Sins, Lies & Spies (Black Brothers #2)(44)

Finally, he raised his head, his hands bracketing the sides of my head, and he stared at me with lucid, thoughtful eyes. “You okay? Was that okay?” he asked, his voice earthy and full of gravel.

“Better than okay,” I whispered, uncertainty lacing my words.

Knox’s lips glided across mine, and our sweaty skin suctioned together. “I meant what I said.”

I smiled as he peeled his body off me, tucking his head next to my neck. Clinging to the moment, I hooked my arm around his body, listening to the tangled thuds of our hearts and the soft whispers of our exhalations.





CHAPTER





TWENTY-FIVE


Knox



“Where are you headed?” Trinity asked as she poured water into my coffee maker.

“For a run. Do you want to join me?” The minute the words escaped my mouth, I regretted them. After last night, I needed space and time to clear my head so I could concentrate on my work instead of all the conflicted feelings for Trinity vying for attention inside my head.

Just thinking about it, forced the remnants of panic to the surface.

“Sure.” She pressed the on button for the coffee maker and gurgling noises floated through the kitchen. “But we need to stop at my house first. I don’t have sneakers here.”

My gaze swept down her gray t-shirt and black yoga pants, drinking her in. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah.” She rolled a rubber band off her wrist and pulled her hair into a messy ponytail on top of her head. “I’ll drink my coffee in the car.” She pointed to the twin blue mugs on the white quartz countertop. “Do you want some?”

I crouched down to tie my shoes. “Nah. I’m good.”

The minute I stepped over the threshold of Trinity’s townhome, I took a reluctant, tentative sniff of the air. Dryness, dust, and the lingering odor of burnt coffee curled into my nose. I flipped on the light, and a pained hiss escaped Trinity’s mouth.

My feet were rooted to the floor as I surveyed the scene in front of me. “Fuck. Wait right here,” I ordered, without bothering to turn around to see if she listened.

The soles of my shoes crushed over broken glass, coating the floor like confetti. Deep gashes marred every cushion of her once sleek gray sofa. The kitchen chairs were turned upside down creating an unintentional obstacle course. Light spilled from the open refrigerator door. Food was strewn all over the floor.

I picked up a knife and made my way to her bedroom. It wasn’t my weapon of choice. If the person who did this were lurking somewhere in the shadows with a gun, I’d be f*cked. I couldn’t count the number of times I had chastised Archer for failing to carry a gun at all times, and now I was guilty of the same damn mistake.

The bedroom and bathroom didn’t fair any better than the rest of her house. The drawers were ripped out of the dresser. Clothes tangled with the bedding on the floor, covering the hardwood with splashes of color. The mattress rested on its side against the white bed frame.

“Oh my God,” Trinity whispered behind me.

I spun around. “I told you to stay put.”

Tears streamed from her red-rimmed eyes. Her hands trembled as she pulled at the hem of her shirt, stretching it to the middle of her thighs. “I know, but I couldn’t just stand there. I had to see the damage for myself.”

“Come here, Trinity,” I whispered, pulling her into my arms.

“Why? I don’t get it. I haven’t done anything to deserve this. First my cat and now this,” she murmured into the crook of my neck, her hands curling like claws into my shirt. “But you know what?” She pulled away from me, her eyes slanted into angry slits. “I’m f*cking sick of this. I’ve worked hard to get where I am. Sure, Derrick helped me out here and there, but I’ve made it where I am by working hard and not giving up. If whoever did this thinks I’m going to roll over and play dead because they trashed my apartment and killed my cat, they’re wrong. Because now I’m pissed. Really pissed.”

She stomped across the room, kicking shoes and clothing out of her path. “I didn’t care about any of this shit anyway. I can get new clothes and furniture.” She flung open her closet door. Standing on her tiptoes, she reached onto the top shelf and retrieved a round white and gold music box with a delicate ballerina in a sea green tutu on the top.

A sigh slipped from her lips, and she swiped the back of her hand underneath her eyes, erasing all the evidence of her tears.

“Is that yours?”

“My mom gave it to me the last time I saw her,” she answered, cranking the dial on the bottom. A playful melody floated through the air.

“What’s that song?” I asked, taking a few tentative steps closer to her.

“It’s the Sugar Plum Fairy by Tchaikovsky.”

“The Nutcracker?” I said, absently.

“Yeah.” She sniffed.

I moved even closer to her. “Was it a birthday present?”

“No.” She ran the tip of her finger down the side of the ballerina. “She gave it to me to celebrate a better future. She claimed our lives were going to change after that day. Unfortunately, they did, but they changed for the worse. She never came home from work. My uncle was left to raise us. He wasn’t an awful person, but was caught up in his own life and he didn’t pay much attention to us. We ran free.”