Come back for a week.” Weston leans forward and speaks to me in a tone that surprises me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he almost sounded desperate. “Give me a week to make things right, Maya. Please.”

  “Or, I could do both,” Joe raises his voice, vying for someone’s attention. “I’ll move to Wisconsin and open up a brewery. Beer and cheese curds. It’ll be a fermentation utopia.”

  “They’ve been together since she was sixteen,” my mother says, looking straight at Grady. She waves a hand toward Grady and me as she continues. “You can’t give her the life she’s accustomed to. She’ll eventually get bored and come home. Whatever you think this is, you’re wrong. Maya got her feelings hurt, she’s licking her wounds, but eventually she’ll find her way, so don’t get too attached, Grady Cain.”

  “Mother!” I exclaim.

  “Vanessa,” my father warns from across the length of the table. “Watch yourself.”

  My mother tips her head and scowls first at my father, then me. “You can’t be serious about him. You’ve known him, what? Weeks?”

  “Months,” Grady corrects her.

  “Whatever.” She throws him a dirty look before returning her glare to me. “It’s time to get over it and move on.”

  “That’s it,” Grady declares.

  Moving his arm from in back of my chair, he narrows his eyes at my mother and reaches in the breast pocket of his suit jacket. Deftly, a small velvet box appears, and quicker than naught, he flips it open with his thumb.

  And I lose my breath.

  What the hell?

  “What is that?” I breathe, barely able to hear myself speak.

  Grady says nothing, but reaches across my body for my left hand. He removes the round metal object with a really big, bright, sparkly thing on the top, and tosses the box haphazardly to the table.

  I feel my breath quicken, not able to hide my reaction from what’s happening in front of me. I’m pretty sure he’s moving quickly and efficiently, but my brain is functioning in slow motion.

  It’s a ring.

  Why does he have a ring, and why is it aimed at my hand?

  Holy shit, it’s a really beautiful ring.

  From somewhere outside of my head, I hear my ex-fiancé growl, “What the fuck?”

  But I can’t give that any mind space, because Grady is sliding that beautiful, shiny piece of metal that circles to infinity on my left ring finger. When it slides all the way to the base, miraculously fitting perfectly, his thumb brushes the side of it right when I feel a hand at my face.

  When he lifts my chin to look into his eyes, his expression is possessive and hot. When he dips his face, his lips touch mine—demanding and warm. It’s the most perfect kiss he’s ever given me, and there have been plenty.

  He pulls away hesitantly, his tongue reaching out to taste me quickly before I open my eyes to find him looking contentedly down at me. “You’ll let me take care of you?”

  I exhale, thumbing the underneath side of the ring sitting at the base of my left ring finger. A ring I’m not totally sure the meaning of, but to the rest of the world, I know what it looks like. Even if I don’t know what it means to Grady, there’s nothing more I want at this moment than for him to take care of me.

  I nod. Once.

  Still, it’s the universal sign of yes.

  “Yes?” he confirms aloud.

  I nod again, this time adding a throaty, “Yes.”

  A look takes over his handsome face. An expression I’ve never seen, but on Grady Cain, it’s the most beautiful thing ever. He leans in to kiss me again, and when he pulls away, wraps his arm around me.

  Still stunned and staring down at the ring on my finger, wondering what just happened, I hear Grady say, “As you can see, it’s too late, Vanessa. I’m attached.”

  That’s when I hear a crash.

  I jerk from the noise and look up to see Weston standing, his chair thrown back with such force, it broke the glass doors of my mother’s built-in china cabinet. Glass is still settling as Weston yells from across the table, “This is not happening. This is not fucking happening!” He points straight at Grady. “This is your fault. You’ll pay for this—I swear.”

  With one last vicious glare, he stalks out of the room. His parents stand quickly making multiple apologies before they hurry out after their son.

  “I cannot believe this,” my mother seethes at me. “Look what you’ve done!”

  I’ve had it.

  Pushing my chair back, I stand quickly, and Grady stands with me.

  “I hate him.” I point to where Weston left the room. “He cheated on me, he controlled me, and he threatened me. Never again will I allow that to happen. This is why I left when I did. And if it means never stepping foot into your house again to not be put through this, then so be it. I’ll go to the city to see Joe or I’ll bring him to me when he’s okay to travel. But never again will I allow you to do this. I’m done.”

  “He threatened you? Why didn’t you tell me?” I turn to look at my father, and it’s clear to see he’s livid from what he just heard, his voice demanding answers. But he’s looking straight at my mother. “Did you know about this?”

  “Clint—” she starts, but I interrupt.

  “I’ve had enough for tonight.” Looking over at my father and Joe, I add, “Goodnight. I’ll see you both tomorrow before we leave.”

  With that, I turn, making my way back through the formal living room and toward the back doors. Grady’s right beside me but doesn’t say a word. Even though he’s not touching me, I know he’s close. If possible, through the cold night, I feel the heat of him at my side.

  When we reach the guest house, I’m trembling—but not from the cold—from my adrenaline crashing after the high I just went through. Not only from dealing with my mom and Weston, but from Grady sliding a ring on my finger. Everything—it’s all too much. I fumble with the door, not able to get it unlatched, when Grady’s big, steady hand covers mine and opens it for me.

  I move through first and immediately kick my shoes off to the side. When I turn around, I look down at the ring he slid on my finger, needing to know, but afraid to ask.

  I don’t even know what I want it to mean. He said he was with me before we even spoke a word to one other, but it hasn’t been that long. It took me almost twelve years to figure out Weston was toxic, and that was before I learned of his dark-side business dealings.

  When I look up, Grady has already rid himself of his suit jacket and is pulling his tie off, unbuttoning the top three buttons of his shirt. He does all this without taking an eye off me—assessing me.

  Is it possible to know in a matter of weeks?

  Then he does nothing, says nothing. He stands there—half the room separating us—doing nothing.

  Finally, I hold up my hand, the one showcasing the supersized, brilliant cut diamond in an exquisite setting, flanked by baguettes running down the band.

  “Grady, please,” I call for him, my voice unstable and hoarse. “Tell me what just happened.”

  Chapter 20 – Heavy?

  Grady –

  Never in my life have I been as anxious about the outcome of my actions as now.

  Not when I joined the Army, not when I was recruited, not on my first assignment. Not even the first time I ever put a bullet through someone’s head, officially making me an assassin. Even though that day didn’t officially make me a killer—I’d been one for years at that point.r />
  I especially wasn’t anxious the day I made sure my dad would never fuck with us again. That day was nothing but a relief.

  But now, standing in front of her, having to explain my actions, yet prove to her it’s her choice? That it’ll only ever be what she wants?

  I’m fucking anxious.

  In a short time, this woman has stirred emotions in me I never knew existed, and before that, she just plain saved me.

  It’s not helping that her face is a mix of wonder, fear, and fuck me, I think she’s got tears in her eyes. She has no idea what that does to me.

  I bought that ring with only one intention—to make her mine. I knew I’d use it if I needed to make a statement. I had no idea what to expect from her family or that asshole ex of hers. I knew I’d be taking a chance if I was forced to put it into play. It’s not too soon for me, but I can see how it might be for her.

  Throw all that in a pot and stir it up along with what just happened at dinner, it’s a lot of shit for her to deal with. That makes me even more anxious.

  “What just happened?” she repeats, more forcefully.

  Never good with words, I hope like hell I don’t fuck this up.

  “I’m curious.” It’s a lame start, but I’m buying time. I shift my weight and cross my arms, but I really need to know, so I jerk my chin toward her. “How does it feel?”

  Her brows instantly pucker. “How does it feel?”

  “Yeah,” I confirm. “I know it fits, but how does it feel?”

  She spreads her fingers out in front of her, and her other hand comes up to touch the diamond I just slid on her finger. She doesn’t look away from her ring as she shakes her head. “I’m not sure.”

  “You’ve gotta feel something, Maya,” I insist, dropping my arms and taking a step. I don’t like all this space between us.

  “I mean.” She twists it back and forth a bit, not looking away from her hand. “I don’t know. It feels,” she looks up at me, confusion still clouding her features, “heavy?”