Red (Love in Color Series Book 1)

by SM West

  “Have you seen Ma or Twinkie, yet?” I ask, attempting to kill the green-eyed monster.

  Ma’s everyone’s mom, even before my father’s death, even more so afterward. Having Van come into the fold gave her one more little person to shower with love and affection. When Tripp and Griff’s mom got sick, Ma jumped in to help the Townsends’ in any way she could. She is very much a second mother to Tripp.

  “I’m headed there right after this. I can’t wait to see them, it’s been too long. Do you still call Carys Twinkie to her face?”

  “Give ‘em my love. And you betcha, I love to call her Twinkie,” I grin.

  “You’re brutal,” he chuckles. “She must tear you a new one every time.”

  Thinking about my feisty, sweet sister brings an easy smile. Three years my junior, and just as much Tripp and Griff’s sister as she is mine, we all loved her tagging along. Some would hate it, but not me. She’s always fun even when she’s being a brat. Besides, this way I can keep an eye on her.

  Growing up, she was a conundrum. A true girly girl yet she gravitated to the boys, and they to her. She’d be in a princess dress, tiara and plastic heels, climbing trees or battling with her lightsaber. There was nothing she couldn’t do or any challenge she wasn’t up for.

  Griff and Carys were closer in age and even closer friends. She took it hard when he died. Thank fuck for Van, he pulled her through those dark months. And since Griff’s death, she’s been good for Tripp. They talk weekly, if not daily.

  “Why do you think I still do it?” I smirk. “Did you hear about Van?”

  “Carys told me,” he nods. “Asshole.”

  “Hey, have you talked to him?” I push back.

  Van and Carys are on shaky ground, she’s not doing well. Van is my brother, yet for Van, even though he’s known Carys since her birth, she was never his sister. I don’t believe in this crap, but she’s his soulmate. If I didn’t know them their whole lives, I would laugh at the thought. Still, I know they’re meant for each other. This is why none of this makes any sense. If only he would return my calls.

  “Nah, and not sure I want to,” his response is stern.

  “Give him a chance before you paint him guilty. We owe him. There has to be more going on than we know.”

  “Shit, Ry, this is your sister.”

  “I know. And if it comes down to it, I’ll have her back, but he’s my brother. I need to hear him out.”

  ***

  I SPEND HOURS IN THE hotel gym burning off my pent-up energy. The little good that it did. I’m still pumped. Tripp and Tate meeting could be a disaster. I have an hour with Tate before Tripp joins us. This should give me time to tell her about them.

  I step out of the shower, someone’s knocking on the door. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I check the peephole. Tate.

  “You’re early,” I state, letting her in.

  “I know, sorry.” She’s anything but with the way her cheeks flush and eyes darken, roaming my body.

  “You like what you see?” I smirk, raising my arms out to the side and turning to give her a good look at my naked torso. I’m unable to tame my playing with her. Ruffling her feathers and bringing out the cherry wild side of her is irresistible.

  “Shut up,” she grumbles, brushing past me.

  My breath catches. Fuck, she’s stunning. Her long blond hair cascades down her back. The high-waisted, siren-red pencil skirt hugs her like a second skin, and the black silk blouse accentuates enough of her upper body to leave a man wanting more. Fuck, and those killer high heels. Her legs alone have me ready to fall to my knees in worship. My cock thickens. This towel doesn’t hide my growing arousal.

  “I’m going to shower. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be out in five,” I respond, making a quick exit as a fleeting, but no less powerful, thought of fucking her hard and fast crosses my mind.

  “In clothes,” she shouts.

  A quick, freezing shower reins in my filthy thoughts of taking her on the bed. As I contemplate how best to bring up Griffin, my arousal abruptly dies. Bile creeps up my throat as I contemplate my treachery at lusting after Griffin’s woman. Shit, I’ve gotta get a grip.

  Throwing on jeans and a black t-shirt, I run my fingers through my wet hair before joining Tate. She standing across the room looking at me.

  “The Four Seasons…was my father here too?”

  “No. He will be tonight. We’re having dinner at the hotel.” We drink each other in. Both mirroring the other’s desire in our heavy-lidded eyes and flushed faces.

  “Is that why you wanted to see me?” she huskily whispers.

  “Ah, no. We’re good for tonight,” I lightly quip. I settle on the couch, patting the cushion beside me. Tate raises her perfectly shaped eyebrow, something akin to trepidation crosses her face as she chooses to sit at the other end.

  I know she’s guarded and skittish about showing any emotion or vulnerability. We’ve been skirting around each other for months now. Does she not trust me after last week? Or maybe she doesn’t trust herself? My lips lift into a smile, hoping that’s it. I know exactly how she’s feeling. I’d love to get sidetracked and push this connection we have. I can’t deny that there’s a lot at risk and a lot that’s wrong with it. Most of all, any kind of sexual encounter would endanger the integrity of this case. Not to mention, she’s married and there’s Griffin.

  “I asked you here…,” I start but am interrupted by a knock.

  “Who is that? Is it my father?” she asks, panic evident in her eyes.

  “Stay here.”

  Looking through the peephole, it’s Tripp. Damn it. He’s not supposed to be here, yet. Realization dawns, this was his plan all along. Catch her off guard. Shit. Cracking the door, I wedge myself into the hallway and shut the door.

  “What the fuck? You’re not supposed to be here for another hour,” my tone is cutting. He smirks. Yep, surprise was his intent.

  “I’m here now. Let’s go in,” he says, going for the door directly behind me. He will have to go through me first.

  “She just got here. Give me ten minutes. We’re not springing this on her like this,” my words are short and clipped. I could strangle him.

  Crossing his arms, he glares at me, not impressed with the way I want to do things. I don’t give a fuck. He’s a good guy, but right now, he is being a jag off. I tell him as much before making it clear under no uncertain terms is he to come in.

  Tate has her purse in hand when I return. “Who the hell was that? Do I need to get out of here?”

  “Sorry. No, you’re fine, stay. This is actually why I asked you here.”

  Lightly touching her elbow, I steer her to the couch. She stares quizzically at me. Damnit, there’s no easy way to do this and thanks to Tripp, I don’t even have time to ease into it. Fuck him.

  “Griffin Townsend,” I state. She instantly pales; straightening her spine and clenching her fists. “I have history with Griffin and his brother, Tripp. We grew up together. Tripp and I are best friends. He’s FBI.”

  “Is that what this is about? This case is about Griffin?” She asks incredulously.

  “No. The FBI wants Thornton and Conrad. And yes, I want them too for many reasons, Griffin’s one of them. Tripp wanted in on this case, but of course, he can’t be anywhere near it. So, I’m the next best thing.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” her tone is flat, devoid of emotion. I can practically see her thick, high walls rocketing up.

  “Tripp wants to meet you. That was him.” I motion to the door.

  “I don’t understand. I thought Griffin’s brother was Patrick. Who is Tripp?”

  “Sorry, it’s Patrick. Tripp’s a nickname. Will you meet him?”

  “No way,” she exclaims harshly.

  She briskly walks to the door and yanks it open. Tripp’s standing in the way. Staggering backward with a gasp, her hand covers her mouth. She clutches her middle like she’s been physically hit. Quickly twirling around to get away from hi
m, our eyes collide. For the briefest instant, anguish and fear score her green depths before anger rolls in.

  “Fuck you,” she hisses. Her venom stabbing like a knife. An uncomfortable heaviness settles in my chest at the sight of her in pain, especially knowing I caused it.

  “Tate,” I say, attempting to reach for her. She bats my hand away and darts to the window. The furthest distance she can get from either of us, within the limited space.

  “What do you want from me?” she desperately asks although the question seems to be for more than just us. She’s asking something bigger of a higher power or the universe.

  Shit, this wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Fucking Tripp. I pin him with a punitive glare. He has the decency to shrink back in shame, finally understanding what his half-cocked behavior has done. It’s one thing to spout angry words toward some woman he’s never met, but it’s a completely different ball game now face-to-face. He’s not a dick. He’ll see what Griff saw in her, what I see in her.

  “Tate,” I calmly and cautiously say. “This is Patrick Townsend.”

  “I know,” she whispers. Her attention moves to Tripp, “You look so much like him yet different.”

  Tripp gently nods, slowly coming into the room. He’s picked up on the importance of going easy. Like a wounded animal, Tate’s on edge. We have no clue how or when she may strike.

  “What do you want from me?” she coldly asks.

  Her armor of indifference is firmly in place. This is her protection. Tripp’s taken aback, looking to me for guidance. Now it’s my turn to be a dick, this is his fucked-up situation. He’s on his own.

  MY FINGERNAILS PIERCE MY PALMS, my go-to distraction when I’m faced with any kind of unruly emotion. The sting is the only thing holding me together. I’m can’t believe Ry did this. I trusted him. And Patrick Townsend…I know what he wants. But I’m not sure I can give it to him. I’m not prepared. A warning would have been nice.

  Ry started to tell me, but Patrick messed it up. There’s tension between them, it’s evident in their taut, stilted body language. At this point, who cares what their intentions were, I’m beyond angry, sick to my stomach and scared.

  I hate being scared. Fear is a useless emotion. It immobilizes you, ridding you of rational thought and exacting action. Reliving Griffin’s death could cripple me. As it is, snippets sift through my mind when I least expect it. The difference is I don’t deliberately seek to relive it. What will happen if I deliberately chase the memories? Will they eventually swallow me?

  “Tate, I’m sorry to spring this on you. Ry wanted to tell you before I showed up but I was impatient,” Patrick states, he sounds almost remorseful.

  Patrick runs his fingers through his longish, dark blond hair, so like his brother’s. Perched on the bed, he peers at me with familiar blue eyes. It physically hurts, painfully aches, to look at him. He is an older version of Griffin. His hair about the same length, similar lean and muscular build, although Patrick is broader. And those eyes, the same shade of blue.

  The difference is, Patrick’s eyes are laced with sadness. Griffin’s were always happy. Griffin was very close with his brother. Losing their mother had been devastating. Patrick stepped in to fill that void. Their father languished, alcohol became his life. The death of Lucy Townsend altered their lives.

  Shuddering at Patrick’s gaze, unease pervades my senses, Griffin’s ghost stands before me. My stomach lurches at the overpowering urge to scream and run. It’s funny in a sick, twisted sort of way that I finally meet his brother under these less than comfortable conditions.

  Griffin had wanted me to meet his brother and extended family. He asked numerous times for me to go home with him. I always gave an excuse, not wanting to go back to New York. He never knew that part of my life and I wanted to keep them separate for as long as I could.

  He had also been vague about his brother’s job, I now realize why. He’d said it was easier for him to visit Patrick than the other way around. That’s why we’d never met, until now.

  As for his best friend Carys, who I now realize is Ry’s sister, she visited once over Spring Break. Again, fate would have it that we not meet. Julia and I were gone on an art trip with the school at the same time. I was disappointed as Griffin raved about her and I so desperately wanted to know more about him and those he loved.

  As Patrick and I size each other up, it hits me. If Griffin had lived, we were planning a trip to New York before my school year started. I’d finally given into his pleas and decided to just lay low while there because I truly wanted to meet his family. I most probably would have also met Ry. My gut clenches like a fist squeezing my insides at the thought.

  “You’re the only one who can fill in the blanks. Everything points to Bobby killing Griffin, but I need to know what happened. You’re the only connection or reason why he could have…” he trails off.

  His accusation’s unspoken, but nevertheless, like an airborne arrow, it hits my heart, dead center. Bullseye. Folding my arms tightly around my middle, I fight to keep myself together, preparing for the onslaught of emotions.

  Telling him to go fuck himself is on the tip of my tongue. But this is Griffin’s blood, the brother he adored. He’d want me to help Patrick, to give him some kind of comfort, the little good that it’ll do.

  “You don’t know what you’re asking. This won’t bring you closure.”

  Shaking my head back and forth, my body and mind scream no while I prepare myself to relive the darkest day of my life.

  “I’ll never have closure,” Patrick says. “But I need to know what happened. How he died. Who’s responsible for Griffin’s death.”

  “I am.” Patrick sucks a hard breath in at my confession.

  Turning away from them, my eyes land on the city view, wishing it would swallow me. Let me disappear into the night, the crowds, the streets. Ry’s hovering. I won’t acknowledge him. It’s taking everything I have to keep it together.

  If I even catch a glimpse of Ry, I’ll lose it. Disintegrate like a sand castle washed away by an ocean wave. My feelings for Ry are indescribable and in this moment, I fear, overwhelming. I can’t help him. My disappointment is still fresh, raw as an open wound. I don’t want him to see me like this. Weak and vulnerable. He too will likely blame me for Griffin’s demise.

  His warm hand rests on my shoulder, soothing me. Staying angry with him would be easier, less chance for heartache or remorse. But his nearness, warmth and support ground me. And I’m selfish, taking this chance to feed off him. I willingly soften.

  “Please?” Patrick pleads.

  My hand gently squeezes Ry’s in reassurance, giving into my need for him despite my inclination to shut down. The urge to go numb is like a looming typhoon threatening to swallow me whole. My cold, blank space has been my home these past five years. My solace, or as close as I’ll ever get to one, its emptiness and silence are my companions.

  “I’m the reason he was killed. If he’d not been dating me, Bobby would never have looked at him.”

  Ry leads me to the couch and sits beside me. Touching. His nearness soothes and strengthens me. If I were in another head space, I’d chastise myself for these feelings. But right now, basic instinct is my lifeline. I need Ry. It’s both a strength and weakness.

  “Griffin and I moved in together. We were at our new apartment when Bobby and his men arrived. We stupidly left the door unlocked. Bobby took us to a warehouse. Griffin had no clue what was going on. He didn’t stand a chance.”

  Wincing at the unforgettable sounds of bone crushing and his blood-curdling anguish, I frantically grapple what I’m about to do. I can’t relive it. Squeezing Ry’s hand, his touch anchors me to the here and now.

  “At first, I thought we could talk our way out of it. I begged Bobby to take me and leave Griffin. He pleaded for them to let me go even while they were hurting him. He never knew what was happening. I’d never told him about Bobby. I didn’t think there was a reason to. Griffin didn’t even
know one of the men was my father. They restrained me while…” A wretched sob escapes my mouth.

  Ry tenses and then tenderly sweeps his thumb from side to side inside my palm. His comfort and compassion fortify my nerve. “Bobby beat him with a baseball bat…to his head…to his death,” I barely manage to say.

  There was so much blood. Everywhere. The image floods my mind’s eyes. Red. The unmistakable metallic stench permeates my senses, my pore, like I’m there. Red. The horrific pools of dark, red blood splattered all over Bobby’s clothes, his face. Red. The monster revealed.

  Patrick watches with compassion in his soft eyes, but a fiery rage simmering on the surface with his fists so tight his knuckles are stark white. I can only guess how hard this is to hear and the animosity he must have for me. I can’t blame him for hating me.

  “They drugged me. I never saw Griffin again. I don’t know what they did with his…body. I asked Bobby but…” It’s then I notice the wetness on my cheeks.

  Patrick is pale. He’s curled in on himself, almost doubled over. It’s as if he’s trying to hold himself together or to disappear.

  His voice surprises me, sounding robotic, “He was found in a dumpster. Someone found him.” He collapses on the bed.

  The retelling of Griffin’s death doesn’t change anything. It can’t bring him back and if Patrick’s anything like me, this only brings more helplessness and rage.

  “We have to bury those fuckers,” Patrick growls, nailing Ry with an indomitable glare. His jaw tight, fists furled and fury raging in his blue eyes. Ry nods. He too is ashen, determination and something darker paints his face. “Tate…thank you. I’m sure that wasn’t easy,” Patrick says.

  Giving me one final knowing look, like we now have an unspeakable bond, Patrick leaves. Ry follows him, returning in what seems like seconds. Reliving my nightmare has exhausted me. His arms wrap snuggly around me, comforting me. I willingly succumb, shutting my eyes and resting my head on his warm, broad shoulder.

  Behind my closed eyelids, despite trying to block it out, Griffin’s bloody death unfolds all over again. A tsunami of emotions swells within. Despite the safety and security of his arms, anger soon wins out.