Author: Nazarea Andrews
Date: 2016-05-28 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Romance; Contemporary Romance; New Adult; Contemporary
Description: Even when you know better…. There are a million reasons why Hazel Campton is off limits: she’s a journalist. I’m a cop. Oh, and she’s my foster sister. My secret is I didn’t care. I haven’t stopped wanting her since I slept with her the night before she left. She’s trouble. Always has been. It’s hard to resist the thing you’ve always wanted… Growing up with Brandon Archer means I know him. Good. Bad. Everything in between. It’s just never mattered. My secret? That night. The one I stole, that’s kept me from Archer and Green County, for four years. Now I’m home, and nothing has changed. Except
Publisher: A & A Literary
Rights: All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of any wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction including brands or products.

Copyright © 2016 Nazarea Andrews.

DIRTY SEXY SECRET

All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by A&A Literary.

Summary: Hazel Campton left Green County to keep her secrets. But now she’s home, and Brandon Archer is everywhere she turns. There are secrets more dangerous than a forbidden love story in Green County and when four people are murdered, those secrets begin to come to light.

1. Romance 2. Small Town 3. Family Drama

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

For information, address Nazarea Andrews

NazareaFYI@gmail.com

Edited by Angi Black

Cover design by The Illustrated Author

Cover art copyright©: Nazarea Andrews

Ebook Formatting by The Illustrated Author

For Jessica, who heard the original idea and wouldn’t let me forget it.

And for Tiffany, who cheered me on and said the right thing at the right time.

Thanks, girls.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

DIRTY STOLEN FOREVER

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Three killers, two cops, and a journalist walk into a bar.

Sounds like a bad joke, right? It’s not.

It’s the end--dear God I hope it’s the end--of the worst day if my life.

I just hope we all walk out alive.

Some people say you can’t go home again. And that is a complete pile of bullshit. You can. It just won’t be home.

I should know. I did it.

Green County doesn’t change. It’s been four years since I bolted. Six months since I sucked up all my pride and ego and came back. And it still struck me as strange. Green Co. is exactly the same. Same ridiculous festivals. Same leafy boulevards and parks filled with yoga moms and shrieking children. The same gossips fill the coffee shop and eye me when I step in.

They’ll chatter my every move to Eli later, cooing over him while warning that I was too skinny, too wild, too rude, too, too, too.

They did the same thing in high school.

Nothing changed in Green Co. If you want change you go somewhere else and you let it wrap you up tight and fight like hell to keep from being dragged back.

Eli gets pissy when I say shit like that. But Eli never left Green Co. Never felt the need to get out, to see and shape the world. He’s always been more than happy to see and shape the County.

And you know, he was right. He was good at it. I loved that he cared so much about Green Co. That he wanted to save the little Kansas county from itself.

Someone had to.

I flash the ladies a smile as I order two extra large iced coffees. Cindy grins at me, punching in the order and adding a slice of banana bread and her boxed lunch.

“Long day, Hazel?”

I grin, a half quirk of my lips that passes as a grin these days. “It’s a day ending in Y, Cins. Those are always long.”

She gives me a smirk that tips toward worry. “You need a day off, sugar.”

I make a face, and drop a twenty on the counter as I take my order. “I don’t even know what I’d do with that much free time.”

She arches an eyebrow at me and I grin at her.

“Hazel, my love,” Gabe says, sailing through the door of the coffee shop as I turn away from the counter.

I swallow the grin before it twists into a smirk. “Gabriel,” I say, almost frosty and he laughs.

Smug bastard.

“We should carpool, love, if we’re going to keep meeting like this. Save the planet and all.”

“Because you care so much about the damn planet,” I scoff, and he makes a face, all wounded dignity.

The problem with that face is that I know Gabe. I’ve known him my whole life.

Gabe is everything I ran away from when I left Green Co. Everything I wanted to forget. The tiny smile that means trouble and the too sharp eyes that see right through my quick easy lies and watches with concern when I isolate.

Fucking bastard is my neighbor. He’s too damn close for comfort and too damn nosy for his own good.

And coming from an investigative journalist, that’s pretty fucking nosy.

“I’ve got work, Gabe. So as much as I’d love to spar,” I shift my boxes and nod at the door.

“Hazy,” he says, and it draws me up. Because once, we were friends. We were impossibly close. He was my rock, and I threw him away. Because I was so fucking determined. To be more. To get out. I fucked up and I ran, and I left Gabe behind with all my other mistakes.

I always regretted that. Hurting Gabe.

“Wine night?” he asks, and I flinch, falling back a step.

It’s still too soon for that shit. And he sees it in my eyes.

His smile dips, just a little. Just enough that I notice. Because I know him better than he knows himself, and I can read his sadness in the line of his shoulders.

“Maybe next week,” I offer, shuffle stepping closer to the door. Aware of all the church ladies watching, and Cin, standing at the counter, her lips pulled down in a frown, and worry.

And Gabe shrugs it off. Beams at me like a fucking lunatic, and nods.

Gives me the out.

I flash him a quick smile and move toward the door, and he steps to the side, giving me a sardonic smile.

Because he’s Gabe.

And this is Green County.

And nothing here changes. Not really.

The door opens and Brandon Archer steps through, all long legs and wide shoulders and a face that’s so fucking pretty it’s almost painful. His green eyes, so expressive and alive, find me and go blank. And I almost drop my bags.

Because if there was ever a mistake I made, it was him. Eli comes in a half-step behind, and a half-foot taller. His eyes warm as he pushes past Archer to wrap me in a hug.

It’s been about twelve hours since I saw my foster brother, so of course he’s tackle hugging me in CinSations. While Archer watches, those moss-green eyes probing me. I squeak and Elijah relinquishes me reluctantly. I drive an elbow in his gut. “Dumbass. You spill my coffee, you replace it.”

He doesn’t even blink. He just shoots a quick look at Archer, an eyebrow quirked in question.

Because of course they don’t talk. How silly. Why would they?

See—this right here? This is why I left. Because I can’t handle seeing the epic fucking bromance that is Elijah Beasley and Brandon fucking Archer.

I shift, and Archer smiles, a slow curling thing that I want to smack off his face. “Hazel, sugar, you need a hand?”

My smile feels more feral than sweet, and his eyes are sparkling, that fucking, amused she’s so cute light I’ve seen for so long. “Thanks, but Gabe is helping me. Right?” I side eye my friend who gives me this extravagant bow that doesn’t say, you just blew me off.

Thank Christ for Gabe.

I twist. “Have a good day, Officer.”

Gabe snorts at that as he takes my bag and one of my coffees. I think I’m in the clear. That I’m safe, and out of the danger zone that is Archer.

And then his hand closes around my arm, and it pulls me to a stop.

He’s always been ridiculously able to pull me to a complete stop with almost nothing. “You can’t hide in that farmhouse forever, Hazel,” he murmurs, and I flush.

Damn fair skin. A blush is too fucking easy to see and he’s always been too fascinated with pulling them from me. I can almost feel the low chuckle he gives as he lets me go, and I fall back a step.

It’s a retreat, and that’s just another reason I scowl at him. “Tell Eli I’m making dinner on Sunday. Mom is coming over.” I push past him and Gabe slips an arm around my shoulder, ignoring Archer’s tension. “You aren’t invited,” I add, all sugar sweet. And then I’m gone. Outside and Gabe is steering me to my truck.

“Tension between you and Green Co’s finest, love?”

“I don’t want to do this, Gabe,” I murmur, and he pushes a blond curl out of my eyes, watching me with those strange honey-warm eyes of his. And then he nods.

“Ok. Not now. But we will talk. Soon. I just painted a target on my back and Archer’s never liked me to begin with. You owe me.”

I huff out a breath, and let my gaze dart up to him. Gabe gives me a patient, waiting look and I nod.

Because apparently things do change.

Gabe can grow up, even just a little.

“Ok. Tomorrow.” I say, and he nods. Brushes a kiss over my hair and hands me my bags as I slide into my truck.

And then he stands there, watching, braced between me and CinSations as I drive away. He was my best friend a lifetime ago, before I fucked up everything.

I wonder if maybe he could be again.

Eli is still charming Cindy, and I’m still listening to the gossipy bitches who like to fill me and him in on everything that might be even the slightest bit interesting in the County.

For the past six months, that’s been almost exclusively Hazel.

Which would be great, if I cared the way I’m supposed to. If I could push Hazel back into the box she’s supposed to be in, the one that she hasn’t been in since I came back from my one tour overseas and she greeted me with a fist to the face. She broke my nose and shattered the protective little box that I’d always stuck her in.

“She’s looking pretty, but she has to be lonely.” Prudence McCann is telling her sister-in-law, but her eyes are on me, like I should be doing something about Hazel being lonely.

Because that’s appropriate.

Fuck, Nora would eviscerate me and let Eli strangle me with my guts if I made a move toward Hazel. And I’d probably provide the knife.

Doesn’t mean I want someone else anywhere near her.

Pru doesn’t really relent until I offer a smile, tight and awkward and pull away.

Gabe reenters the shop and I catch his eye.

There’s a lot of anger there, and I swallow a curse. Gabriel Delvin on a warpath is the very last thing I want to deal with now. If there’s anyone besides Eli whose been protective of Hazel it’s Gabe, the short, snarky best friend who attached to her in middle school and never quite let go.

And I always liked him as much as I loathe him. Even when I was pretty sure he was fucking her, I liked him, because it was better him than me, even if I wanted to punch his too white teeth down his throat.

“Officer, may I have a word?” he asks, and even phrased as a question, that’s a summons.

And we all know it.

Gabe isn’t Green County royalty, but he’s old blood. That’s why his befriending Hazel was so strange. Military brats, especially ones like us, didn’t mix with the County’s founding lines. The Moats and the McCanns and the Jacksons. The Delvins are less of a power in the County, especially now that they’re fading and most have left.

But that doesn’t mean Gabe is someone I can ignore. So I follow him away from the ladies who are still prattling about Hazel, catch Elijah’s eye and he gives me an irritated look, like he’s annoyed he has to deal with them while I deal with fucking Gabe Delvin.

Gabe drops two boxes on the café table outside CinSations, and glares at me.

“What the fuck are you doing with Hazel?”

I stare at him, trying to process. Frankly, I’m still trying to catch up. It’s early and I haven’t had a lot of coffee yet, and Eli is the morning person in this equation, so, “What?”

Gabe snaps his fingers, his green eyes furious as he stares at me. “She was grumpy but fine, until you showed up with the puppy. She likes him. So tell me what the hell you did that sent her running, Archer?”

I cock my head at him.

Because I know. Of course I fucking know. I’m just surprised Gabe doesn’t. “She’s your best friend, Gabe. Doesn’t that mean she tells you this shit?”

A spasm of pain flares across his face. Shakes the mischievous, smiling jackass that the town knows and loves.

For a second, I see Gabriel. The last Devlin to stay in the County, the one who said fuck it when his family said he should go into politics and law. The one who stayed when his family, even his favorite brother, left.

Everyone left Gabe. Even Hazel. And he’s not as immune to that as he’d like the rest of Green Co. to think.

So I sigh, and shrug. “Hazel doesn’t talk to me. She hasn’t for a long time, man. I have no idea what’s going on in that pretty little head of hers.”

Gabe watches me, all narrowed eyed contemplation, and I struggle to keep my face blank. Until, finally, he snorts.

“Get a donut, Archer. I hear they’re to fucking die for,” he says, and then he’s snatching up his boxes and shoving back into CinSations.

Eli, coming out of the shop, gives him that tight smile he only ever fishes out for Gabe, and it reminds me I need to ask about what the hell is happening there, but I don’t.

I haven’t since I came home from Afghanistan and Eli graduated and we both joined the force. I remember it, clear as day. I was sitting at Mom’s house while Hazel prowled around, nursing a bottle of beer and giving these reserved little smiles. Eli was graduating and she was two years from it herself, and her eyes skipped over me like I wasn’t even there. Gabe alternated between clinging to her like a burr in fur, and spinning away like a falling star. But he avoided Eli, and I would say it was unconscious, except that I had watched my brother and Hazel and Gabe for too many years to see it as anything but what it was.

They were avoiding each other.

And because I was so wrapped up in my own shit, I let them. I didn’t push.

That was six years ago.

Sometimes, when shit drags too long, you don’t get to bring it back up. After Hazel left, we didn’t see much of Gabe. Mom said he came by, sometimes, but it was never when we were there.

Green County was small, but if he wanted to hide, he could and without Hazel as the glue to bring him into our inner circle, there was no real reason for us to see him.

Bury something long enough, it’s hard to bring it back up.

“What did Gabe want?”

I hesitate, and then, “He wanted to know if Hazel and I were fighting.”

Eli’s eyebrows go up and he frowns. “You have to see someone to fight with them, and you’ve seen her what, three times since she came home?”

There’s an accusation in his voice, and I ignore it. I don’t need to defend myself to Eli. He’s never pushed me for an explanation. He just accepted it. I think if it were just me, he’d push. If it were just Hazel he’d push. But with both of us playing the same game—avoidance and refusal to talk—he let it slide.

I know he wants an explanation. But for now—“Here,” he says, handing me a cup of coffee and a slice of carrot cake. Thank god for Eli. Kid knows me way too well. “Pratt wants to talk to us. Eat in the car.”

I huff at that, but follow him back to where I parked.

Being detectives means we get drive an unmarked car. Being Brandon Archer means I’m driving my unmarked car, a sleek 74 Roadrunner, fully restored, and painted a blue so deep it borders on black. Eli laughs and says it’s not practical because people know it’s mine. But we aren’t undercover so fuck that noise.

I hate driving anything but my girl.

Eli turns down the radio and I glance at him as he thumbs through emails on his phone. “Why didn’t you tell me about family dinner?” I ask casually.

Guilt in those big puppy eyes before he shrugs quickly.

“Because you wouldn’t come. Nora’s been inviting you since Hazel came home and you’ve blown her off every single time.”

“Does it occur to you I might have had plans?”

“Not if those plans include a girl you don’t call again, or the bar,” Eli deadpans, and I grin, sipping my coffee as I head toward the courthouse.

“It’s Green Co, man. I’ll see them again.”

“Archer, you’ve been avoiding Nora since Hazel blew back into town. And she gets it. I get it. Even if I’m not asking—I know there’s some shit you won’t talk about. But, fuck, man. She misses her kids. That’s all.”

And that makes me feel like shit, because Nora did her best with us. When we could have ended up in the county home, we ended up with Nora. And she fought like hell to give us the best she could.

“I’ll do better,” I say and he flicks another glance at me. It’s not much, as far as promises go, but it’ll do for now. It’s enough for Eli for now.

Maybe it’s time to put aside my shit with Hazel and make peace. I glance at the clock on the dash and sigh. I’ll go, after our shift.

The morning after talk is about four fucking years overdue, and Hazel might be pissed, but I’m done playing this by her rules.

If it’s effecting Nora and Eli it’s gone on far too fucking long.

The thing about small towns is that they’re small. Nothing really happens here. It’s the beauty of the place, the whole reason I fell so fucking hard for Green County when I moved here. Dad’s latest duty station. Another military brat in a town full of them.

On the surface, Green County looks perfect. Idyllic. Fucking Mayberry in the middle of corn-fed Kansas.

But the more I look around, the more I think we’ve got a problem. It’s something they don’t show the outside world. And I am the outside world, to some degree, even after Green Co rallied around us.

Do you remember that day? So many people don’t. It’s easy to forget.

October 28th. 1996. Most of the country thought we were moving out of Bosnia. We were. It was a quiet time for the military.

For a military brat, there’s nothing quite like peace. Nothing that’s quite as comforting.

It wasn’t supposed to happen—that’s the tragedy of it.

But a plane crash is a plane crash.

Green County was home to Sanders Army base and it lost twenty-seven soldiers in one morning. The entire country paid attention, descended on the County like a fucking horde, demanding to know what went wrong.

Here’s the thing, though. Most of the people left behind were families. Kids and their surviving parent.

There were four, who weren’t.

Four kids who were orphans. One—Anna Winters--got out clean, got picked up by an aunt and whisked away as soon as legally possible.

The other three. Well. The military and Green Co had no idea what the hell to do with them.

Nora stepped in. She was lifelong Army, retired now, and living a quiet sort of life. She owned a diner on the edge of town that the boys from base swore by and truckers liked to stay in. She kept it clean, kept a few cabins out back to let truckers and drunk soldiers crash in, and made a decent living.

And she took those three orphans in. Raised them as her own, gave them everything she could, and if Green Co and the Marine Corp kicked some money her way for publicity and survivor benefits, she tucked that in a little fund for each of them.

Sometimes family is the blood your born to.

And sometimes. It’s the woman who steps up and takes you in when the world is falling apart. It’s the gentle giant who becomes your best friend and brother, even if he was born in Germany and you were born in California. It’s the quiet green eyed young man who’s so eaten up with grief and unspent anger that you creep around him for months before you find him, broken down in the basement, and crawl into his lap, because you get it.

Fuck, you get it.

Family isn’t just the people you’re born to.

It’s the ones who chose to love you.

Nora taught me that. So did Eli, the brother of my heart. And so did Archer. Although he stopped being my brother, a long fucking time ago.

I sit back and rub my eyes.

Stare at that last line.

Fuck.

This isn’t what I’m supposed to be writing. I’m supposed to be doing an expose on the criminal underworking’s of the County—and there were underworking’s, even if the entire County looked the other way—and instead I was rambling on about family.

This is why I got dismissed from the paper in Boston.

Ok, no it’s not but fuck it probably had something to do with it.

A knock on my front door jerks my head up and I frown. Coffee. I need more coffee. I glance at the corner of my desktop and mutter a curse. No wonder my back hurts. I’ve been working almost nonstop since I got home from CinSations, ten hours ago.

At my feet, Smith growls, a low, furious note that rumbles through his chest.

Antisocial mutt is more like me than is probably healthy. If I gave a fuck, I might even do something about it.

“Stay,” I order, half-hearted, and stand, making my way to the door. He follows me, a half-formed noise in his throat.

Brandon Archer stares at me through the thin glass, his expression tense.

Six months. I had a damn good run before he pinned me down. Not as good as I wanted—if I had my way, we’d never do this, spend our lives in our respective corners.

I pull open the door and stare at him.

“Our shit is effecting Mama, Hazy. Time to be adults about it.”

“Don’t wanna,” I say, sticking my lip out in a pout and he breathes a laugh that rubs against my skin.

The problem with Archer is that he’s too much. He was too close growing up, too angry and too mean, and then he was too sweet, too gentle.

And then he was too fucking hot, and any idea that he was my brother, something I’d always struggled with, vanished in want.

Here’s the way it worked.

They died. And we lived. Nora did what she didn’t have to do, picked us up to keep us out of the group home, and gave us a family. A broken family, but Nora reasoned that no one would understand our collective loss, and individual hell, quite like each other.

It was a twisted sort of logic, but it also made all the sense in the world, and it fell, so fucking easy, into place.

In a time when breathing was hard, we were easy.

But Archer had never been easy. He didn’t know how—he was the oldest, older than Eli by four years and me by five. He felt the lost more than we did, and he was angry. God, he was angry. That’s what I remember about that first year.

The crushing grief, and Archer’s furious anger.

It gave way. Even Archer couldn’t maintain fury in the face of Nora’s calm practicality and Eli’s wild, infectious enthusiasm. They coaxed him out of his fury.

And he coaxed me out of my grief.

And then I fell for him, so hard that it stunned even me, and I ruined everything.

“We’ve been doing things we don’t want to do for years, Hazel ,” he says, and I shiver as his voice wraps around my name. “We both fucked up. Time to pay the piper and talk shit out, because Nora is gonna kick my ass if I miss another family dinner, and if she doesn’t, Eli will. Dude’s my partner. I can’t avoid his sulking.”

I laugh a little at that and sigh. Let him in. “Come on. You talk while I cook.”

Archer’s eyebrow hitches up at that, and I shrug, turning away. “I’m starving.”

I feel him following me into the little farmhouse. It’s not nearly as nice or as spacious as Gabe’s down the road, five acres and a line of trees over, but it’s mine.

Once upon a time, my parents wanted a house. And then Mom died, killed by a drunk driver. Dad couldn’t give me stability or even a mother, hell—he couldn’t even give me him, thanks to the Corp. But he bought a house, and hoped that would be enough for a kid reeling from the loss of her mother.

After he died in the Green Co Crash, as the national media dubbed it, Nora rented the place out and put the profits in my account.

When I graduated and went off to school, I had more padding then I had any right to, and a house, if I wanted it.

It made everything falling apart a little easier to bear, if only just because I didn’t worry that I’d end up homeless or on Nora’s couch.

I mean, Mama Nora would take me in. She was pretty fucking fantastic and would love for me to come home, even for a weekend. Nora missed us. Even if she kept it to herself, she missed us like crazy.

It was a mutual feeling though.

“Isn’t that your lunch?”

I glance at Archer and where he’s frowning at a box lunch from CinSations.

Shit.

“Uh. Yeah.”

His green eyes go flinty and he frowns at me. “What the fuck, Hazel?”

“I was working. I didn’t get hungry,” I say, defensive, and his scowl deepens. He grabs my arm and pushes me onto a stool at the bar. “Sit the fuck down before your blood sugar crashes.”

“Jesus, Archer, I haven’t fainted since high school.”

He ignores me, rummaging through my cabinets before he makes a satisfied noise and emerges with a sleeve of saltines and a jar of peanut butter. He leans against the counter across from me and makes me peanut butter cracker sandwiches, and I’m thrown.

Not by his actions, but into the past.

When I was a little girl, I was the one that was easily forgotten. Not Nora’s fault. I wanted to be forgotten. I wanted her to focus on Archer. He was older than me, when that October storm destroyed our world. Sixteen, and all this bottled rage. For the first six months, everyone was wrapped up in keeping Archer from self-destructing. He fought too much, raided Nora’s bar, and stowed away in a five different trucker’s cabs. He made it all the way to the Canadian border once, before Nora caught up with him and dragged him home.

Eli pulled him out of his rage.

Eli with his easy smiles, and his nightmares. With his bright days and black nights. Eli was, of the three of us, the one who handled shit. He smiled and answered the questions directed at us in public, kept me tucked close so I wasn’t dealing with too many questioning stares.

He kept seeing his friends, stayed on the basketball team, and drank himself stupid to keep the nightmares at bay.

Archer quit running, because Eli needed him. Because when Eli crawled into Archer’s bed, the nightmares didn’t come. When Archer was in the other bed, Eli didn’t need to drink. Because when Archer joked with him and insulted him, when Archer dragged him to the garage, and made him learn basic car maintenance before he banished him to the stool and fetching tools, he made the fake smile Eli gave the world real.

Nora was right. She knew we’d need each other to heal. As the six-month mark passed, and Green County was infested with reporters looking for soundbites and the photos of the Airplane Orphans, it didn’t sting as much as it should have. Because Archer and Eli were on their way to healthy.

“Hey,” Archer says, jerking me out of my memories and nudging the plate of crackers at me, with a glass of chocolate milk. “Eat.”

I wrinkle my nose at him. “Archer, I’m not thirteen. I can have real food.”

“Real food takes time to cook, and you aren’t playing with knives or fire when you’re tired and about to have a sugar crash. Eat your snack like a good girl.”

I snarl, and he crosses his arms, his face impassive and unimpressed.

“If I eat this, will you leave me alone?”

He doesn’t blink, but I grab a cracker and bite into.

Bite down on the hungry moan that wants to spill out because, fuck, I was hungry. I chew and swallow thickly, and take another bite, and ignore the way Brandon fucking Archer is staring at me, his expression too damn smug.

“What the hell do you want, Archer?” I demand.

“Wanna know why you came home, for one,” he says easily, reaching out and swiping one of my crackers. I growl and he bares his teeth at me in a parody of a smile.

Bastard.

“You answered your own question. It’s home,” I say, smiling tightly. It’s not the truth, but it’s as close as I’m willing to go with him.

“You remember that time when you were, I dunno, maybe thirteen. The summer Nora paid me to babysit you and Eli?”

I frown at him, but give a slow nod. It was, in the privacy of my own mind, what I called our Golden Summer. It was when everything was safe and we were happy, before—everything that came after.

“Why?”

“Remember that first week, when Eli and I would go swim in the lake for hours, and you would hide in your room with stacks of books. You told me so many fucking lies to get out swimming. Because you didn’t want to admit the truth.”

I flush and he grins. “You didn’t know how.”

“I don’t understand the point of this.”

His eyes darken, going from grass green to the shade of a deep forest, flecked through with gold. “You didn’t have to lie to me, then, Hazel. You’ve never needed to lie to me.”

That softly, calling me out on my lie.

And I still can’t force the words out. I nibble at my snack and watch as Archer pries the cracker he stole apart, and slowly licks it clean.

And holy shit, I can’t watch that. It’s almost pornographic, the neat, quick little licks that catch the peanut butter until the cracker is clean and his lips are shinning, and the tip of his tongue is caught between his teeth.

His smirk is slow and sexy.

“I’m coming to family dinner, Sunday. You think you can fake it for a few hours, for Mama?” he asks, and I nod, my throat too dry to do anything else.

He grins at me like he knows what I’m thinking and then turns away and digs in the pantry again. That gets my attention because what the hell is he doing?

“What the hell are you doing?” I demand.

“Looking for food. What the fuck do you keep in this place?”

I shift uncomfortably on my chair. I hate when he calls me out on things. It makes me feel like a little girl again and I’ve never really liked that from him.

“I haven’t gone shopping recently,” I say defensively.

Archer sends me an arch eyebrow look. “Clearly. Get dressed.” He grins when I hesitate and it’s coaxing and warm. “Come on, Hazy-eyes. We’re going shopping and then I’m going to cook for you.”

Panic flares as hot as desire, and I shove them down where I can ignore them for a few minutes longer. “What? No. I have to work and you have to leave.”

He grins at me and moves around the counter to come stand next to me. Too close. I want to back up, want to give him space. Want to run to another room. Stubbornness keeps me in my seat.

The smile is pure Archer, all smug and knowing and older brother and I hate that look on his face. He can look at Eli that way but I hate when he looks at me like that.

“Do you know how long it’s been?” he says slowly “Since we hung out just me and you and Eli.”

“I dunno.”

Since before he left, before I left, before everything that came between.

“Too long.”

“Archer, I can’t,” I say softly.

“Hazy, there’s nothing you can’t do.” The stubborn gleam slides away, and he touches my cheek gently and every inch of me wants to lean into that touch.

Every inch of me wants to slap him away.

That’s always been my relationship with Archer.

Pull him close, push him away—all of the dichotomy that is us.

“Are you going to call your brother or am I,” I say pushing out of my chair and scurrying away. I throw over my shoulder, “I’ve got to get dressed.”

And even though he knows I’m running, he lets me.

I’m used to not being comfortable. I’m used to feeling out of place even here in Green County where I’ve always been home. But this feels right. This has always felt right: me behind the wheel, Eli in the passenger seat, and Hazel leaning up between us, fooling with the radio and fighting with my brother. I don’t think I realized how much I missed it—how much I missed her—until she’s back, a laughing, sniping presence in the backseat that rubs against my skin.

It makes me wish for more and the thing is I know that we need to fix what’s going on between us.

I know I need to apologize for that night and try to make her understand but for right now? For tonight, she’s here and not running. Eli is here and laughing and it’s like my family has come back together.

After the accident, I fell apart.

I was self-destructive and drank too much and caused all kinds of hell for Nora. I was a little shithead, wrapped up in my own grief. Everyone looked at our little family and they saw the orphans. They saw people who had lost everything.

Even Nora had lost something, although we don’t talk about it much. But her son died in that accident too. Not just our fathers.

She pulled us together and we were held there by the shared strength of our grief and I hated them for it.

I hated Nora for shoving me with people who meant I couldn’t forget.

I hated them because they understood and I didn’t want anyone to understand.

But then. They needed me. And that made all the difference. That is what pulled me out of my grief.

Eli and Hazel belong to Nora—they needed her. They needed that mother who cared, who was a little bit too cold and a little bit too warm and a little bit too everything.

I never needed her, not the way that they did.

She was a friend. She’s still is a friend and I love the woman more than life. I owe her everything—she kept me on track and she pushed me to be better than I was.

But she wasn’t mine.

Eli and Hazel —they were mine.

When Nora left and worked all night at the truck-stop, Eli still had nightmares and I was the one who took care of him.

When Hazel fell apart, this skittish, cold creature hiding behind her books and social anxiety and her quiet, I’m the one who pulled her out of it. The one who made her put her books down and the one who made her laugh.

I’m the one who made her come back to life.

It wasn’t that I didn’t like Nora. Because I adore her.

It’s that I needed to be needed and Eli and Hazel gave me that.

So being here with them, like this, is right in a way that hasn’t been right in too many years. I know that most of the reason it’s been wrong is my fault which makes this bittersweet and all the more special.

That’s probably why when I pulled up, Eli just hopped in the car and didn’t argue with me. Probably why when I said let’s do dinner with Eli, Hazel didn’t put up more than a token argument before she retreated and got dressed.

I know she’s still uncomfortable with me and having Eli as a buffer helps. I like having my brother around—there’s a reason he’s my partner even if GCPD hates it.

“What are you going to cook?” Hazel asks.

I slide a glance at her from the corner of my eye.

“Shouldn’t you cook?” I ask, and Eli laughs. Bastard.

Hazel smirks and I can hear the smile in her voice. “This was your idea. You’re cooking and I’m going to drink.”

That stirs need in my gut. Drunk Hazel seems like a really bad idea. But. I have Eli as a buffer. Everything will be fine.

I swallow my concern and the desire punching up my throat and say hoarsely, “I’m going to make baked chicken and potatoes.”

Like I know what I’m doing. Hell, I’m making it up as I go along.

Hazel giggles in the backseat, “Can you make chicken?”

“Eli, do you remember that time that Hazel burnt water?” I drawl and in the backseat she huffs in displeasure

“I was twelve!” she protests.

I grin at her in the rearview as she sulks.

“I’m going to prove you wrong,” she says “I’m going to make a fucking cake and you’re going to love it.”

Eli’s laughing at both of us but the girl is talking about baked goods.

Of course, I’m going to love it.

I ignore her claim and pull into the parking lot of the local grocery store parking my baby carefully and killing the engine.

“Eli,” I say “you get some chicken for dinner. The girl doesn’t have anything in her fucking pantry, so I’m going to make sure she gets some groceries and then we’ll meet back at the register.”

Hazel protests, “I don’t need you to take me shopping.”

“You need someone to, Hazy. You’ve got nothing in the damn house. I could barely find peanut butter.”

Eli gives me a quirked eyebrow. “Why were you looking for peanut butter?”

“Because she skipped lunch and I didn’t want her to pass out.”

“You bastard,” she hisses. “You told me that you’d keep that to yourself! Now he’s going to lecture me too!”

I grin, “That might have been the point, baby girl.”

Hazel stiffens at the pet name, and I bite the inside of my cheek. Dammit. It’s too easy when I’m with her to forget that we have these boundaries now. Fucking boundaries. I hate them.

“Hazel, why the fuck are you skipping meals? You know you can’t do that shit.” Eli bitches, twisting to nail her with a frustrated stare.

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” she snaps. “Give it a rest. I am an adult, remember—I grew up with you guys. We all grew up and I lived in Boston for four years without you there to manage my dietary habits. And look—I didn’t die. I’m just fine.”

Eli and I both give her a long look, and then flick a look at each other, heavy with meaning. She hisses, “Fuck both of you.” She shoves out of the car and stomps away, and, like the bastards we are, we follow her laughing.

Inside, I nod at Eli, and he grabs a basket, heading off to get the stuff for me to cook dinner. Then I grab Hazel ’s arm and tug her toward the carts. “Come on, Hazy. A girl can’t live on word alone.”

She tugs against me and I pause, looking at her. The smile has fallen off her face, with Eli gone, and tension ripples between us. “What are we doing?” she asks, serious.

“I’m taking you shopping. Because when you see your sister, and she’s got no food in her freaking house, you take her shopping.”

Rage flits across her face. “I’m not your sister, Archer.”

She snatches the cart from me and storms away, all furious lines and swaying ass and fuck.

She’s whimpering, and her body is a perfect arch of sweet skin, and god, I’m going to hell—

Shit. Nope. I’ve kept that box locked for four fucking years. I’m not opening the lid on it tonight, not when I’ve finally got her smiling at me and acting like we’re friends, and Eli is a warm, comfortable buffer between us.

“No, Hazy, you aren’t. You never have been.”

Her head twitches toward me, and I know she heard my softly spoken admission, but she doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead she grabs some chips and I grumble under my breath. Crazy girl will happily eat junk for every meal.

Not that I can judge too much—but Eli will if I don’t put something in her cart that looks vaguely healthy. So I grab some fruit and green shit and toss it in, ignoring her dirty look. That’s how we make our way through the store. She grabs junk, I counter with something that looks vaguely healthy, until we’ve got enough that I’m not worried she’s going to starve, and she has the basics to make simple meals, and Eli finds us eying ice cream. He stares at the cart for a minute, and then gives us an exasperated look.

“Letting you two shop together is like letting a toddler loose in a toy store,” he grumbles, and Hazel pouts.

“Archer wouldn’t stop grabbing snacks.”

“Dirty liar,” I growl, snagging her around the waist and tickling her sides. And she giggles, like I’ve spent the past four years doing this, like we’re still kids, and me touching her, shopping with her, is normal and easy.

“Behave, you two,” Eli says, absently, pushing our cart into a line and giving the cashier a smirk. She’s staring at us, that wide-eyed uncomfortable look that reminds me—everyone knows us.

Of course, everyone knows us. It’s Green County and we’re the Airplane Orphans. Even now, sixteen years after the damn thing, it’s what people remember when they see us together.

It eases the smile from my lips, but I don’t pull away from Hazel.

“Hazel Campton?” the voice is low and male, and Hazel twists, leaning around me to stare.

Michael McGrey is staring at Hazel like he hasn’t seen her in years, like she’s a ghost, but there’s something else to it. Something hungry and wanting and that disturbs me. My grip on her hips—when the fuck did I grip her hips—turns hard and she stops in the half-formed attempt to pull away from me and greet the other man.

Michael’s twin comes up behind him, and I stiffen even more.

Michael and John McGrey were younger than me and Eli. They graduated the same year as Hazel and we had never bothered to get to know them. But Gabriel didn’t like them, and that said a lot, because as much as the flamboyant baker annoyed me at times, he had killer instincts and he took Hazel’s safety almost as serious as Eli and I did.

Hazel said we should relax because they were harmless. But they bothered me.

“Michael, John, oh my god! How the hell are you?” She almost squeals.

And I want to punch both of them because for fucks sake. She shouldn’t sound that damn excited to see anyone but me.

Right. Because that’s a completely normal reaction. I release her slowly and Hazel gives me a quick, indecipherable look as I step away.

I can’t hold her like I’ve got some kind of claim on her. I don’t. She didn’t want me to. She fucking ran and stayed away for four goddamn years. If that isn’t a clue that the girl doesn’t want me, nothing ever will be.

So I turn away and ignore Eli’s curious stare as I help him unload the cart and ignore the conversation happening behind me.

“No, I’ve been staying out of sight,” she’s saying. Like these clowns have any right to her explanation.

“Archer,” Eli nudges me. “You ok?”

I blink at my brother. “Why the fuck would I not be?”

“You should call Gabe. He’s been bugging me to get out so he’d love someone to plan a welcome home thing with,” she says, but there’s something about her voice. I nudge Eli. Hazel isn’t being friendly now, she’s got that, fuck rescue me, voice going on that tells me we need to pull her out.

And since I’m more likely to kiss her until they go the fuck away, and she doesn’t want that—I think I’ll let Eli handle it while I buy this shit and get us home.

“It’s nice to see you three together,” the sales clerk says, her voice shy, and I blink at her. I know what she’s saying.

It’s been four years since the Airplane Orphans were seen in public together.

Green County likes to see us together, likes to see us happy.

It’s why the girls at CinSations still tell me about Hazel in the mornings and why Nora’s face falls every time me and Eli show up at Mama’s without Hazel in tow.

“Good to be together,” I say stiffly, and push the cart. “Yo!” I yell, “We’re leaving.”

Distantly, I hear Eli making excuses to Michael and John, and pulling Hazel into motion behind me, but I ignore it as I push the cart out of the store, until she’s sandwiched between me and him, the place where she’s always belonged.

At my side. With Eli to complete us.

Fucking hell, I didn’t realize, until now, when she’s here, and we’re together again, how much I’ve missed this.

Missed us.

I’ve known since I woke up alone in her bed that I missed Hazel. That there was a hole the shape of her in my heart, that only she could fill.

I just didn’t realize that it was more than that.

And I’m not entirely sure what to do with that new knowledge.

Archer kicks me out of the kitchen, and Eli—bastard—helps. He grabs a beer and tugs me from the kitchen and onto the deck that leads to my backyard. It’s cool but not cold, the winter chill giving way to spring, but I shiver as Eli lights a small fire in the fire pit.

That was his idea. Eli has always had a weird fascination with fire.

“You good, Hazel?” he asks, softly. I roll the bottle between my palms as the music from the kitchen drifts into the dark.

“It’s weird, being home. That—at the grocery store. I didn’t think I’d ever have to do that again.”

Face the world not as Hazel Campton, but as a third of the Airplane Orphans.

There’s a heavy pause, and then, “Is that why you ran to Boston?”

Yes. And no.

“I needed to go, Eli.”

“Explain it to me, Hazy,” he whispers, and I flinch. Because even though it’s said softly, it’s a command, and I can hear the pain in my brother’s voice.

How the fuck do I explain this, though? That Green County didn’t see me. That they only saw Hazel and Archer and Eli, the tragic orphans, Nora’s wayward children. And even then, it was easy to forget me.

“I needed to see who I was when I wasn’t defined by what had happened to me,” I say, softly.

There’s a beat of silence and then, behind me, Archer drawls, “And who are you, Hazy-Eyes?”

I stare at him, and I shake my head. Helpless. Because I don’t know.

Boston didn’t teach me who I was. It only showed me who I wasn’t. But that’s too much, too deep to share here, when it’s supposed to be all light and laughter so I swallow down the confession and let a plea that I’m ashamed of slip into my eyes.

“Brutal Honest?” Archer murmurs, and I nod once, aware of Eli shifting behind me. “I did the same thing, when I joined the Corps.”

Eli lets out a breath, and I know it’s not a new confession for him.

It’s the unspoken thing that’s hung over us since Archer joined up. But to hear it spelled out.

Stings a little.

Even if I did the same damn thing, Archer running away hurts.

“Eli?” He says, moving away from the door, and picking me up. I don’t protest as he sits and pulls me against him.

It feels…good. Right. Being without those fucking boundaries that I pushed up after that one night.

“I always knew who I was, when I was with you two.”

My breath catches and I feel the tension ripple through Archer. Because fuck.

“Lijah,” Archer starts, and my brother shakes his head. Swallows the rest of his beer.

“Don’t, Archer. I get it. I never really resented you—either of you—for leaving. I just never needed to do the same thing. I was happy here, because I had a family.”

“You still do,” I whisper, hating the past tense in his voice. Eli’s head comes up and he grins at me, but there are shadows there that I haven’t seen in my brother since that first year after the crash.

“I hated who I was, in Boston,” I say, and it feels so. Fucking. Good. To say it. To admit that Boston, and everything that happened there was my version of hell.

Archer’s hands, wrapped around my waist, tightens, tugging me against him for a heartbeat, and I want to stay there.

Which has always been the problem.

Both of them are silent, waiting for me to say something. Anything else. I don’t. I snuggle into Archer’s shoulder, and his head comes down, resting against my hair in the dark, and I soak up the bliss that is being around the men who have always held me together.

I creep through the house silently, stepping over Eli, long limbs sprawled like a sleeping puppy on my rug and a nest of pillows. He snores softly, and I smile, leaning over to tug the empty beer bottle from his hand. Archer is stretched out on the couch, pressed against the cushions.

I had been nestled against him.

After the moment of Brutal Honest on the porch, Archer had decided we were all getting drunk. He fed us chicken and roasted potatoes and smirked when I was startled that he knew what the hell he was doing in the kitchen.

Which, in hindsight, makes sense. He worked in the kitchens at Nora’s diner before he joined the Corps.

But he hadn’t gloated. He’d grabbed some beers and tugged me against him, Eli sprawled on the floor next to us as we watched Monty Python, and I fell through time to those sun-soaked summers when this was our normal, and it wasn’t about sex or desire or control. Him holding me was only to ground me, in the moment, with my family.

For one night, all our damage was gone, and I was Hazy and he was my Archer, and it was good.

Until I woke up to a silent living room, and him, all around me, and I rolled into him, instinctive, my head tilting up to find bare skin with my lips and he groaned, a low hungry note that jolted me out of my dreams and back the fuck into reality.

I almost fell on Eli in my haste to get the fuck away.

The kitchen is spotless—Eli insisted on cleaning while Archer selected a movie for us.

My brother is always going to be taking care of me. They both, will. In their ways.

“Hazy-Eyes,” a low voice splits the dark and I almost drop the beer bottle.

I do make a noise, a startled little squeak that I already hate myself for.

Archer makes a noise that’s almost a laugh as he steps into the kitchen. His voice is sleep deep and rumbling, a rough caress against my skin and I want more.

God fucking help me, I want more.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting ready for bed,” I answer, turning away to dump the empties in the sink.

“You were sleeping, sweetheart. And keeping me warm. I don’t like waking up to find you missing.”

It’s said so simply, a bald statement of fact that brings me instantly to that moment.

He’s stretched out in bed, tattooed skin sprawled against slate blue sheets, his hand fisted under one pillow, an arm stretched across the bed. Sleeping, he looks almost young.

Almost carefree.

Almost.

I can still taste him.

I whisper softly into the dark room, and then slip out. My suitcase is in the closet by the door, and I grab it silently, ignoring the tears burning in my eyes as I slip out and into my little car.

“Hazel?” he asks, soft and serious, and I blink out of the memories. He’s watching me, with that curious, waiting patience that tells me he’ll wait forever.

Wait for me to come back to him, or tell him to fuck off or god only knows what.

“Archer, I—”

He prowls closer to me and his hands find my waist, clenching there and rubbing tight little circles into my skin through the think cotton of my tank top.

“Come back to sleep, Hazy-Eyes.”

I want to. God. I want it so fucking bad. Almost as much as I want to go on my tiptoes and kiss him.

I still can remember exactly how he tastes and the sweet burn of stubble on my neck when he nuzzles into me.

“Why did you leave?”

“Because you were going to push me off the couch,” I say, immediately and his eyes go dark and hungry.

“Then get closer to me,” he murmurs, and it rubs against my skin, a sweet caress.

“Can’t,” I whimper, and he huffs softly, and then he’s kissing me.

And god. God.

I thought I remembered. I’d spent so many nights, hand between my thighs, remembering. So many second dates, comparing some sweet stranger to what I wasn’t allowed to have.

And I was wrong.

God I was wrong. Because this is real, all sweet sugar and tart mint and Archer and even my memories, as good as they were, pale in comparison.

To the flex of his fingers on my hips, digging in with this delicious pressure.

To the heavy weight of him, pressing me into the counter, his hand braced against the small of my back, keeping it from digging in.

To the sweeping pressure of his lips, rubbing against mine, until he nips at my lower lip, catches it between his own and tugs and I gasp.

And it’s all over. Everything.

Archer sweeps in, like he did when we were kids and I needed to be saved, like he did when we were teens and a boyfriend made me cry, like he’s done every fucking time in my life.

His hands come up and frame my face, angles me just the way he wants, and he drinks me down.

Fucking devours me, his lips a goddamn tsunami force above me, knocking me out to sea, drowning me, ripping me apart and then.

Oh god, and then.

His tongue, soft and gentle, stroking along like a whisper, like a promise, his thumbs smoothing over my cheekbones, sweeping down to press against my throat.

Tethering me as I moan, soft and hungry, into him, putting me back together as I shudder in his grasp.

Make a tiny noise in the back of my throat, and he growls, a low rumble that hits me like a fucking fist, and shifts, lifting me until I’m on the counter, my legs wrapped around him, and fuck.

Jesus.

Better. This is better. I nip at his lips and he groans, jerking away from me to trail kisses down my throat, a hot path that has my head falling back and a low keen working its way up my throat.

“Shh, sweetheart,” he murmurs against my skin, and I can hear the smile in his voice, can feel it pressing against my skin, “Don’t wake up Elijah.”

Shit.

Eli.

I shove at him, hard and Archer laughs, a low rumble, before he kisses my throat again, scraping teeth against my skin, and sucking hard, until my hands are scrambling against him, holding him to me as I arch into the touch, and it’s not enough.

“Archer,” I grit out, and his head comes up.

His lips are bright red and wet, and I want them everywhere. I want everything.

Maybe. Maybe because of the alcohol, or maybe because tonight has felt like something stolen—a secret we’re still keeping.

But I reach for him, pull him to me instead of pushing him away. His breath shudders against my skin, and then he’s kissing me again and I’m wiggling closer, because fuck it’s been four years.

“Missed you,” he pants between kisses and I swallow down the sob that’s threatening.

More.

I need more.

“I need more.” I hiss, and his mouth drops, skating over my skin. Yanks my tank top down and his mouth covers me, sucks me deep. Twists around my nipple as his hands clench on my hips, yanking me forward and grinding against me and I can feel the scream, building and building, with every twist of his tongue around me and every hard draw on me and “Archer,” I groan.

His hand slaps over my lips and I bite down as he draws on my tit, hard, and something deep inside clenches and twists.

“Shh, baby,” he soothes, pulling back. “Shh.”

He tugs until I’m on the edge of the counter, and then drops to his knees.

And I almost fall off the damn counter because there is nothing in this world as unrelentingly erotic as Brandon Archer on his knees.

Then he shifts me, yanks my shorts to one side, and thank Christ that I wore shorts, and his lips whisper over me and I swallow my scream.

Let my head fall back as I fight to breathe. My hand is in his hair—when did that happen?—and his nose is nudging my clit and he whispers against me, something soft and secret and lost. I have a heartbeat to wonder what, before he licks, and my entire body lights up like a damn Christmas tree, tension and pleasure and want arcing through me.

I’m a wire, and he’s the current, and he’s playing me like a goddamn fiddle. I’m rocking into him, into the tiny whispers and nudging caress, the gentle strokes of his tongue as his big hands come up, holding me open, and rubbing, and I do make a noise then, a low moan that sounds like sex and he laughs, the bastard laughs, making a shushing noise against my wet cunt like it’s a game, and I snarl.

So fucking close, and he’s teasing.

I yank, pull at his hair until he obliges, rising to his feet, all grace and sex poured over muscles and wrapped up with a smile so fucking sinful it would make a nun fall.

It made me fall.

Head over heels, the first time it twisted into a wry grin.

I fall into it now, kiss him as his fingers slide into me and he groans at the feel. Hisses against my throat, “Tight, baby. God, you’re so fucking tight.”

I roll my hips, fucking myself slow on his fingers as I lick into his mouth and it’s different—he tastes like himself, like Archer, but also me, all sex and safety wrapped up in one, and his fingers are crooking, rubbing, his thumb pressing sweet slow circles that are driving me crazy, until—

There.

One hand on my neck, sweet and soothing, his thumb rubbing under my ear as he kisses me and I scream, into his lips.

Come, shuddering around his fingers.

And he takes it.

Swallows down my scream like it’s nothing, his fingers slow and soothing in me, a gentle pet as I shudder and quake and he holds me through, coaxes me through.

I’m sweaty and sleepy when he pulls away and his lips brush my forehead before he picks me up.

Carries me back to the couch and tucks me against him, one arm a band around my waist, the other hand tucking my head to the crook of his shoulder where I’ve always fit.

“Go to sleep, Hazy-Eyes,” he whispers.

So I do.

When I wake up, I’m alone on the couch.

And, “Fucking hell, I’m tired of this shit,” I mutter, shifting on the couch and the too cold cushions.

The thing is it’s not a surprise.

When I first moved in with Nora, I was a wreck. A fucking disaster walking, doing more damage than I did good.

But then, Nora did what she does and I looked around. Like actually looked around, and saw what was happening.

And it woke me up. Eli was easy. We got into a fight, I let him beat the hell outta me and I tugged him from his nightmares. Easy. A brother for life, almost faster than I could anticipate. The thing about Eli was that he reminded me that I needed someone else. That I wasn’t an island. I take care of people—it’s who I was. No real surprise that I went into the Corps and then later the force. It let me do the thing I did best--take care of people.

And usually it was easy. As easy as breathing. People want to be taken care of.

But Hazel.

Hazel was an uphill battle from day one.

The kid is like a ghost. A blonde, big eyed, vaguely violent ghost.

Everyone thought I was too fucked to pay attention to anything but my own damage but everyone was fucking idiotic.

She didn’t buy that. I know because she watched me. She was almost fiercely protective of Eli, even if she was a year younger. She watches me with him, and I’ve seen the way she relaxes by slow degrees.

After Eli punches me and we both have a black eye and a fist full of busted knuckles, she actually smiled.

And holy fuck. I was lost, in that moment. Because when Hazel Campton smiles, which she never does, it’s like a fucking revelation.

Sunshine and laughter and this intoxicating flash of fuck-the-world bite to those big baby blues.

I want to make her smile. Every day.

I want to chase that ever present sadness away until all I ever see in her is sunlight and danger.

And she? Wants absolutely nothing to do with me.

Nora and Eli bought my self-destructive shit. And it was real. I was spiraling hard. But they also bought her fake smile and quiet ok.

And that was bullshit.

I watched her, when I was with Eli. When she was doing homework and reading and sometimes when she thought she was alone.

I saw the way she held herself, too still and tight, like the wrong word would shatter her.

I saw the way she dug her nails into her palms, and held knives a little too long and sat in the dim light of her room alone.

Nora and Eli didn’t see it.

Whatever else she was, Hazel was very careful.

Which made this hard. I couldn’t pick a fight with her to win her trust. I couldn’t do the dishes and stay out of the liquor, or hold the door for a few teachers. This was Hazel.

It took me six months. Six months of sitting in near silence, bickering with Sam. Finding books for her and helping her clean after dinner. Handing her her lunch in silence as I herded her and Eli out the door. Putting up with ice cold feet shoved under my leg on the couch while she shouted abuse at the basketball game.

Six. Fucking. Months of showing up when she went quiet and moody, sitting near her without pushing past my initial, “you good?” And her standard, “fine.”

Six goddamn months.

Longest months of my life.

But some of the best, when I looked back. Hazel, when she gave someone her love and loyalty, did it completely and utterly.

Eli was easy. He’s impossible to not love and so fucking broken by the accident that she fell into him without thought.

I earned it.

Made it different. Special. I wasn’t her brother and I was ok with that.

I was ok with all of it until the night it changed. Six months and two weeks after I started the slow campaign to win Hazel over.

She broke.

Hard.

Came completely and utterly apart, so shattered that I couldn’t see my girl, my lost Hazy girl with her broken heart.

It was her birthday. She hadn’t told Nora, hadn’t told anyone. Spent the week leading up to it quieter than normal, sinking deeper into herself.

Hazel and I had an agreement. She wouldn’t tell Nora when I was spiraling if I didn’t fight or drink.

I didn’t tell Nora when she was lost in her own grief if she didn’t cut herself.

It was unspoken but it worked and we kept each other--not healthy, but not toxic.

Sometimes I think that’s all either of us could ask for. We were keeping each other’s secrets, even when neither of us had any real clue what that meant.

That day, I found her in her room.

She was in her room, wearing an oversized t-shirt and scrunched up socks on her skinny ankles and blood trickled down the inside of her thighs.

She stared at me, all wide eyed fear and choking grief, and whispered one plea.

“Don’t tell Nora.”

“What the hell, Hazel,” I whisper and she flinches. Stares at me with tears in her big blue eyes.

“He never missed my birthday.”

And it slayed me. I hate seeing the people I love cry. So I pulled her into me, cradling her and she sobbed, these silent, heartbroken shaking things that left me so desperate to fix this, to fix her, that I’d have promised anything.

I’d have walked through fire, to stop her tears and put a smile on her face. And she didn’t want that. She just wanted my silence.

Easy enough to give her.

Secrets. Those were the things that bound us, me and Hazel. Not the grief or the accident. It was our fucking secrets.

She wept in my arms until she fell asleep, and I tucked her in bed, stealing away with her knife and her tears soaking my shoulder.

I thought it would be what brought her to me. What finally made her trust me.

The next day, she looked at me over the breakfast table, and her eyes were as cold as the winter sky.

It’s not surprising, to wake up alone. What surprised me was that she caved long enough to come back to the couch, to let me finger her in the kitchen.

Another secret in a long line of them, another retreat in an endless series of retreats.

Hazel Campton was the girl I could never quite shake, and not just because she’s the one I’ve always cared about.

A low groan from the floor pulls my attention from my thoughts and to the sleeping giant slowly waking up. He groans again and shoves up off the ground, all long lanky limbs and shaggy hair flying a million directions.

“Dude, why the fuck’d you let me sleep on the floor?” he grits out, giving me a frown.

I shrug. “You passed out, Eli. And I wasn’t dragging your drunk ass to your room.”

Because of course Eli had a room in Hazel’s house. He was her brother, the one she loved with a wild kind of reckless, the one she turned to when shit got rough.

She liked me, even trusted me with her secrets and loved to get off against my fingers and lips, but I wasn’t the one she turned to.

If it were anyone but Eli that she chose, I’d probably have shot them a long, fucking time. As it is, I swallow down the bitter pill and shift to stand. “Come on, brother. We’ve got to report in still.”

“Breakfast first!” a sharp voice calls from the kitchen and Eli groans, rolling to his back, letting his head thump against the rug.

Hazel appears in the doorway, a mug of coffee roughly the size of her head already cupped between curved fingers. Her hair is a mess of curls pulled to the top of her head, and she’s wearing one of Eli’s old college t-shirts and a pair of yoga pants.

I swallow down my annoyance that she’s wearing another man’s clothes—he’s her brother, our brother—and cock an eyebrow.

“Mama’s?” I ask, watching her carefully.

Ah. There it is. Her expression goes flat and blank, the smile flickering for a heartbeat before she blinks, and it’s back, bright blinding, with just enough sarcasm to make me grin.

“Fine,” she says grumpily. “But you’re buying and when she wants one of us to do the dishes, you two can flip for it.”

She doesn’t wait for us to argue or take her up on the offer. She spins on her heel and whistles for Smith, yelling over her shoulder as she hits the stairs that she’s leaving in ten minutes.

For a long minute, Eli and I stare after her and then he slides a curious look at me. “Take it y’all sorted out your shit?” he says, too casual.

I give him a grumpy face. “Dude.”

“She’s avoided you for months and then you pass out on her couch after she decides to let us act like a family again. What the hell am I supposed to think?”

“You aren’t,” I say, flat. “You’re supposed to let me and Hazel work our shit out the way we always have, and back off in the meantime.”

Eli glares but he doesn’t say anything as I rub a hand through my hair. Sigh a little. “Come on, Eli. Don’t analyze this shit. You know she runs hot and cold with me. So let’s just enjoy it until she decides it’s not working for her anymore, and pulls back. Ok?” I offer him a small smile, and because it’s Eli he falls for it. Nods along and stands, shoving his big fucking feet into shoes and petting Smith who wandered back downstairs without his mistress.

That’s an annoying kick in the gut. Even Hazel’s damn dog likes Eli more than me.

Then Hazel is jogging down the stairs, golden hair a trailing mess behind her, and I forget to care.

Eli doesn’t get to fuck her on the counter.

Gabe doesn’t get to keep her fucking secrets.

I’m the only one who she looks at like that. Considering and cautious and nervously hopeful.

And I’ll fucking take that. Just like all those damn years ago, when I was coaxing out her trust. I’ll take it now, until she finally realizes that it’s safe.

That I’m safe.

I expect things to be awkward. Maybe because I ran last time, before they could get awkward, I expect some kind of—pressure?—from Archer.

I forget that this is Archer and he’s made a fucking art form of waiting for me.

So there’s a flicker in his eyes, a lazy heat that is intoxicating before it’s banked and shut down, and he’s offering me a quick grin and that brusque once over that is how Archer shows care—checking me to make I’m meeting his standards of okay.

He did that shit when we were in school, for me and Eli and he does it now.

Spilling into Mama’s is like falling through time, the boys pushing and shoving and me a half-step ahead, rolling my eyes and flushing a little as the truckers eye us like we’re overgrown children intruding on their peace and quiet.

Not a completely inaccurate depiction of the morning’s happenings, but it’s also Mama’s, which means it’s ours and while I might have hidden behind my brother and Archer in school, today I meet those grumpy stares with a cold look that sends interest my way and turns the less curious away.

Eli huffs a laugh as Archer grabs a couple menus—not that any of us need it—and slide us toward an empty booth. We’re barely sitting, me scrunched against one side of the booth with Archer’s big body boxing me in, Eli across from us, when Hailey Lewis hurries up.

Eli’s big eyes get bigger, almost frantic, and Archer snickers at my side. “Hi! Oh my gosh, I didn’t expect you today. Um, do you want your usual? I can tell Nora you’re here, but coffee, first, right?”

“Hey, Hailey?” I say, sugar sweet, and her wide brown eyes cut to me.

Pretty sure she hadn’t even seen me or Archer, she’s so damn focused on Eli. She always has been—poor thing has been obsessed with Eli since she first laid eyes on him in high school.

“Hazel!” she almost squeaks, her eyes wide and a little bit unsettled. Like she doesn’t want to see me at my brother’s side. “I—um. When did you get back to Green County?”

I stare at her, long enough that she flushes and squirms in place, before I let a small smile curl at the edges of my lips. “Tell Nora we’re here, would you?”

She flushes and nods once, hurrying away with her head down like a scolded puppy.

“That wasn’t nice,” Archer says through a smile. I lean against him briefly and shrug, letting him feel the motion roll through me. “Neither is her chasing poor Eli for the past damn decade.”

Archer laughs, and I drink down the sound. I want to lick it from his mouth again. Want to drag that arm on the table around me until I’m pushed up against his side, nestled against him like it’s where I belong.

It is where I belong.

“Well, well. Look what finally decided to roll into their diner,” Nora says, her voice a familiar drawl. Her gray eyes are hard as they rake over us, but warm, too.

That’s Mama Nora. Hard and warm and home. Archer flashes her a quick grin and Eli slides out of his side to pull her into a hug. She huffs out a breath, and pats his back affectionately as he lets her go, and she grins at us.

“What are y’all doin’ here? I heard the mayor and Chief of Police were sitting down with the force, today?”

Archer shrugs. “They are. We’ll be heading there after breakfast. But Hazel doesn’t keep shit in her house.”

I flush and dig an elbow into his side. “You’re a bastard,” I snap.

Nora arches an eyebrow at me. “Hazel Beth,”

“I’m eating, Mama,” I protest before she can get started, because if there’s anything that bothers my adoptive mother, it’s her kids neglecting themselves. “Archer is just being an ass.”

She smiles, and nods. “Alright then. You three behave and I’ll get us some food. Eli,” she waits til he focuses on her and frowns, “Be nice to Hailey. I need her to wait tables and she can’t do that if she’s crying in the back.”

Eli makes a face, but he nods.

Nora nods, once, a fiercely satisfied smile on her face. And I meet Archer’s eye, quietly questioning. And he nods and squeezes my shoulders.

Archer and I have always worked together, to keep Eli happy and safe. To keep Nora from worrying too much. It’s why we kept each other’s secrets, when Archer was drinking and fucking everything that moved in high school, and when he caught me cutting.

We were never the ones who mattered—Eli and Nora did. An unspoken agreement between us, to keep them happy and unaware of the worst of our dysfunction.

I wonder if that will always work.

If our secrets will shatter under the weight of our new—whatever the fuck it is, him getting me off, and me sleeping in his arms.

I shove that thought down and focus on my family as Nora returns with coffee and a big plate of bacon, Hailey trailing her with the rest of our food.

When the boys leave me, with a quick hug from Eli and a smirk from Archer, I wander to the local library.

Because the truth is, Archer and Eli slamming into my little house and even before that, Gabe at the coffee shop, shook me up. Reminded me that I’m not an island, I’m not a girl bound by deadline in a city where no one knows me or worries about me.

I’m home, and people care about me here. People that I care about, even if I’m not ready for all of their questions and concern.

I’ve been hiding for six months, and even longer than that, for four years, since I left Green County and refused to even consider the idea of coming home.

And I’m tired. I’m tired of being alone and having only my dog and my echoing thoughts to keep me company. I’m tired of all the fucking regrets that keep me locked up in my head and away from the people I love.

The people who love me.

Archer.

Shit there is still so much fucking baggage there. Even more, after the sexcapades last night.

I didn’t realize how much I’d missed him though.

Eli came to visit me, twice a year, like clockwork. Nora called once a week, a steady tie to home. Even in the city, lost in my own crazy chase to be something bigger than Green County could offer, they kept me tied to home. Kept me from forgetting that I had something there, waiting for me. People who loved me no matter how big a story I broke or how far back in the paper my byline was.

But it wasn’t the same. Archer and I were different. He was my secret keeper, the one who saw past my shit and stuck around anyway.

And until I was curled up on the back porch with him laughing and teasing, I hadn’t realized how much I missed him.

I still miss him. I miss home. Because I’ve been back for six months but I’ve kept myself apart. Hiding from everything that happened in Boston and from everything I left in the first place.

I’m tired of hiding.

So I show up at the library and if Robby seems surprised to see me in his dusty, ridiculously organized little house of knowledge, he doesn’t comment. He just offers me an arched eyebrow and a grunt of acknowledgement as I settle myself at the long, uncomfortable research table and get to work.

Every city has a story that they tell the rest of the world. Ours is perfection and the Airplane Orphans, the Honey Bee Fest and family values. The Piedmont resort and an excellent school district. The base and low crime rates.

But every city has a secret too. Ours? Are just as dark as our story is pretty.

I hesitate. Page through my notes.

The problem was it was too big.

Green County looked so perfect and pretty but you scrape away the surface and there was so much shit.

I can’t even wrap my head around all of it. This is why it’s been six months and I’m still sitting on my fucking hands.

“I heard,” a cheerful, crowing voice says, jerking me out of my thoughts until I look up at him. Gabriel sits across from me and I give Robby a disgruntled look. Gabe snaps his fingers and I sigh. “I heard the Airplane Orphans were wandering the city. And I said, well that just can’t be true. If that were true, my best friend wouldn’t still be avoiding me.”

Hurt flickers in his honey gold eyes for a heartbeat and then he adds, too casual, “I would not be getting phone calls from Michael and John asking when we’re getting together with you because I know damn well you loathe those two knuckle heads.”

I flinch. Because it’s true. Shoving them off on Gabe had been dirty.

“I’m sorry.”

Gabe is silent, watching me as I squirm, and he finally says, softly, “I am, too.” My gaze flips up to him, anxious and demanding and he shrugs. Smiles. “You made it pretty clear what we are, and what we aren’t, Hazy. I just need to accept it.”

There’s a sad smile playing across his lips and he looks. So sad. So fucking lonely.

“Brutal Honest?” I say, softly, and Gabriel goes still.

It’s a game. One that we started playing with Eli and Archer when we were kids, and stupid and broken. When I was still raw from the loss of my father and the three of us were awkward and trying to find our way with each other. It was like truth or dare, but without the dare.

It was stripping away all the layers of bullshit until there’s nothing left but honesty that can hurt, but that can also bind you up. Push you together.

It can fix all the wrong things, if you let it.

Eli and I used to play it, sitting in the dark corners of Nora’s living room while she fought with Archer, learning too much too quickly.

It’s easy to confess all the ugly things, in the dark, when someone else is confessing their own.

Sometime, over the years, Gabe and Archer got in on it. They started playing the game with us. It became less a game and more of a confession.

Things said under Brutal Honest were sacred.

They weren’t things that could be used to hurt, later.

They were, sometimes, a subtle cry for help.

Gabriel watches me, his eyes narrowed in concern as I fidget. Because I have no idea where to start. I’ve been hiding from Gabriel for four years. Keeping secrets from him.

Where do I start being honest?

“I slept with Archer.”

Gabe inhales, so sharply I think he’s going to choke, and his eyes go almost comically wide.

“What the actual fuck, Hazel!” he hisses, leaning across the table. Behind him, Robby’s eyebrows go up, a little bit disapproving and I force a smile as I grit out, “Calm down, dumbass. And I’ll explain it to you.”

Gabe’s eyes narrow, and he leans back. Grabs my files and starts stacking them.

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask, almost amused.

“We’re leaving,” he says, shuffling the papers together.

“Are we?”

He goes still, his leaning into my space again and says, clearly, “You just told me you slept with Brandon fucking Archer. You don’t get to drop that kind of shit on me and then carry on with research like it’s a normal day. You’re going to lunch with me, we’re having a really nice bottle of wine and you’re going to tell me what the hell changed in four years that you finally let that happen.”

I consider protesting. There are more important things to focus on than my lack of love life, or a night of really bad decisions.

But.

I miss home.

And Gabriel is part of that.

So I nod and grab my stuff, tucking it into my bag. Then Gabriel hooks an arm around my shoulder and pulls me out of the library.

We end up at the Salty’s, a local pub that has the best fucking pie in town. Which is why we end up here. Gabriel eats desserts when he’s stressed, and I know he’s doing his best to keep that shit wrapped up where I can’t see, and I know that we’re different.

We aren’t the same people anymore.

That Gabriel is sitting almost still and silent across from me, barely fidgeting as he watches the waitress drop a couple menus on the table with two cups of water before she retreats and his golden eyes swing to me, searching.

That tells me more than anything that we’ve changed.

“Want to tell me all the dirty details, Hazy?”

No.

“Do you remember the night before I left? The party?”

Gabriel’s eyes go wide, almost impossibly wide, and he comes down hard on the front legs of his chair. All of the amusement is gone, and he’s furious—angry energy has filled his face, replaced the smile that was beginning to form.

“Are you fucking serious, Hazel? It’s been that long?”

I shrug my shoulders.

No.

It’s been longer than that. I’ve never told Gabriel that I love Archer. That I’ve always loved him.

Maybe because I spent so fucking long ignoring it myself. It was easier to ignore than to accept the truth—that I wanted something I couldn’t have.

Some truths are too brutal, even for me.

“Tell me,” Gabriel snaps, and I sigh. Because I owe him this.

Nora doesn’t take many opportunities to spoil us. To celebrate the children she always says she was blessed to have. Anyone else would have said getting three broken, grief-riddled kids in their early teens was a nightmare. But Nora. She reveled in it. Didn’t expect more than we could give.

She never pushed me to celebrate my birthday, especially after Archer told her how much I hated it.

But every once in a while, she wanted to celebrate.

Me graduating college, that was one of those moments.

Green County loved these things. When she threw open Mama’s and we drank and laughed and danced. When Eli spun me like a top and Archer flirted and watched us with that steady green gaze and the County could tuck us in the neat little box they shoved us in.

“You’re thinking too much,” Gabriel says, coming up next to me. His arm slips around my waist, his head dropping to my shoulder and I smile as I lean mine against him.

“You always think I’m thinking too hard.”

“You usually are,” he says, an accurate, if annoying, assessment.

I don’t argue with that. “How is—”

The question breaks off half-formed. I can see his brother now, watching Remi, his eyes bright.

He seems sad, almost broken, and with Colt missing, it hurts to see.

I want them to be happy together because I’m so tired of no one being happy.

Eli is single. Again.

Archer is flirting with Laura, another girl who will be the latest in a long line of girls who don’t last, and who leave a little damaged. But not as damaged as Archer. And I don’t give a fuck if they are damaged. I care about him.

And there’s me.

So many secrets.

So many things that I haven’t told him, or Gabe. Or Eli.

When did I start keeping secrets? When did that become easier for me than telling them the truth?

“Hey, Hazy,” Gabe says, his voice sticky sweet. “You’re drifting, baby girl.”

I blink, and twist, looking at him.

“I love you, Gabe,” I whisper, hugging him tight, and he makes a startled noise. Then I pull away from him, and Archer is there, before Gabe can ask me anything. Can press for details and make me spill the secrets that are choking me.

“Dance with me, Hazel,” he says, and I nod, because I’ve never been able to tell him no.

I certainly won’t tell him no tonight.

So he pulls me close as the music dips into something slow, and the city watches as we dance. Eli is dancing with Nora, and she’s laughing and it settles some of the fear twisting in my gut.

“Do you ever wish it didn’t have to change?” I ask, and Archer frowns. “This. Us. I’m the last one, and I’m done. I’m out of school. Things—they’ll change now. They won’t be able to stay the same.”

Archer’s eyebrows hitch up, surprise coloring his expression for a moment. “Do you think it’ll change that much? I mean, you’ll move out to your farmhouse, but. We’re still here. We’ll still be family.”

I nod, leaning into his shoulder. Ignoring the unspoken truth that’s rattled around my head for almost five years.

We haven’t been family in years. Since he left us for the Marines.

And I understood. I did. Better than Eli or Nora, I got why he had to leave, if only for a little while.

Doesn’t mean I liked it.

“Do you think we did okay?” I ask, looking at where Eli and Mama Nora are dancing.

Sometimes, I think we did.

Sometimes I think Eli is too broken. That whatever good we did with Nora will be undone when we leave.

“We did,” Archer says, and I crane my head back, because I never hear pride and happiness in his voice, but I do now.

Here’s the secret. Archer and I were always working together. To protect Eli and Nora. She thought she was taking care of us. And she was, in a way.

But we’ve always been taking care of each other, and in this, Archer and I were a team. We could be damaged—fuck we were. But it was okay.

Because they weren’t.

Which means we can go now. I can go. Because they’re okay. They’re happy.

“Are you happy?” I ask him, and he goes very still.

Stupid. Careless. He’s going to figure it out.

“Hazel,” he murmurs, soft and careful.

“I just. You seem happier, since you came home.” I force a smile, “but we haven’t talked about it.”

We haven’t talked about him joining the force, or working with Eli up the ranks.

“Yeah, sweetheart. I’m happy.”

I grin and I can see the question in his eyes, but I duck back against his chest, and he sighs. Lets me hide there as we finish the dance. It surprises me. Archer doesn’t let me hide from him often.

But I take the reprieve, and when the song is over, Gabriel pulls me away and then its Eli’s turn, and the moment is gone.

But it was enough.

I’m only a little surprised when Archer taps on my door that night. I’m still at Nora’s, and Eli and Archer crashed here, a kind of last hurrah before I leave for my farmhouse.

Eli passed out almost before we got home, drunk and sweet and cuddly. Nora kissed me and Archer before she retreated, and I couldn’t.

I couldn’t sit there, in our childhood home, with his big green eyes too curious in the dark.

I couldn’t keep this from him if he stared at me like he could read my soul.

But now. He’s here. Nudging into my space and pulling the door closed behind him, and I can’t speak because my mouth is so damn dry.

Nerves make my hands shake, so I clench them tight and turn, “What’s up, Archer?” I crawl back onto my bed, and when I face him again, his gaze is lazy and warm, and it chases a shiver down my spine.

I know that look.

I’ve seen it on his face, a thousand times, directed at cheerleaders and teachers and random girls we only saw leaving his apartment before she left our life for good.

It’s the look he gives a woman he wants.

Archer has never looked at me like that. I’d begun to think he never would.

“You’re hiding from me,” he says, stretching out on my bed like it’s normal.

It is normal.

“I’m sleeping,” I say, intentionally oblivious.

Archer gives me that disbelieving stare he does so well.

And maybe it’s the shots we did at Mama’s. Maybe it’s that tonight feels like a gift and that’s too precious to waste.

Maybe it’s because it won’t matter. After all this time, it won’t matter.

“Do you really want to know?” I ask, and he nods.

So I lean forward, faster than he can counter, my breath playing over his lips. I see his eyes go wide.

So green and beautiful and wide.

And then I kiss him.

Eli is quiet as we ride across town to work, and I can feel the shift in both of us, as we tuck away everything that’s been happening over the past few hours. Everything that has to do with Hazel and focus on what makes us work so well.

On the job.

“Do you know what it’s about?” I ask, pulling into a spot in front of the courthouse. It’s this big red brick thing that looks like a relic.

A well preserved, very pretty relic, but still—throwback to an era where people gave a fuck what their city looked like, what their municipal buildings looked like.

Hell, we have fire stations that look like fire stations, instead of big blocky buildings that look like overgrown garages. Green County, I’m convinced, is a weird ass little place.

But it’s home.

So I ignore its eccentricities. It’s been—mostly—kind enough to do the same.

“No. Chief says the Mayor is catching some heat for the girls on Victory.”

I shoot a quick look at Eli who shrugs.

The prostitutes who work the stretch of road just outside the Sanders Army base aren’t a new thing. Every few years, the good people of Green County get all hot and bothered that we have these heathens in our midst and there’s a lot of nothing done.

We patrol. Write some citations. Toss a few in jail for a couple days.

Not like it fucking matters. The girls are bailed out and back on the streets before we can nail down the bastard who’s actually running the shitshow.

But. You know. It makes the good people of the city think we’re doing something, makes them sleep better at night thinking that we don’t have the same problem as other places.

I’m pretty sure that the good people of Green County are fucking idiots, but. They’re my idiots, so it’s okay.

Or something like that.

“So you wanna talk about last night?” Eli asks, and I give him a quick look as I check my service piece at the metal detectors. Casey flashes me a quick inviting grin, which I ignore.

The kid has been legal for like, five minutes. I know she’s got some puppy love thing, but I’m not touching that shit with a ten-foot pole.

It’d be like sleeping with my fucking sister.

Been there. Want to do that. Again.

I shove the thought down, and give Eli a bland look. “Not really.”

The glare I get from him is truly impressive, so I arch an eyebrow and say instead, “Why don’t you tell me what the actual fuck is going on between you and Delvin.”

That snaps his spine straight and he glares at me. Turns away and is almost rude to Casey as he goes through the process of getting into City Hall.

He’s a tight, angry giant at my side as we stalk through the building, which matches my own mood so I don’t do a damn thing to diffuse him.

We’re headed into a meeting that’s going to piss me off, and I’m already riding a thin line of want and rage.

As bad ideas go, this one is way the fuck up there.

“Eli,” I say, snagging his elbow on the stairs. He jerks away from me and huffs angrily.

Letting me know he’s pissed.

That I stepped over a line.

Which, you know, I already knew. I know the kid better than I know myself, sure as fuck better than he knows himself. I knew pushing the Gabriel issue would piss him off. It’s why I’ve avoided it for so long.

“Sorry,” I offer simply.

He eyes me for a minute and then, “I’m not ready to talk about it.”

Which of course, kicks my curiosity and concern into overdrive.

Eli is a pretty open book. There’s very little he doesn’t share with me.

I hesitate, and then, “You good?”

He flashes a smirk, one that isn’t as real as I want, but it’ll do the trick for the moment. “Golden, bro. Come on. We’re late.”

I nod, some of the tension melting away.

It’s not a lot. It doesn’t stoke away all the nerves and concern—until I know what the hell is happening with my brother and the blond baker, I don’t think anything will. But it’s enough because Eli won’t ever lie to me. Not when I ask him outright like that.

And answers will have to wait until later.

I shove all my shit aside and rap on the door to the Chief’s office.

“Come in,” a deep voice barks and I take a deep breath. Steadying myself. Catch Eli’s concern before I shove the door open and step inside.

“Sir,” I say, respectful.

Peter Billings nods at me, and motions to the seat. The Mayor, a lithe redheaded woman named Abbi Emery, watches as we take our seats.

Here’s the thing. Green County is a big place. We sprawl over four different townships, almost a hundred-thousand people all told, and the majority of us were here. In the county seat.

We have sheriff departments for the outlying townships, these tiny little hamlets that are barely a blink. But most of the GCPD is focused here.

And we have a very small department of detectives. Eli and I are a third of it. And we’re good, very good, at our job. Maybe because we enjoy it, or enjoy making the County safer. Whatever. Billings trusts us and Emery trusts him.

She doesn’t like me at all. Maybe because I fucked her a few years ago, when she was a hot shot ADA, working to close the case that would eventually win her the Mayor’s office.

At the time, I thought it was fun. No strings. Good release after another shitty day in court.

Looking back, though.

Abbi Emery didn’t believe in no strings. She never had. She wanted something.

She wanted Brandon Archer in her bed and on her arm.

And that? Yeah. That didn’t sit with me. I wasn’t arm candy. I wasn’t here to make a pretty, ambitious, bitch happy.

Eli said that all the shit with Abbi was my own damn fault because I can’t keep my dick in my pants.

He’s probably right.

But. You know. Sex.

“We’d like you to look into this,” Billings says, sliding a file across his desk. I let Eli pick it up, and watch him skim it. His face tightens.

Eli hates when we investigate the prostitutes. He says it’s wrong to target victims and paint them as criminals. Peter says it’s hard to call them victims when they’re breaking the law.

And I tend to agree with Eli. But. We do our job.

“Sir, we do this every year. Nothing ever comes of it.” Eli says stiffly. “Why are we wasting our time?”

“Because your Mayor told you to,” Abbi says, her voice silky.

Shit.

“No offense, Abbi, but we don’t take our orders from you,” I say, leaning back and linking my hands behind my head.

“I don’t want you to just drag in the working girls,” Billings says, cutting in before Abbi can lose her shit completely. “I want you to turn one.”

I glance at Eli quickly and see the same curiosity in his eyes.

Because this is new.

“You want us to make a working girl an informant?” I say, carefully. “Chief, the girls—that’s dangerous as fuck.”

He nods at the file. “We had three girls killed in the past year, Archer. We can’t just ignore the problem because it’s dangerous. I want you to bring in a girl who can help us. As high in the trade as we can get to work with us. The new girls aren’t gonna do shit—all they can tell us is who their madam is.”

I arch an eyebrow. “How high are you hunting, Chief?”

He flashes me a smirk, all wolfish intensity. “The top of the food chain, Archer. The fucking top.”

I stare at him for a long moment and then nod. “Okay. But the girl gets clear. We aren’t trying to tie these kids up for doing what they have to do to survive.”

“They’re breaking the law,” Abbi drawls, and I frown over at her. She’s letting Chief lead this little dog and pony show so maybe she isn’t a complete fucking idiot, but I can see her struggling with it. With letting me and Eli run this.

“Why us?” I ask, abruptly.

They both freeze and Eli tenses at my side, sliding a glance at me.

He wants this. My brother has always felt for the girls who work Victory, who fuck they’re way through the soldiers to keep ahead of their bills or their addictions.

I feel for them, but it’s in a save the victims distant sorta way.

Eli cares.

He wants this case.

And I want to know why the fuck we got tapped for it.

“Because it’s a hard case and you’re the best to clear it. And because Beasley already has contacts there.”

I slide a quick searching look at Eli, see the fury and the red coloring his cheeks and I nod. Shove to my feet. Because enough of this shit.

“If you don’t mind then, sir, we’ll get to work.”

Billings nods, and Abbi makes a noise, like she wants to argue, wants to hold us up and force more of her damn agenda down our throats, but I don’t give a fuck what the stupid little mayor wants.

I don’t answer to her.

God, I should never have fucked her.

I nod at my brother, and he proceeds me out of the office. Let’s me take the rear until we’re downstairs and collecting our service weapons from Casey and I give the poor kid a quick, fake smile before I’m pushing Eli out the door.

I can still fucking feel Chief’s eyes. Can feel the small, knowing smirk on Abbi’s fucking face, while she watches us and those words drop like tiny explosives in the office.

Beasley already has contacts there.

I wait. Until we’re halfway back to the station, the purr of my car, a soft rumble beneath us, and then. When my heartbeat is settling and I don’t feel this ridiculous need to protect, I let out my breath and say, “Want to explain what the actual fuck just happened, Elijah?”

Gabriel is still staring at me like I’ve grown a third head, after the waitress clears our plates and retreats, leaving us in a kind of awkward silence over tea that isn’t cold anymore.

“Say something.” I say, softly.

“What do I say, Hazy? I thought we trusted each other and I was wrong. Not a lot to say to that, is there.” His voice is something I don’t hear often, and it makes me shiver, and lean back. Away from him.

Bitter. Angry. A little bit self-loathing.

That last bit doesn’t make any fucking sense, and I lean forward, smack Gabe lightly on the arm. “What the hell, Gabe?” I say, sharply.

“Are you going to leave again?” he asks, ignoring my not-so-subtle demand for more information. I grit my teeth and his honey-gold gaze finds mine.

Begging.

I sigh. “I’m not going to leave again. I’ve done all my leaving.

His lips twist, and he looks away before I can call him on the grief I see pooling in those strange and distinct eyes of his. “I get tired, of people leaving me.”

Ah.

So this isn’t about me. At least, not all of it. I’d venture a guess and say not even most of it. Most of it is about the brother who left him. The family who left him.

Gabriel Delvin, the sweet, snarky bastard who always acts like he doesn’t care, and who cares too much.

“I’m not Aidan,” I say, softly.

His lips twitch in a grimace. “Aidan has his reasons. I know what the hell those reasons are. With you, I don’t even get a phone call telling me you’re leaving. I get a lame- ass excuse four years after the fucking fact.”

“Four years ago, if I had told you that I was in love with Archer, you would have—”

“Supported you,” Gabe says, low and furious. “Because I was your best friend, and that’s what I’ve always done. Even when you’re making stupid fucking decisions.”

I look away. “He was my brother, Gabe.”

He scoffs. “Archer is a lot of things, but your brother has never been one of them.”

I hesitate, looking at him. Really looking, my gaze raking over him and I sigh.

“Do you still love him?” he asks, suddenly, and my gaze darts up, wide and a little bit afraid. And he’s watching, too close for me to play it off. A tiny smile plays on his lips and he leans back in his chair. Shakes his head, and laughs. “I thought—well. Doesn’t matter does it.”

“Don’t,” I say, weakly.

“Don’t what? Don’t give a fuck that even now you’re lying to me, and that I can’t do a damn thing about it? Or. I know. How about the fact that I’ve waited six fucking months for you to give a shit about me. To remember that I’m down the street. But you haven’t. You’re home but you’re still in Boston, doing whatever the fuck was so damn important all these years.”

“It wasn’t like that,” I say, weakly.

“You came home and you fucked up everything. Eli—”

He cuts off, as abruptly as if I had ripped out his voice box, and I frown.

Shift in my seat. Study him, study the flush that’s in his cheeks.

No. Not fucking possible.

“What about Eli?” I ask, my voice low and sharp.

“Nothing,” Gabriel says, tossing a handful of twenties on the table and leaving.

The bastard just jumps up and fucking walks out, like I’m not sitting here, like we aren’t having a fucking conversation.

Nothing in Green County changes. Not really.

I chase after him like he’s stolen my fucking bio homework and run off.

Except now, the bio homework has something to do with my brother and there’s no way this tricky bastard is gonna get away from without answers first.

I grab his arm and jerk him around, grateful, not for the first time, that Gabe only has a couple inches on my five-four. It makes it an almost even playing field.

“What the actual fuck is happening between you and my brother, Gabriel Delvin?” I snarl and he goes still.

Shrugs, a tiny almost helpless thing and that kills me.

Fucking kills me because it’s not Gabriel.

My Gabriel has never been helpless. He doesn’t know how to be helpless. Seeing that in his eyes.

It hurts.

“Nothing, Hazy. Nothing is happening. Not anymore,” he says, and it’s bitter.

Which tells me. Something. Once. Holy shit.

“Holy shit, Gabriel, my brother?” I snarl.

“You don’t get to be pissed, Hazel. You don’t get to be angry that Eli and I did whatever it took to survive. You left me, you bitch. And you never gave a fuck. So yeah. I used him. I said fuck dignity and I used him to find out whatever I could about you and how you were doing, and I refuse to apologize for that.”

“And that required you to fuck him?” I spit.

Gabriel flinches, and he falls back a step.

How the hell did we end up fighting? How the hell did we go from happy and finally finding a place together again, to this.

Oh. Right. He took all of Eli’s damage and fucked him.

He used my brother.

“You know,” I whisper. “All of his shit, all of the girls—you know what that’s done to him. And you used him anyway, because you missed me? What the actual fuck, Gabriel.”

He stares at me, and his face is blank. So damn blank. But sad, too. I can see that like a fucking beacon, in his eyes.

“Are we done? Are you done?” he asks, shaking himself and I let go. Because his voice is cutting, mocking, angry.

Gabriel has never used that tone with me. He used it, so often, when we were growing up, slapping the idiots at school into place, jocks who thought I was easy and teachers who just annoyed him. Even Archer, when he was being a dick, which, let’s be fair, was more often than he wasn’t.

But Gabriel never spoke to me like that. I was his favorite, and that showed in every fucking word and smile and joke.

He unwraps a sucker, one of the handful he’s always carrying. Cocks an eyebrow and gives me a testy smirk. “He’s a sweet puppy, Hazel. You left him all alone here and then you want to give me shit, because I took the puppy home. Seems a bit hypocritical, even for you.”

“Fuck you, Gabriel,” I snap, and he smiles, wide and wolfish.

I bolt, before he can say it.

Before he can turn using my brother into a joke. I don’t think I’d be able to forgive him, if he did.

So I bolt, away from him, and down the tree-lined street, toward a park where I can hear kids playing, and mothers gossiping and I can get lost.

The problem is, memories. They slam into me as I slow, stepping into the playground and letting my breath out, finally. Letting my tension unravel in the quiet calm here. For a long time, I sit on the bench and, silently and watch the playground.

How many times had Archer brought me and Eli here, that first year? And then, as the years turned and we got too old to care about swings, he’d bring us here and we’d watch him hook up with girls, flirting and teasing.

Eli used to meet Amy here.

Gabriel and I would get high here, after Archer joined the Marines, and I stopped giving a fuck what people thought about me.

I wonder if Archer realizes how much I spiraled, when he left to serve and protect.

Even though I understood it. The reasons behind it. Better than Nora and Eli, I understood—I still hated it.

I shouldn’t have come to the fucking park. There’s too much open space, too many memories and regrets.

That’s fucking Green County, though.

All the memories and regrets.

The kids on the park are giggling and laughing, two little girls being watched and teased by a dark-haired, little boy, but it’s sweet. The boy is careful, even as he heckles and pushes the girls, coaxing and gently bullying them until they’re at the top of the highest slide.

The youngest slides down with no hesitation, all shrieks and skirts and laughter.

So carefree and innocent it actually hurts, even as it pulls a smile from me.

But the other two.

The little blond girl is watching the slide with these big, wary eyes, like it’s a trap she refuses to trust, and the boy is crouched at her side, talking to her patiently. Coaxing but not pushing.

Waiting.

The littlest girl scrambles back to the top, and slides down three times, while they perch there, until the girl finally, finally nods, and slides down, her eyes squeezed shut and her voice twisted up in a shriek.

When she lands at the bottom, she’s up and dancing, her entire body an exclamation point of excitement as the boy at the top shouts and screams encouragement.

Fucking Green County. It never changes. It’s always going to be sugar sweet and childhood and Eli and Archer. Even now—alone and furious—I’m shoved into my memories of them. Of how Archer would coax and wait, so damn patient, for me to come to him.

“Hazel?”

I stiffen. Let a smile twist my lips up, and it looks real, even if it feels fake as fuck. Turn to face the owner of that low gruff voice.

I don’t need to see him to know that it’s Michael. Don’t need to look to know that John is only two steps behind him.

Here’s what I know about the twins: they’re close. Almost too close, even for a place as dysfunctional and backwards as Green Co. can be. I’ve known them most of my life, since I was thirteen and we were in high school together.

And I think I’ve seen them separated twice.

Once was when Michael got himself arrested for beating the shit out of a football player from the next county over.

And that brings me to my second point: they’re volatile.

Michael is all cold ice, and careful judgment. He’s the one who will watch with sharp black eyes, waiting for you to fuck yourself up just enough that he can destroy you, all without ever lifting a finger.

John, on the other hand.

He was all brute strength and quick anger. He was action and force, where Michael would wait. John was impatient. He didn’t care that waiting meant you’d be even more screwed in the end. He wanted quick and dirty and bloody, and I’d seen the ugly bruises on the kids he beat the hell out of, the men he tore to pieces, often enough that being here, without my brother and Archer, alone in public with the twins—well, I’m a sane girl after all.

But there’s something about this that bothers me, and that is the third thing I know about them.

“Where is Hanna?” I ask, softly.

Because if I have rarely seen the twins without the other, I’ve almost never seen them without their sister, eight months younger, a girl as delicate and lovely as they were cruel and violent.

I liked Hanna even if I did think the too close relationship and the way Michael and John watched her bordered on a creepy that made my stomach turn when I thought too much about it.

“She wasn’t feeling well, so she stayed home,” Michael says smoothly, a hand touching John’s elbow. “But she’d love to see you. You should come by, in a few days.”

I study him, and everything in me, everything that makes me a damn good journalist and reporter, no matter what the hell happened in Boston that says otherwise—it’s screaming now.

It’s telling me that something is very wrong about all of this, and I take a deep breath to force myself to stay still. To not fall back a step, or worse, to bolt away and find my brothers.

Why is it that even now, four years after leaving, I still want them, almost instinctively, when I’m feeling threatened?

Above us the big clock strikes the hour, and John makes a low impatient noise in his throat.

“My brother is impatient, Hazel. We have an appointment. But. You will come and see us.”

It’s phrased as a statement, not a question. Not something I can ignore, if I don’t want to see them.

It’s a fucking demand.

But I nod, and I smile, and John falls back a step or two, almost vibrating in his impatience. Michael flicks his twin a cold stare and the other man—younger by twenty minutes, if gossip can be believed—goes still and silent, a frown still etched deep on his face.

“I apologize, Hazel,” Michael says, his voice a low hum of noise and I shrug. “John doesn’t have the best manners in the city.”

I smirk, a tiny thing, “Do you know my brother?” I ask, a gentle tease working up, even with my unease.

Michael smiles at that, and then he takes a step away. “It was truly good to see you, Hazel Beth. I’m glad you’ve come home.”

And then he nods at John who flashes me a blank stare before they’re walking away, the children and the park ignored, Michael’s long black coat flapping like a carrion bird at his ankles.

I watch them walk away, and feel him moving up behind me. He’d been there the whole time.

Gabe would never leave me alone with Michael and John. He leans his head on my shoulder, and that quickly, the tension slips away.

“Do you think they’ll ever not be creepy?” Gabriel asks, and I shrug.

“Probably not. I mean, they have such a fantastic streak going, why the fuck would they want to end that now?” I ask, and sit next to him.

Gabriel laughs, a low noise that rumbles against my skin and settles me. Home.

That’s what this has been about. From the dinner last night, to Mama’s this morning and the boys and Gabe, fuck even the damn park.

I’ve been home for six. Fucking. Months. And it’s the first time I’ve acted like it means something other than just my address changing.

It’s the first time I’ve let myself be home.

“I’m sorry, Hazy. I should have told you.”

I slide a glance at him, weighing the words. And then, softly, “You don’t have to apologize to me, Gabriel. He’s an adult and he knows what he’s doing.” I lift a hand as his smirk turns dirty, and his mouth opens and add, “If you make a joke about my brother being good in bed, I swear to god, I’ll break my hand on your fucking face.”

Gabe laughs at that, and slings an arm around my shoulders. We walk back to my car in silence and then, “What did Creeper and McCreeperson want, Hazel?”

“To catch up. You know they were always fascinated with me and the boys in school.”

He makes a noncommittal noise, and I shrug. Slip out of his arms and open the car door. I hesitate and he stares at me. Patient. Waiting.

“No more secrets, okay?”

He nods once and I add, “If you hurt him, Gabriel—.”

“I’m not going to hurt him. I swear, Hazy. If anyone ends up hurt in this equation, it’s not gonna be gigantor.”

I nod and we slide into the car as I mull it over, but I don’t press. If. When. Gabe is ready. When he is, he’ll tell me what the fuck is happening and how he managed to go and fall in love with my brother.

Eli and I don’t pretend we’re functional. It’s something that, once we realized we needed to quit pretending, worked really well for us.

The thing is, everyone is dysfunctional to some degree. And our dysfunction, well—it keeps us whole, keeps us sharp, keeps us from spiraling into shit that neither of us really wants.

Damaged kids grown up into broken adults, and I’m a prime fucking example of that shit.

Good example of our dysfunction: We live together.

It’s not as bad as it could be. I mean, it’s not like we own a house.

I do.

A brick and stone thing that I built on the property that I inherited when Dad died.

Kinda a bloody legacy, especially when you consider the money I made while at war built the fucking house.

I’m getting off track again.

Eli and I share the house. He had a place that was just for him and Amy, but it went up in the same apartment fire that snatched her away from Eli and none of us are gonna bring that shit up. He’s done well, adjusting to her being gone, and the other girls who followed, over the years. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna wave that shit in his face and hope he doesn’t have a break down.

Anyway.

I let him move in with me, because that’s what you do for family. You help them when shit isn’t working out the way they want it too.

That’s how I ended up with a spare bedroom turning into Eli’s bedroom, and a roommate who eats too many salads and forgets to restock the fridge with beer.

Annoying little shit.

So when we leave the Chief and the Mayor, we head for our place without talking about it. Because we don’t have to actually talk about this shit. After a lifetime of each other, we both know what the other wants.

And after a night on Hazel’s couch and a morning at Mama’s, we both want showers and clean fucking clothes.

Enough that I don’t push my brother as we drive across town, as we pour out of the Roadrunner and stumble to the house.

There will be time, after I’ve showered and changed, to deal with my brother and whatever the fuck is happening that got us a case turning a fucking prostitute into an informant.

Because, yeah. I’m still hung up on why the fuck the mayor thinks Elijah would be any good at that.

As I strip, I catch the faintest hint of strawberry and vanilla and rain.

And just like that, I’m hard.

Fuck.

Hazel. Eli and Nora are gonna fucking kill me. And I can’t bring myself to give a damn. Because I’ve waited four fucking years to have her again. To have her hands in my hair, demanding and fierce.

Hazel wasn’t soft. Everyone saw her, saw her blonde hair and big blue eyes, that innocent-as-fuck little girl smirk, and they saw sugar-sweet-needs-to-be-protected.

They didn’t see my Hazel. A girl fierce enough that she so often slapped me down to size. Fucking me.

I grin. All sass and bite, until I got her legs open and slid my fingers in that sweet wet heat. Then she was putty. Sweet, moaning putty, and god, I wanted her again.

There’s a long list of reasons why fucking Hazel Beth Campton is a bad idea. Her brother and mine will likely kill me for it. Not to mention our foster mother. There’s her almost disturbing tenacity when it comes to a story, to what she wants—fucking a journalist who has been digging around the County isn’t the best idea for a rising detective.

She thinks I don’t know about that—she’s kept it under wraps, as much as she could.

But this is fucking Green County and nothing here stays buried forever.

Maybe that’s her whole angle.

But the real reason—the one thing that keeps tripping me up, is that she’s my best friend. My secret keeper and confidant, the girl who helped me keep my family safe, who always had my back when shit got hard.

And it did. More than any of us deserved.

As sweet as her pussy was, as much as I wanted her again, wanted her naked and panting under me—was it fair to her? Was good sex—okay, fantastic fucking sex—worth the risk of fucking up one of the best things that had ever happened to me?

Yes.

There was that thought. The one that said—this is Hazel. She wasn’t some girl I’d fuck in the back room of the bar before I went home and forgot her, to smile politely when I wrote her a ticket two months later.

It was Hazel. Everything would be easier and harder and more. How the fuck could it be anything but?

And god. The thought of getting her again. Naked and panting, her lips around my dick.

I groan, and reach for my dick. I can still taste her. I can feel her tight cunt rippling around my fingers and I want that around my dick, want her pretty groans filling up the room as I fill up her body.

I can see her again. Pale skin gilded silver by moonlight, blue eyes shining, all the blonde hair a tangled mess from my hands wrapping up in it.

The smooth arch of her throat as I fucked her, and the wrecked pleasure on her face as she came, shuddering silky sweet around me.

I groan, my body slumping against the wall of the shower as my dick leaps in my hand, my orgasm slamming into me, through me, so fucking hard I almost slip.

Almost hit my ass and I groan, again, the pleasure ripping through me and her laughing eyes. She’d laugh her ass off, knowing she’d nearly knocked me on my ass.

I turn into the water, let it wash over my face and groan again.

I am so fucking screwed.

Eli is in the kitchen when I emerge, clean and dressed, with all inappropriate thoughts about Hazel tucked into a neat little box, locked tight and shoved into the back of my mind.

He hands me a cup of coffee at me and I sip it once. Hot as fuck, with a hint of sugar to cut the dark, bitter brew, which is, frankly, the only way to drink coffee.

“Tell me,” I say, my voice dipping into the older brother order that got Eli to do his fucking homework and fess up to smoking weed with Gordon.

It’s never not worked on Elijah.

His lips tighten and his eyes slide away. “It’s not a big deal, man.”

“It’s a big enough deal that we’re being hauled in to handle an informant, and unless your game has seriously gone to hell in the past few years, I’m not sure that makes any fucking sense.”

He makes a face and brushes past me. “My game is fucking fine, Archer. I—do you remember Scarlett?”

I go very still. The kind of still that I learned in the Corps, when I was still to keep from getting killed, or focused on the bastards I was supposed to kill.

“How the actual fuck do you think I’d forget her?” I ask, my voice low and furious.

Eli, the bastard, has the grace to blush.

“I’m looking for her sister,” he says, simply.

And I swallow all my fury. All the anger that’s spilling up and threatening to bubble over. “Because she didn’t do enough fucking damage when she tore through your life, you thought that hunting down her fucking sister was a good idea?” I spit.

Eli flinches. But his voice is a low growl, pitched to keep me from getting too pissed, “Archer,” he starts.

“Why?” I snap. “Why the hell would you do this? Does Nora know?”

He pales.

No. Of fucking course she doesn’t. If I didn’t know, she sure as fuck wouldn’t know. Eli is keeping secrets. Again. Never mind that last time—I shove that thought down and shake my head.

“You are the most selfish bastard I know,” I snap. “This would fucking devastate her.”

“She’s a kid, Archer.” Eli says, his voice exhausted. “She’s a fucking kid, and she got sucked into this shit because of Scarlett. Emmie might have a had a bitch of a sister, but is that really something you want to hold against her?”

“Do you not get it, Eli?” I ask, my voice low and furious. “I don’t give a fuck about her. About anyone that toxic whore had anything to do with. And you—you keeping secrets from me? Yeah, isn’t that what got you in trouble in the fucking first place?”

His face is pale. Pale and so full of self-loathing I can actually see it, rolling like a goddamned wave across his face, and every part of me that is a big brother wants to pull him into a hug and assure him that I’m not actually pissed. That he’s fine, this is fine, that I know there’s an explanation.

But the truth is—there’s always an explanation, when Eli is involved. And I can’t listen to it, not right now.

The phone rings, the shrill shriek of Billings. I snatch it up and snarl, “What?”

“Get your ass out to County Line. We’ve got a triple fucking homicide.”

My blood runs ice cold, and I stumble a step.

County Line is the country. Way the fuck out, a place that edges where Green County bleeds into the next township over.

It’s all fields and woods and farms, and acres and acres of open space, perfect for getting lost or finding yourself or whatever the fuck other poetic shit Hazel would spin.

She fucking loves County Line. Always has. Always said it reminded her of home.

It’s where her farmhouse is.

“Archer. You hear me?” Billings shouts and it narrows my thoughts down to where I can hear, where I’m not drowning in the fear that’s still swimming in my veins.

“Address is incoming. Keep it silent, boys, we’re trying to figure out what the fuck happened before we tell the whole goddamned County. Get over there.”

He hangs up abruptly and I shift, reaching for my gun, discarded on the table.

Eli is watching me, warily, and I remember suddenly we’re in the middle of a fucking fight.

Feels really goddamned distant, all of a sudden.

“Let’s move, Lijah,” I spit. “Triple homicide on County Line.”

I see it. All of the terror and wildness that had filled me, reflected in my brother.

It’s not her. It can’t be her. Even knowing that, the fear is like this choking thing, until the text comes through.

3645 County Line.

Oh thank Christ.

“It’s six houses down,” I say, gruffly and Eli almost hits the ground. He does sway and I grab his arm. Steadying him. Steadying myself.

Six. Fucking. Houses.

Sure the farm houses out there had anywhere between half a mile and two between them, but still.

It’s too damn close for comfort. I want to see her, a hungry want that hits like a visceral need, and I can’t.

I can’t fucking see her because I have a fucking job to do.

Dammit all to hell and back.

“Let’s go,” I order, and Eli lurches into motion, grabbing his weapon holster and shrugging it over his shoulders. Neither of us are in suits, not anymore, but neither of us really give a fuck either.

We’re out the door and I hit the driver seat of my car.

“Gabe,” Eli spits out. There’s a hesitation, and then, sharply, “You can tear me a new one later, Gabriel. Get your ass to my sister’s house and call me when you know she’s safe.”

He hangs up before Gabriel can respond, and I throw him a quick look. “Gabe?”

“Don’t,” Eli spits, and I don’t.

I just drive.

I have no fucking clue what we’re walking into.

I watch Gabriel hang up, his forehead furrowed into a frown as he stares at his phone like it might bite him.

“You okay?” I ask, moving around my kitchen. Gabriel doesn’t respond for a moment, and I let him have his space, pouring tea into mugs for us, pushing his across the counter so his hands can come up and cup it.

I add a bar of Godiva, and he flashes a quick, grateful smile. I know he’d rather have hot chocolate, but I ran out a few weeks ago, and when we raided the damn grocery store, Archer didn’t grab more.

It occurs to me that I should make a note to grab it soon. Especially if Gabe was about to become a fixture at my home again.

“You okay?” I repeat and he nods.

Flashes me a quick smirk. “Your brother has definitely upped the crazy, sweetheart.”

I frown, blow on my tea and ask quickly, “Eli has always been crazy, Gabe. You just like his hair too much to give a fuck.”

He leers. Actually fucking leers at me. Who even does that? “It’s not his hair that I like, Hazy.”

I make a face and wave a hand, “Dude, TMI. That’s my brother!”

Gabriel laughs. Sips at his tea and make a face when it’s not chocolate.

“He wants to know you’re safe. You got some kind of stalker you forgot to tell me about?”

I roll my eyes, and he grins. “Pretty sure if I did, you’d notice just because you won’t quit fucking watching me.”

“It gives me something to do while cupcakes bake,” he says, waving a hand.

As if Gabriel Delvin is ever actually bored. He has his fingers in too many things to ever be truly bored.

“Hey, Gabe, speaking of brothers,” I say, gently and he stiffens, all of the easy warmth draining out of him and I remember.

We’re still slipping into the easy place that is us. After four years, I can’t expect all of the ease that we had, once. I can’t expect that when I push him, he’ll fold and give me the hard stuff without flinching.

“Sorry,” I murmur.

Because there is, under everything, the loss of a brother.

His favorite brother. Aidan. I shift a little, away from him, but still close. Giving him space.

Gabe doesn’t like caring. Not really. But he also can’t seem to help himself.

He cares because he can’t not, even when he’s an ass and acting like it’s him against the world.

Which is why he took it so hard, when Aiden ran away from Green County.

It wasn’t really Aiden’s fault. When you’re living an epic love story and one half decides to walk away without any fucking reason, it’s hard to stay and face the fall out.

Gabriel understood that as much as I did. Didn’t make it any easier to accept it.

“He hates it there,” Gabe says, softly.

I go still, watching him and he gives me a small shrug. A little thing that stings. “Not so different from you, when you think about it, Hazel. He ran away from what he wanted and hates it as much as you did.”

“Who says I hated it?” I ask, my heart pounding.

Gabe scoffs, a smirk on his lips and the moment passes, too quick to hold onto. “I’m your best friend, Hazy. I know you.”

“What did Eli want?”

Something flickers in his eyes. “Wanted me to make sure you’re safe. He didn’t tell me why.”

And Gabriel would. Because drama between them aside, Gabriel and my brother have always worked to keep me safe and happy.

Archer has always worked with them.

“I need to call him,” I say, softly and Gabe nods once.

Eli doesn’t answer.

Jackass.

I growl a curse under my breath and hang up, dialing Archer while Gabe putters around my kitchen. “How long did he say to stay with me?” I ask and Gabriel shrugs.

“Didn’t really put a time stamp on it, sweetheart,” Gabe says. The phone is ringing and ringing and…

“What, Hazel?”

“Watch your fucking tone,” I snap. “Why the hell did you sic Gabe on me?”

There’s a breath of hesitation and I know what it is.

It’s got the feel Eli has, when I ask about work and he hesitates before telling me the barest details. But then. Archer spits a curse. “Triple homicide, a few miles away on County Line.”

I feel my gut seize up, flutter in that shift of nerves that I always get when a story is there inches away and begging for me to snatch it up.

“Hazel, for once in your fucking life, I need you to do what I say. Lock your fucking doors, stay with Gabriel and wait for me to give you the all clear.”

“Archer,” I say, softly and he huffs a sigh.

“We just got here, Hazy-eyes.” He goes distant for a second, and I can hear him talking to Eli before the door to car slams shut. Then his voice is back and it’s my voice. The gruff, low, sexy as sin voice he only ever uses with me, when we’re alone.

“Hazel, please. This—it’s bad. I can’t be worried about you. Gabriel will keep you safe, and you’ll keep him safe, and I’ll give you as much information as I can, as soon as I clear the scene. But, please. For me?”

I let out my breath slowly.

“Okay, Archer.” I whisper.

I hear his huff of relief, too real for him to choke it off, and then, “Baby girl, I gotta go. I’ll call soon.”

I nod and he disconnects and I look over at Gabriel. Flash a smile that doesn’t feel even the slightest bit real.

“So, it looks like we’re gonna be spending some time together,” I say, weakly.

I spent four years in the Marine Corps before I joined the GCPD.

Two of those were spent on deployment, a nightmare of war and blood and death.

I saw people torn to pieces by bombs, girls ripped apart by rape and abuse, men beaten so badly they couldn’t breathe, eyeballs hanging from shattered orbital sockets. I saw my own unit torn apart by gunfire and shrapnel. I saw blood splatter and dead dogs being eaten by children, and dead children being eaten by dogs.

I saw every fucking nightmare I could possibly imagine.

But war?

War is a beast, a fucking monster. But it’s supposed to be. It’s like the devil—something you know and expect and can depend on because it’s supposed to be evil.

That wasn’t the world I came back to. It was supposed to be quiet. Bad shit should happen, but not….

Not this.

Because this? This is worse than anything I ever saw in war.

“You need this,” the scene tech said, her face pale, lips trembling.

Eli frowned. Pamela was too much of a hardass to be this torn up by a dead body, so what the actual fuck?

I take the masks from her and slip it over my face, sliding my feet into protective booties.

And then I enter the house, my brother following me, and we step into hell.

The first victim.

(I had to think of them like that. Had to.)

Was found in the foyer. Less than ten feet from the door. Three bullet holes, one to the gut, one through the shoulder. The last was through the back of her head, punched out the front, taking half her face with it.

She was a mess of blood and brain and bone, most of it splattered in a grisly pattern on the beige carpet.

(It was beige. Once. Now it’s a deep, deep red, and it squishes under my feet as I crouch next to her.)

Back of the head, splayed limbs, the expression of terror on her face—the unforced entry.

She opened the door. Let the killer in.

She ran, when they pulled the gun.

(Oh, jesus, they shot an unarmed grandmother in the back of the fucking skull.)

The first victim knew them. Enough that she let them in, on a cool summer evening. It’s Green County. Not completely unheard of.

(This is. Holy fuck, this is.)

There are two distinct set of footprints, tracking bloody away from the first victim.

There’s vomit, in the middle of the hallway, and bloody hand prints braced on the ground.

(Eli makes a noise that’s like a choked sob. I grit my teeth, and give him a sharp look, questioning. My brother looks like he’s gonna fall the fuck apart. “I can process-”

“Shut up, Archer.”)

The victim’s son found her.

He’s the one who threw up and smeared blood prints on the ground in the hallway. The second victim.

(Oh jesus oh fuck fuck fuck.)

Is found in a closet.

She’s bound, with duct tape, at the hands and feet. Two shots to the head, neat and tidy. Close up, and not the gun that killed the first victim.

She looks startled. Not scared.

(Silencers. They fucking used silencers. And she knew them.)

It’s at the back of the downstairs, well away from the first victim. The door was left open, after they shot her, and blood dried, dripping down the wall where she’s slumped with her forever startled expression.

(What the hell was the last thing she saw, that put that startled look in her eyes?)

There are no tracks in her blood.

(She was fucking collateral damage. Her and the grandmother. They weren’t here for her, but they sure as fuck didn’t have any problem killing her.)

The third victim is upstairs.

(Eli gags when we reach the top of the staircase, and for a second, as I look, I can’t process what I’m seeing. I have to process what I’m seeing. I have to do my job. Stay detached.)

There is blood. Everywhere.

She wasn’t restrained.

There are footprints, and they crisscross across the room.

She was running. And one of the killers—there were two, there had to have been two, because of the footprints next to the first victim—was chasing her.

And there’s blood, everywhere.

Like they worked her over with a knife.

It sprays, obscenely beautiful patterns against the stark white walls, dried now to a rusty red.

This was the target.

There is a fourth victim here, a girl, maybe nineteen, shot point blank.

(Who the fuck is she and why did they kill her? I wonder if Pamela has ID’d them.)

The target. The third victim. They didn’t just chase her and torture her with a knife.

They beat her to death.

She’s almost unrecognizable as a human. She’s a red smear of meat and guts and bones.

(Eli throws up. I hear him retch, messy and loud and my stomach almost rebels.

This isn’t hell. This is so fucking far past that.)

There’s a bloody barbell next to the lump of meat and bone and hair, and I crouch next to it and the victim. Faintly, I can see the impressions of the barbell in her skin.

This was personal. Whoever this girl was, whoever the hell the killers were. This was the goal. They had a problem with her.

The other three dead bodies were incidental, or—

(Oh fuck, did they kill them, just to torture her? Before they cut her up and beat her to death, did they slaughter her family first?)

She was the target. And it was personal.

It wasn’t a random home invasion by a drug addict looking to score some money or prescription pills.

This was calculated and personal and fucking savagely executed.

And the killers walked out, without ever being seen.

I feel sick, when I step out of the house. Eli is already outside, crouching next to the bushes, and Pamela is hovering over him, all caustic concern.

I arch an eyebrow at her and she shrugs. Pats my brother on his back and shifts away.

The Chief is approaching and I growl Eli’s name. He nods, and pushes to his feet.

Chief eyes my brother for a minute and then, “How bad did you fuck up my crime scene, Eli?”

He flushes.

“You been in there?” I ask, and it pulls Billing’s attention to me. He nods, slowly and I glance back.

I can still see each of them, sprawled out and dead. “You ever seen any shit like that before?” I ask.

And Billings, damn him, shakes his head.

“It was personal,” Eli offers and Billings glances at him. Eli squares his shoulders. He might be in the doghouse for fucking up the crime scene, but his instincts are still sound. And he’s right.

“There’s too much rage and intent for it to be random.”

“Why do you say that?” Peter says, sharply.

“Because they tortured the girl. The others, they killed. Quick and painless. But she was all kinds of intentional. They wanted her to suffer. No one tortures a girl like that unless they’re being pushed by motive.”

Chief grunts and hands me a thin file.

“They were found when the old lady’s son came home. She lived with them, but it’s his house. He worked third shift, and came home to this.”

He’s the one who threw up in the hallway. Makes sense. He came home to a dead mother, and his daughters in the house.

“The girl upstairs—the third gunshot vic—was a friend. Beth Griffin was visiting Crystal Watson.”

Wrong night to get together with the BFF.

“You two have point on this. It’s your priority,” Peter says, his voice a low growl.

“What about the prostitutes?”

The Chief gives us a blank stare. “What the fuck about them? Did you see that house, Archer?”

And that’s that.

We spend the day processing the scene. By the time Pamela and her boys have finished cataloguing all of the blood splatter, footprints, bullet casings and wounds, by the time the bodies have been carted away for the medical examiner and proper identification, by the time I finally leave that nightmare house of horrors—my head is pounding, and Eli has descended into utter silence.

I leave him to it. Frankly, I’m not in the mood to sift through my brother’s brooding. Not when I’m so fucking deep in it myself.

We were fighting, when I caught the call that shattered the day.

Fuck, it’s only been one fucking day. We sat, happy, this morning at Mama’s and listened to Hazel banter with Eli and tease Hailey.

I swallow hard.

“Did you call Hazel?”

I glance at my brother who looks at me dully. We’re halfway back to the house. To our house, but it occurs to me that I don’t want to go back to our empty place.

And Eli could use more than that too.

So I swing the Roadrunner around sharply, a hard crank of the wheel. Eli mutters a low curse, but rolls with it.

“Where—“ he starts blearily, and I shoot him a quick look.

“Oh,” he says, instead.

And it fucking settles me. Not all of the anger and worry, not the gnawing fear and outrage that some monster destroyed the peace in my town. But some of the edges of nerves settle, and I can take what feels like the first full breath of the fucking day.

Nothing has changed. There’s still a fucking monster out there, and tomorrow, Eli and I have to sit down with the parents of a murdered girl, the devastated father who lost his entire fucking family.

But for the moment—all of that drops away because there isn’t a goddamned thing I can do until the ME finishes with the bodies.

The one thing I can do is take care of my family. Take care of Eli who doesn’t need to be alone. And take care of Hazel who I’ve been worried about all day, and who is so fucking good at settling me when I’m spinning out.

I want her, here. Not for sex—I’m so fucked up right now, so lost in my head I don’t think sex is on the table. But I want my best friend, the one who can sit in my silence and still be so fucking present it doesn’t feel like I’m alone.

When she’s close to me, I don’t feel like I’m alone.

And I fucking need that, right now.

Gabe and I spend the day watching shitty movies.

I fuck around on my computer, playing with the idea of working on my article, but my heart isn’t really in it. My mind—both of our minds—are a few miles away, where my brother and Archer are dealing with a murder scene.

A triple fucking homicide.

He stress cooks, and steals my computer and bitches when I refuse to let him run to his house. Smith whined and paced and acted like a little bastard, getting under foot, until Gabe finally threw himself on the couch and then the traitor crawled up on him and settled to his absent-minded caress.

“Do you know what happened?” Gabe asks, around three. By now, we’ve been together for almost four hours by the edict of my brother and we’re no longer antsy and snapping at each other. We’re just…waiting.

For what, I don’t think either of us knows.

“No,” I say, remembering that hesitation in Archer before he said triple homicide.

The one that is keeping me glued to my couch and not snatching my computer up to dig up all the fucking information I can, to find out what the hell could possibly be motivating it.

It keeps me glued here because I need Archer to know that I’d never betray his trust.

That’s what makes us work, what makes us special.

That we trust each other.

Even after everything.

So I shove it all down and I propose a movie marathon and Gabriel jumps on that, making us messy buttery popcorn sprinkled with M&M’s while I find the cheesiest horror flick I can think of on Netflix, and queue it up for us.

We’re on the third movie, and Gabriel has broken into my whiskey stash when I hear the Roadrunner rumble up. The damn thing could wake the fucking dead. It jars both of us up on the couch, and Gabe’s glassy eyes clear as he stares speculatively at the door.

When I try to stand though, he jerks me back, holding me on the couch. “Gabe!” I snap, and he side eyes me, all golden sharp gaze.

“Just wait,” he says, soft and serious.

So I do and then Archer and Eli stumble in. Because of course they both have keys to my house.

And I swallow a scream.

Because they are both fucking covered in blood.

“Holy shit,” Gabriel breathes, and I choke back the inappropriate laugh.

Eli is swaying, so unsteady on his feet that for a second, I think he might be drunk.

He’s not though. He’s just so far past the point of dealing, he’s almost asleep, dead on his fucking feet. Archer though. Archer is all furious energy, exhaustion etched in long lines on his face, but he’s not falling asleep walking—he’s furious energy and crashing relief.

He steps forward, and jerks me off the couch and into his arms, a sigh of relief slipping free.

“Dude,” Eli slurs. “Get off Hazel. Your fucking filthy.”

He makes a noise that reminds me, vaguely, of a growl and my arms—when the fuck did I wrap my arms around him—tighten a little, holding him tight when he’d pull away.

I’m not ready to give up his warmth.

Even if he is disgusting right now. He stays where he is, a warm blanket of home.

“Someone gonna clue us in on why the hell you’re covered in blood?” Gabriel asks, his voice almost a grin. “Gotta say, boys, you look like you’ve been through a slaughterhouse.”

Archer flinches, a full body thing in my arms and I twist to glare at Gabriel as Eli starts to cackle hysterically. “Dude,” Archer says, grumpy and Eli shakes a hand, helplessly, still laughing as he stumbles out of the room. I pull away from Archer and he shakes his head. “Leave him, Hazel. Let him take a shower and get his shit together.”

I hate it. But I do what he says, and focus on Archer. “You should shower, too. Grab some of Eli’s shit, and go to my bathroom.”

Archer hesitates for a half a heartbeat, and then he nods and stumbles a few steps away, mumbling, “Thanks, Hazy Eyes.”

When we’re alone, I stare at Gabe, and he looks terrified. I’m not used to seeing Gabe so scared. “Make dinner. Sandwiches, maybe some tomato soup—Mama sent some home, it’s in the freezer.”

Gabe jerks a little, and nods, his fear fading. Because he has something to do—and he always functions better when he has something to do.

While he bustles around the kitchen, I retreat to my bedroom and change quickly, out of the now bloody tank top and yoga pants.

Archer really was filthy.

The door to my bathroom opens while I’m gathering up his dirty clothes, discarded haphazardly on the ground of my bedroom, and mine.

And I know I should retreat. I should get the hell out of here, because we’re both too raw today, too on edge from the day.

But I look at him. A tiny stolen glance.

And freeze.

He’s wearing a pair of Eli’s oversized sweat pants, hanging low and precarious on his hips, and water is dripping down his chest.

Broad and tattooed and god, I forgot.

I forgot how gorgeous he is.

His hair is wet, and his lips are bright red, like he’s been biting them, and his eyes—oh god, his eyes. He stares at me, so hard and bright and intent that my entire body trembles, because he looked at me like that, when he fucked me.

That one time, a thousand nights ago.

“Hazel,” he growls, and I stumble back a step. I can’t face him right now, not with Gabe and Eli down the hall. So I retreat, and the second I do, he goes still, shock flickering through his eyes.

“Gabe is making dinner,” I babble, and then I almost fall out of my bedroom, and slam the door shut behind me.

Dinner is a silent affair, while Archer watches me sidelong. Eli is almost asleep at the table, and part of me wants to know what the hell happened because, hello, journalist. The other part of me—the part that is all sister—wants to know what the actual fuck could knock my strong, unshakable brother on his ass like this.

But I don’t ask. I pick at my grilled cheese and stir my soup and trade glances with Gabe nervously until the food is gone and the silence is stretching too tight and tense and— “I think that’s my cue. I’m going home.”

Gabe’s brisk announcement jerks Eli out of his doze and brings his head up, his hazel eyes wide and startled. “What? Why?”

“Because, Lijah, it’s almost midnight, and as lovely as being with Hazel is, I have a home and a life and, you know, a job.”

“Gabe,” Archer says, his voice a low warning.

“Archer,” Gabe mocks, his eyes laughing. “I understand you’re worried. I get that you want your little girl protected. But now it’s time for me to go home. You’re here. You keep her safe.”

“I’ll drive you,” Eli says standing. Archer flicks a glance at Eli but he doesn’t argue and if Gabe wants to protest, he’s keeping it to himself.

Something is playing out between these two and we are content to let it happen.

“Take the Roadrunner,” Archer says and Eli catches the keys that he throws over, before the door shut behind them both. Leaving us in silence and tension. I get up too quickly and almost run from the room carrying dirty dishes to the kitchen. Maybe Archer is too tired to chase me or maybe he knows I’ll come back. Either way, he stays seated while I busy myself cleaning up Gabriel’s mess.

When there’s nothing left to do I finally sit across from him and slide a beer across the table, into his waiting hands. “Want to talk about it?” I ask and he shakes his head. I nod. “Okay. Come sit in the living room with me.”

It’s stupid and dangerous and asking for trouble.

But it’s also easy, effortless and so wonderfully relaxing after a long day of tension and worry and wondering where the hell he was and what the hell was happening. I’m with my Archer. My best friend.

He sits too close on the couch and I let myself lean against his warm. And for now, as his arm comes up around me, holding me to him as he falls apart, his big body shaking.

Not crying. Archer doesn’t cry.

But shaking.

Like everything that happened, that he saw today, has finally hit him and he can’t handle it anymore.

Here’s the thing about Brandon Archer. He’s the strongest man I’ve ever known. Even when he was falling apart, ripped up by grief from losing his father. When he saw that other people needed him, all of that grief was shoved aside and forgotten. And all he cared about was the people around him.

As long as someone needs him to be strong, Archer won’t allow himself to be anything but.

And maybe that’s what makes us work.

Because he never felt the need to be strong around me. He meets me with as much honesty as I meet him. And if I see him falling apart, if I see him weak and shaking and broken. Well.

That’s just another one of the secrets that I carry.

I don’t know how long we sit there. But eventually his shaking calms, and his lips whisper against the top of my hair.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he says.

“Don’t apologize to me,” I order fiercely, and he laughs. It’s weak and it dies almost as soon as it forms. But it’s still there and that settles some of my nerves.

I lean up to look at him, not terribly surprised to find his bright green eyes watching me. Studying. Different now from the way he looked at me when we were growing up.

Now when he’s not careful. When he’s tired in moments like this, I can see what he doesn’t want me to see. Lazy hunger, banked heat. It’s the way he looks at someone he wants. It’s the way he’s been looking at me for years.

“What are we doing, Hazel?” he whispers. I give a miniscule shrug, something he feels more than you can actually see, lick my lips and he groans watching me.

His eyes go lazy and half-lidded, watching. His thumb curves up over my chin, brushing, whisper soft, against my lips, and I feel his body jerk, a startled motion he tries to hide, when the tip of my tongue swipes over the pad of his thumb.

Then I catch his finger with my teeth, bite down just enough to make his breath catch, and his hands are suddenly hard. Demanding. Gripping my hair and yanking me across the tiny space and pulling me to his lips.

I make a tiny noise, a tiny protest or sigh and he shifts, pulling me from where I’m curled against him so that I’m straddling his lap, and my hands are braced against his shoulders as his tongue slips, sugar sweet, past my lips, licking deep and hungry, like I am the last meal of a dying man.

He kisses me like he will die without me, and like I am precious, and I feel it.

Even without his hand stroking over me—they stay, still and chaste in my hair and at my hip—even without his cock rubbing against me.

I feel more. I feel wanted. Like, here. This. Is all he’s ever wanted, all either of us ever wanted, and I wonder why the hell I ever forgot that. His teeth nip at my lip, catching the low pout and tugging, this perfect blend of pain and pleasure that has me keening and arching against him and Archer groans against me.

The sound of the Roadrunner makes me jerk away from Archer, almost falling on the floor in my haste to get out of his lap. He curses and struggles to his feet, retreating to the bathroom before Eli comes inside. My brother finds me sitting on the couch alone and a little flushed.

If Eli notices, he doesn’t say. Just looks at the beer sitting on the table and says, “Do you have anything stronger?”

We drink our way through two bottles of vodka, half-empty before we got our hands on them. Eli falls asleep quickly, while Archer and I keep drinking and slowly he tells me a little about what happened today.

“But that kind of thing doesn’t happen here,” I protest.

He nods, “I know, Hazy Eyes.”

“This is why I moved home,” I say, “to get away from shit like this.”

His eyebrow goes up.

It’s the first time I talked about home and about Boston. Which means I’m either too tired or too drunk to remember that I’m not supposed to be talking about Boston.

Archer isn’t telling me everything and I’m not telling him everything. And I kind of hate it.

“Hey, Hazel,” he says. I look at him and he’s watching me with that careful stare that has all of the emotions locked away. Blank. I hate that look. “You know this can’t happen right?”

“I think it is happening right now,” I say, not bothering to pretend I don’t know what he’s talking about.

“Nora would kill me and Eli would let her do it.”

“Nora doesn’t get to decide how I live my life. And she doesn’t get to decide who makes me happy.”

The words linger on the table in silence and I wonder what he’ll do with them.

“I make you happy?” he asks at last, and I shrug because, of course he does.

How does he not know that? How does he not know that everything I’ve done has been because of him?

I give him this sad smile and stand up. “I’m going to go to bed,” I say to myself. “I’ve had too much to drink and this-” I wave my hand between us vaguely, “this isn’t something I want to do drunk.”

He watches me walk away. But his voice is soft and soothing caress when he calls, “Sweet dreams, baby.”

The boys are gone when I wake up, which I expect.

For a while I wander through the house, feeling a little discontent and then lost. Smith follows me, whining, and I grab his leash. Maybe fresh air will help clear my head.

Maybe it won’t but it won’t hurt.

And I need to get out of the house, even if it’s just for a few minutes. Archer didn’t leave orders for me to stay inside the house today. So I shove my feet into floppy shoes, and my dog and I step out into the country.

What I forgot that I loved about Kansas when I lived in Boston is the wide open spaces. County Line is farmland on the outskirts of the county, outside of Green County proper. It’s all wheat fields waving and corn stalks wrestling in the soft breeze.

Right now the fields are still soft and quiet, but in a few months will be alive with the crops of the heartland and the air will be ripe with the scent of life. I wandered down the road, Smith prancing along at my side.

He doesn’t like his leash but he knows that until we reach the grove of trees that leads to the river he has to stay on it.

The thing that bothers me about the murders is that things like this don’t happen here.

I know that there’s more to Green County than meets the eye.

I know that the prostitution outside the base is a front for trafficking.

I know that we’re not a hotspot for drugs but we are corridor for them and that someone big is behind the scenes, funding a meth operation in the county.

But for all of our problems, and we have them, we don’t have brutal murders. And when we do have murder, it’s never this. The massacre of an entire family.

I can’t wrap my head around what happened. And even though I know that Archer wants me to leave it alone, I can’t. I dig out my phone and start jotting down notes as Smith splashes through the creek bed.

Archer doesn’t have to like it. Hell, he dislikes a lot of things I do. But. I came back to Green County to come home and blow the lid off of all of the corruption that’s been sitting underneath the surface of the County since I was a little girl. This seems like the perfect fucking place to start.

We spend almost an hour at the creek, until Smith is exhausted and I have pages of notes and questions that need to be answered. My brain is going in a million directions at once as we walk home.

I love this part, the high of chasing a new story. Digging into the story that I wasn’t expecting. Boston almost killed all of my love for journalism. Being shoved into a tiny box and stories that didn’t matter almost killed me. And the one time I chased a story that wasn’t mine, I lost my job.

That’s the dirty ugly secret.

Coming home wasn’t a choice, it was a necessity. I investigated the wrong person, exposed the wrong secrets and I lost everything because of it.

And I spent six months grieving, mad, bitter as hell that I was forced to come home. But now that I’m here and Archer and Eli are pulling me back in to the family that we’ve always had I don’t resent it as much.

It almost feels nice.

When he asks later what the hell I was thinking, I’ll honestly be able to say everything.

I wasn’t paying attention because my mind was everywhere but here.

Smith, never a good guard dog, was exhausted.

And enough people—Gabriel, Archer, Eli, Mama—had my key that the door being unlocked wasn’t anything to be alarmed by.

My alarm came when I saw Michael and Raphael sitting bloody in my kitchen.

“Come inside, Hazel,” Michael says, a bloody smile playing across his lips.

Raphael stands and comes behind me, pushing the door closed and blocking me in. Michael leans back and says, softly, “We have a little story to tell you.”

I don’t like leaving while she’s asleep.

But duty calls and four dead bodies means I don’t get to pick and choose when I leave. Elijah is miraculously not hungover but he looks like shit. When I say as much, he rolls his eyes and says, “Because you look so much fucking better?”

Little bastard has a point.

We swing by our house and dress quickly. And then I head to Calhoun Funeral Home.

The medical examiner is finishing the autopsy. Not that it will tell us anything we don’t already know except maybe the order of the kills and if there was sexual assault at play. Green County is small enough, with a low enough crime rate that we don’t have a morgue. The murdered bodies share space with a naturally dead.

Pamela says that it doesn’t matter how they died, they have to either get cut up or dolled up and that can both happen in the same basement. Elijah says she’s too lazy to go between two buildings to do her work. I think the mayor doesn’t push for a more official space because of budget as much as she’s scared of Pam.

Not that I blame her. Pamela knows how to work a scalpel and a bone saw better than anyone I’ve ever met. She’s feisty, horny, and quick to anger. I’m more than a little scared of her myself.

“Tell me what we got, Pam,” I say as we enter the room. She gives me a look and even exhausted, Elijah manages to laugh at me. I glare at him before I refocus on Pam. With four dead bodies in the room, the least I can do is act like a professional.

“Well, there’s not much that you don’t know,” she says, “Gunshot wounds for three of the victims. The grandmother was first and, you know, it played out exactly as the scene said it did. She got shot running away. It’s clean through and through. They knew what they were doing. All of this was very well done.”

“Really, Pam?” Elijah says, in disbelief.

“Look, just because I don’t like the results doesn’t mean I can’t see good work. I admire professionals and whoever this was they were a professional. If they hadn’t been, they wouldn’t have come in with silencers. They wouldn’t have come in and killed methodically. They knew exactly what they wanted.”

“And what’s that?” I ask quietly.

“Her,” Pamela points to the girl who was beaten to death. The body—remains?—I’ve been avoiding looking at because it’s hard to see something like this. Even here. Even in a clinical setting instead of the pale carpet and bright walls of her private home.

“They beat her to death,” Pam says, softly. “Before that, they worked her over with a blade. She’s got over a dozen wounds that I can say come from a knife and not the barbell. And the beating probably obscured some of them.” She takes a breath and then, “And there was sexual assault.”

Fuck.

They wanted her to suffer, whoever the hell was behind this.

The question is—why?

When we leave Pam and the dead bodies, we head back to the station. Elijah is staring at the small file Pam handed us before we left. It lists all of the victim. Ages. Cause of death.

It’s very little to go on.

I swallow down my irritation.

“Where to?” Elijah asks.

“We need to check in with the Chief,” I say.

And then the next of kin needed to be interviewed. Fuck. How the hell did I sit down with the parents of a college girl who spent the night studying with her best friend and never left?

How do I explain that, wrong place, wrong time stole their living, breathing heart?

This is the part of being a cop that I loathe. That I’ve never been able to shake.

I want, suddenly and fiercely, Hazel.

Not sex.

Hazel. The sharp smile and sarcasm that cover her softness and concern. Her, a steady presence that made me steady just because I couldn’t help but want to match her, when she was so calm.

I want to wrap up in the quiet of her house, on her couch, and sleep until the grief and shock and nauseous slips away.

Until Green County goes back to what it should be, something familiar and comforting, and safe.

Where my biggest problem is my stupid little brother toeing the line of off the reservation.

“Archer?” Elijah says, and I blink out of my thoughts, and realize we’re at the station. The Roadrunner is ticking slightly, the motor cooling—I make a mental note to deal with that when I get some time off—and I’m staring into space.

Blank.

I shiver and shake the feeling and nod. “Right. Let’s go.” I shove out of the car. What I want is not important right now. Not when there are dead bodies to deal with.

There are a very few moments in my life that are crystalline and clear. So much passes, foggy because everything else passes in a nebulous haze, lost in time and the feelings of home and anger and loss and happiness more than actual things that happened, moments that can be held on to.

But this.

This is one of those memories.

One that will stand sharp and clear and fucking devastating.

John, his hands covered is rusty, flaking blood, with spots of it still on his pants and splattered across his chest, leaning against the door to hold me in.

Michael, poised and perfect at the table, hands crossed and waiting, as patient as the devil himself, splattered with blood and reeking of death, gesturing me to sit across from him.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, and my voice shakes. They shouldn’t be here. My brother and Archer protect me. No one would dare lift a hand against me, because no one wants a pissed off Eli and Archer gunning for them.

They might be the law, but I’m under no delusions about my brothers playing legal when it comes to me and keeping me safe.

So why the hell are there two men covered in blood and vibrating with barely suppressed violence sitting in my kitchen? “Eli and Archer will kill you, if you touch me.”

That, at least, comes out steady and strong.

“We don’t want to hurt you,” Michael says, silky smooth and John makes a low noise in his throat behind me. Like a, speak-for-yourself,-brother and I roll my eyes to Michael, silently demanding.

“No one will hurt you, if you cooperate,” he amends and I tense. “How easy this is, Hazel depends entirely on you.”

I swallow hard and stare. “What do you want?”

Michael smiles and it’s a cruel, cold thing. “I want to tell you a story. And then I want you to tell ours.”

“I don’t understand,” I say, and that’s true. Not playing him at all. I don’t understand what the hell is happening here.

I don’t understand what they want.

Michael smiled then, and it’s tired but it’s not threatening. It’s the boy I went to school with. Bloody and dangerous but still Michael with his quick grin and aloof reserve. With his unnaturally close relationship to his brother and his sister.

“Did you kill those people?” I ask, softly.

The reaction is instant and explosive. John, almost forgotten, slams into me and I shriek as I fly forward until he jerks me back, against him, a sharp edge digging into my throat, my head yanked back by a too sharp grip on my hair.

Smith is snarling and barking, all fury and concern and Michael.

Michael.

He shifts in his seat, his eyes trained on his twin over my shoulder.

“Let her go, J,” he says, lowly.

“She won’t believe the truth. This is a fucking waste of time.”

Fury flares in his eyes and he slaps the table, hard enough to rattle the coffee cups, “I said, stand the fuck. Down.”

John releases me, muttering a curse under his breath as I stumble a step forward.

Michael refocuses on me, completely ignoring his twin as he stares at me. “I did nothing more than was required of me. How far would you go to protect your brothers? How far would they go to protect you? Is there a line they would not cross if someone hurt you?”

I smile, sharp and threatening, “Your about to find out, Mikey.”

He shrugs. “Perhaps. That presupposes that I want to hurt you. Or that your brother and Archer will know.”

I stiffen. “Why the hell would they not know?” I demand.

He smiles and I shiver a little. None of the kid I went to school with is in that smile. “Because if you tell them, what happened at that house will happen to them. And to Nora. And to Gabriel.”

I’m shaking because I know Michael. And I know that tone. John is a furious barely leashed storm of rage but he doesn’t scare me. He doesn’t do anything Michael doesn’t sanction and he is all rage with no thought.

Michael is precise and conniving, manipulative and deadly.

And he terrifies me.

He smiles and says, “Here’s the deal. You listen to my story. And then you tell one. And you don’t involve your brothers. Do that and you walk away from this unharmed. It’s easy, Hazel.”

I don’t have a choice. So I push away from the door and John, and sit across from Michael. Take my coffee and doctor it slowly to a drinkable state.

Sip it as I force my nerves back and slip into the role I wear best.

The reporter.

The girl who can tell amazing, unbelievable stories.

“Ok, Mike. Tell me a story.”

There’s a car missing.”

I blink up at Eli but he’s staring at the photos and his shoulders are rising, tight and stiff under his button down.

“What car? The old lady’s was in the shop, Crystal’s is in the driveway. All accounted for.”

“Beth. Look.”

Eli slides the photo he’s staring at across the small desk and I glance at it.

Beth Griffin’s purse is emptied out and cataloged here, for later use and I frown at it. We’ve been looking at photos and crime scene analysis for hours. Everything is blurring together. “The hell am I looking at, Eli?” I demand and he huffs a quick sigh.

Leans over and taps.

There is, on the bottom, a small key fob with two plain key on the ring, attached to the keyless entry for a Jeep.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

“We need to interview Beth’s parents,” Eli says. And I nod. Because yeah.

Shit.

“How the fuck did we miss this?”

“We didn’t look at her. Not the way we looked at Crystal. Wrong place, wrong time. Why the hell would we look at her?” Eli says, his voice laced with as much as disgust as I’m feeling.

It’s a stupid, careless mistake. I just hope it won’t cost us.

I glance at phone while I shrug into my suit coat and Eli gathers his shit. He catches my frown and pauses. “What’s wrong?”

“Hazel. I text her to check in and I haven’t heard back. Just a little worried.”

Eli frowns and grabs his phone. “I’ll call Gabe,” he says, already moving and even though I know there’s nothing to worry about, some of my worry unravels.

I know she can take care of herself. I do. I know that she’ll be furious that Gabriel is hovering, and that even if he would lie to her, she would see through it. She would see the truth behind it, see me.

She’s gonna be pissed.

A smirk tugs at my lips, despite everything.

Beth Griffin lived in a small house on the edge of Green County, with a neatly trimmed yard and shady trees and a silver, fourdoor sedan in the front yard.

There’s a sticker on the back, stick figures of a family, and I stare at it for a long moment, while Eli unfolds himself from the Roadrunner.

Because the stick figure family will be missing someone now.

“I hate this,” I mutter to no one, and join Eli on the front porch.

He looks vaguely ill as we knock and I nudge his arm, just a little. Get it together, Eli. He nods, and take a deep breath as the door opens slowly.

The girl is young. Maybe middle school, and her eyes are bloodshot and red.

“Cops,” she says, dully. “More cops.” She pulls the door the rest of way open and gestures weakly at the living room. It’s dark and crowded, with four women sitting in various states of closeness and contact with a blond with dirty hair and a curl of stooped shoulders and hands tight fists of desperation as they cling to the toddler in her lap.

She stares at us, Beth Griffin’s mother, her eyes blank and unseeing.

It’s always awkward as hell, intruding on the grief that is too raw, intruding on the scant comfort that family can offer.

I hate this. I fucking hate all of it.

“Mrs. Griffin?” Eli asks, softly. She makes a low noise in her throat, and curls into the baby more, away from us.

“What can I do for you?”

It’s a red-haired woman, her eyes sharp and assessing. She’s just now entering the room, and puts a cup of coffee down in front of Christie Griffin before scooping the toddler off her lap as well. Tucks the child onto her hip and directs her attention to the girls still sitting around the room. “Go. The kitchen needs cleanin’ and there’s still the matter of pickin’ Bethie’s dress. Grace, you do that, please. I’ll be up in a few minutes to see how things are going.”

“We don’t have to listen to you, Chasity,” one of them snipes. One, Grace probably, gives the room a wide-eyed stare before darting from the room. Chasity slowly turns to the one who snapped at her.

“I’m sorry, Patience. Have you been takin’ care of Christian? Have you been makin’ sure the girls are still upright and the baby has been fed and that the funeral is put together? Because I’d love to let someone else do somethin’ other than sit in this damn room and hold each other’s hands. Right now, Christian needs to talk to these nice cops and you need to go do the damn dishes.”

They glare at each other for a long minute before Patience jerks up, snarling under her breath and stalks into the kitchen. The remaining two sisters trail her, and then it’s just us. Two cops and a still, unseeing mother, and a woman holding a baby and, by all appearances, the household together.

“Sorry about that. My sisters tend to congregate where the most drama is. And they like pretty cops.” She flashes a smile with no real interest behind it and sits down next to Christian Griffin. Adjusts the baby and produces a handful of Cheerios.

“So, what do you want to know about Bethie?”

Once.

There was a little girl.

That’s where the story starts. Really. With a little girl. Because everything that came before was forgotten when she arrived. And everything that came after revolved around her.

She was pretty. Long red hair that curled and waved. Crystal clear blue eyes, and a smile, shy but shining.

She was an angel.

And her brothers, twins, older by eight months, adored her. She was frail, sick, even from the first time they brought her home. But they doted on her.

They were happy, even.

The little girl and her brothers grew up in a big city, but they grew up happy, in a high rise apartment where she could watch the sunrise and the moon glitter across the sky, where her brothers could sneak into her bedroom when she cried in the still silence of the night.

Their mother was ambitious and distant.

Their father was long dead and when it came down to it, they were alone more than they weren’t.

Which was fine. The twins preferred to be alone to care for each other, and more importantly—their sister.

She was twelve when their mother’s job changed. They moved from their penthouse apartment close to the stars to a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere.

The girl hated it there. She hid from her mother brothers, hid in her room wrapped in blankets and stories, wrapped in paintings and pillows. And when the twins tried to come close to her, they found the way locked.

The little girl was slipping away from her brothers.

And that terrified them.

It was a month after they moved that the twins made their move.

Because the little girl loved the stars, and they could give her that.

The older twin wrapped her up in blankets and carried her through the dark house, out across the wide field to a decrepit barn. The other brother was there, with blankets and pillows and a jug of weak hot chocolate that he made with the very last of the powder.

There was a hole in the roof of the barn, and they positioned their sister there, with hot chocolate in her hand, and braced on either side of her, and then they gave her the stars.

All of the wide Kansas sky, sprawled out like a black velvet and shining diamonds.

They gave her the universe, a gift rolled out at her feet, and even though she hated the new town, and how isolated they were—she was happy.

It didn’t last.

She was prone to fits of anger and depression, and as the years slipped by and the girl grew up, she grew prettier and quieter, and it became harder to pull her from her moods.

The twins grew up as well. Angry and cold, and concerned only with each other and their sister.

Their mother was deeper than ever in her work, and some of it spilled into their home.

The first one to touch it, was the girl.

It was one of the nights where even the stars couldn’t sooth the panic clawing at her, even her brother’s soft presences in her barn couldn’t ease the roiling emotions. The twins were drunk, and it was easy. Too easy. To slip out of the barn and into the house, to find a small pill in stash their mother kept, and pop it. And let the chemicals take it away. Sooth the pain and anxiety and everything until there was only numbness.

The brothers were furious. And more than furious, they were terrified.

The oldest confronted their mother, about the drugs and the job that never seemed legit, that flirted with danger and the way the cops side-eyed them, and the girl’s depression.

She’s slipping, he argued.

Then hold her up, the mother ordered, and gave him a supply of drugs to keep her steady.

The twins hated their mother. As much as they adored and doted on their sister, they hated their mother. Hated her callous disregard and the distance in her that left her children alone, with only each other to lean on.

They hated her for letting the girl fight her demons alone, and for giving them the drugs that would numb that fight, and leave her addicted.

But as much as they hated their mother, and the drugs. They would never hate anyone quite as much as they hated each other, for giving those drugs to their sister.

Things changed, after that. After she started medicating. It didn’t happen often. First, it was only once a month or so.

Then it was every month.

Twice a month.

Weekly.

Until it was nightly. A routine, that left her numb and staring, into the sky and the stars and smiling, soft.

She was the one who took the next step, too.

The one who pushed then, gently, over the line that none had ever thought to cross.

It was when she was high, and sweet. The twins could never resist her when she was like that. When she was dreamy-eyed and pliant and whispering the myths of the constellations, and the sister they loved more than life.

One of them leaned over her, in the barn. Reaching for a beer. Or a pillow. God only knows what.

He froze when she arched under him, her lips brushing, feather light against his skin, catching salty sweat and the drag of stubble.

It was easy.

To fall into each other, the way they always had found themselves in each other.

Another change. But not the last one.

There was a three-month window, when their mother disappeared. She didn’t leave enough product for the girl, and the brothers had to get inventive.

The oldest sold what they had, everything she didn’t take. And then he went to see a man.

Morningstar.

And that—that was the change that mattered the most.

Nothing was ever the same after the girl and her brothers met Morningstar and became his tools.

It becomes apparent, that Christian Griffin is not going to be any help when it comes to telling us about her daughter. She’s not completely catatonic, but it’s a damn close thing, and she sits there, placid and quiet as Chasity quiets the baby and looks at us.

“Everything,” Eli says. “How long was she friends with Crystal?”

“Most of high school. Crystal was one of the only girls who didn’t disappear when Bethie got pregnant.”

That makes me and Eli still, and Chasity smiles, a small thin thing. “Yeah, Maryse is Beth’s little girl. We’ll have a helluva time explaining all of this later in life.”

“Who’s the father?”

Chasity makes a vague dismissive motion with her hand. “She’s ours. The daddy signed away his rights to her when she was two days old. Maryse was Bethie’s and she was doin’ her damnedest to make somethin’ of herself to give her baby a good life. She went to Crystal’s because they hadn’t seen each other, really, in weeks. She hadn’t had a night out since the school year started. So I told her, me and Christie would watch the baby, and she should go hang out with her friend. They were gonna study some. Watch a movie. Bethie just needed a night to be a kid, before she went back to be a mama.”

Her lips press tight and her grip on the baby tightens until Maryse makes a low whimper and her aunt loosens her grip.

“What do you think happened?” she asks, and I blink at her.

“We don’t know. Not why, anyway. Was Beth or Crystal involved in anything illegal, do you know?”

“No sir. Both those girls walked the straight and narrow pretty good. Bethie smoked a little pot, drank some, back in high school before Maryse came along. And Crystal—well, all she wanted was to get out of the County. She was goin’ to school and damned set on making her way into Topeka or farther away. She wouldn’t have fucked that up with a little partyin’.”

I glance at Eli and see my frustration mirrored in his eyes.

“Do you know if Beth drove to Crystal’s house?” he asks and Chasity’s eyes narrow. “Of course she did.”

“We need the make and model of the Jeep, and the tag number, if you know it,” I say, and Chasity frowns, but writes it down.

Black. Jeep Wrangler with a hardtop. The first four digits of her license plate.

It’s a tiny lead. Barely a lead. But it’s all we’ve got.

“You need to talk to Crystal’s boyfriend,” Chasity says, and it jerks both of our attention to her, hard. She smiles, but it’s not warm.

This woman doesn’t know how to show warmth, not to anyone but the baby in her arms and her sister sitting, sobbing softly now, at her side.

“Bethie hated him. Partly why she and Crystal drifted apart so much. He was all around bad news. He was working with Morningstar,” she adds, “Or that’s the rumor I heard.”

Eli’s head jerks up at that, and his eyes are wide and angry. “Morningstar?”

Chasity doesn’t seem phased at all that my brother is looking at her like he wants to rip her apart. She just smiles and nods a little.

“Who is Morningstar?” I ask, my voice low.

Chasity laughs, a little brittle and a lot angry.

“Archer,” Eli snaps. “We’re leaving.”

I resist his sharp tug on my arm and glare at her, “Who the fuck is Morningstar?”

“Figure that out, detective, and you’ll know who the hell killed my niece.”

Eli says something, and I can’t hear it over the roar in my head because Eli is hiding things from me. Again.

I’m reminded, suddenly, that we’re supposed to be investigating prostitutes and that Eli had a…something, an in….that I didn’t. I twist a little and pin my brother with a heavy glare but he ignores it and thanks Chasity before he leaves. Doesn’t even speak to me or acknowledge the fury I’m radiating.

Chasity gives me a sympathetic look before she walks me to the door. Because this is Green County, after all. And Eli’s temper is a thing that everyone knows, here.

Even a girl like Chasity, wrapped up in her grief and family.

“Thank you for talking to us,” I say, finally and she nods.

“Get the bastard who killed my niece, Detective, and keep your thanks.”

With that parting order, she shuts the door on me, shutting the family up with their deep grief and I turn to look at my brother, scowling and pacing next to the Roadrunner as he talks into his phone.

I take my time descending the stairs to flank him.

But when he hangs up and moves to slide into the car, I make a furious noise that stills him.

“We don’t have time for this,” he says sharply.

“We’re gonna make time,” I snap.

Eli snarls, a wordless noise of fury and I grab him by the collar, toss him against the Roadrunner. “Who the fuck is he?”

Eli shakes his head. Shrugs. “I don’t know, Archer. If I did, I’d tell you. But. Scarlett talked about him, sometimes. Not a lot. I got the feeling he’s a big player. But not the big player.”

Scarlett. It always circles back to that fucking whore. I want to reach into our past and rip her out like a tumor.

It’s not a bad description of the bitch.

And I’m too tired to deal with this shit, with Scarlett and the fall out that just keeps coming, right now. So I let my brother go and circle the car, climbing in.

Change the subject completely, “Have you heard from Gabe?”

Eli checks his phone and shakes his head. “She’s probably just writing, Archer. She’s fine.”

And I know that’s true. I do. But I can’t wrap my head around it so I shake myself a little and crank the engine.

And even though I don’t say anything to him, we both know I’m going to Hazel as soon as I can.

At the station, Eli ignores me completely. He throws himself into research while I fill the Chief in on what we learned and he turns it over in his head.

“Have you heard of Morningstar?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Nope. That’s a new one for me. Eli has, though?”

I bite my nail, worrying it for a second while I try to sort through everything. There are too many dead bodies. Too many secrets. Too many things hidden.

I can’t figure out what I’m supposed to be chasing right now.

“Why did you think Eli could do something with the prostitutes?”

“Because he’s been working with them for months. He’s looking for someone down there and the girls know it. Knows he won’t trip them up.”

“Crystal was dating a boy who works for Morningstar,” I say. “So maybe whatever is going on with the prostitutes has something to do with what went on in that house.”

“It’s a stretch,” Billings says.

“I know but it’s all we’ve got for now.”

He gives me a brisk nod. “Chase it down and see what happens. See what shakes out.”

I nod and shove out my seat and go to where my brother is still bent over his research. His shoulders come up a little when I approach and I know he’s braced for my anger and a discussion he doesn’t want to have.

Scarlett and everything to do with her is always gonna be a discussion he doesn’t want to have.

“I’m going to see Hazel,” I say. “You still haven’t heard from Gabe, right?”

Eli shakes his head “No, nothing from him.”

Nothing from either of them.

I nod. “Okay, I’ll be back in a little bit.”

We both need space. I know it and so does he.

So Eli doesn’t protest as I scoop up the keys to the Roadrunner and head out the door.

He stays behind.

Who is he?” I asked my voice shaking.

Michael smiles “That’s not for me to tell you, Hazel. I’ve told you our story now I need you to tell stories that people listen to. I need you to tell her story.”

I shake my head, adamant, “You’re asking me to aid and abet a felon. You’re asking me to go against the law when my brother is the cop investigating you. I can’t do that, Michael.”

“You don’t understand. I’m not asking. I’m telling you that you are going to do this or I’m going to kill everyone you love. You’ve seen my work. You’ve seen what we can do.” He pauses, and he smiles coldly, “Are you going to tell the people a story or am I going to let John loose with his knife?”

“Come near my family and I’ll fucking kill you,” I spit.

“I don’t want to touch your family. Killing people is not what I want to do. It’s a bad side of my business but the fact is I will. Because I need you and this is the way I’m going to motivate you. The ball’s in your court, Hazel. What are you going to do?”

It’s not a question.

He knows it and so do I. I’m going to do exactly what he’s demanding.

Because I’m not willing to risk my family. And because it’s a story and I’ve spent six months chasing one—chasing this story. I can’t walk away from this even if I know that I should. “I need to talk to your sister,” I say and Michael smiles, quietly triumphant.

“You can come by the house tomorrow,” he says.

Behind me, John stirs the first time since this conversation began and Michael started telling me this story about his family and Hanna and everything that’s between them all. A story that I’m still having trouble wrapping my head around.

“Mike,” John snaps, “you can’t just leave her here like this. She knows too much. She’ll tell the damn cops.”

Michael stares at him for a long minute before he smiles, “No, she won’t,” he says. His voice is musing but it turns a little sharper. “I can’t touch your brothers or Nora right now. Not without bringing more heat on us than I can handle at the moment. But Gabriel,” his voice trails off into a lilting question and his smile is dark and devilish.

My stomach drops and twists and I’m shaking suddenly.

“What did you do?” I demand.

Even John looks startled as Michael produces a cell phone. And there he is in bright shiny color, blood on his face. Hands bound in front of him and a gag shoved in his mouth. Still, for all that he has a gun to his head and he’s on his knees, bloody and beaten, my best friend looks fucking furious.

And that helps some.

Knowing that even though he’s in danger, he isn’t broken.

“If,” Michael says, “I see a cop anywhere near me or John between now and tomorrow when you talk to my sister, I’ll kill him.”

“You know I have to see them. My brother and Archer. They’re not going to leave me alone, especially with a murder scene this close to my house.”

Michael nods, “I expect that. They’re good brothers, after all.”

And my stomach twists. What did they think was happening between me and Archer and Eli? Does he think—I shake my head. What I have, this fragile blooming thing between us, it’s nothing like Hanna and John and Michael, blood relations and siblings in every sense of the word.

I refuse to compare the two.

“See your brothers,” Michael says casually. “Just lie to them. You can keep a secret, Hazel. It’s only for one day and then you can tell my sister’s story and it will be all over.”

I nod once because I have no choices here and he knows it.

He stands and finish the last sip of his coffee and smiles at me as he shrugs into his bloody coat. “It’s good seeing you again, Hazel,” he says, as if we ran into each other at the park or the grocery store. My stomach twists, as I remember seeing him in the park and what he said there.

“I told you we should catch up. It’s good to talk things out. To tell each other what’s been happening over the years. I’m glad we did this.”

He gives me a smile and behind me John shifts again, anxious and impatient.

“Mike, we’ve got to go,” he says.

Michael nods and steps past me. “Keep your phone on,” he says.

And then the doors open and they step out before it closes again and I am alone.

For a moment I sit still and quiet, waiting for them to come back.

Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And then I’m shaking and a scream is building in my throat. I slap a hand over my mouth, biting down hard and only a whimper escapes. Tiny broken noises as all of the fear and anger flood out of me in one near silent scream.

I don’t know how long I stay like that, curled in my chair at the kitchen table, a cup of cold coffee in front of me and Michael’s empty cup across from me. But eventually I realize that I’m filthy. Or maybe I just feel filthy.

I stumble to my feet and almost run from the room stripping out of my dirty clothes as I go. Smith paces at my side, whining, and I’ve pat his ears affectionately, distracted, as I turn on the water to the shower as hot as it will go.

It’s only when I’m under the spray, my hair dripping in my face, that the shaking finally stops and I can breathe and think again.

Eventually I emerge from the shower. Mostly because I can’t hide there forever.

I get dressed in black yoga pants and a tank top and then I wander through the house, cleaning up.

Pick up the messy blankets the boys left on my couch. Toss aside the beer cans and the empty bottles of whiskey. Pile all the dirty dishes in the sink and set them to soak. Archer and Eli both left bloody clothes in my bathrooms and I gather them up before I dump them in the washing machine with stain remover, detergent, and fabric softener. Of course I’m still doing their laundry. Some thing’s I think will never change.

Still it makes me feel useful and right now, I need that.

I’m only a little surprised when I hear the Roadrunner pulling up outside. The heavy rumble that shakes the wood underneath my feet.

I hook my wet hair behind my ears and pad silently to the kitchen. Archer is coming up the stairs by himself. And that alone is enough to make my heart try to jump out of my chest. Never mind that I have had someone threaten me today or that my best friend is being held hostage for my good behavior.

Never mind that he’s a cop and exactly who I shouldn’t be seeing right now.

Never mind that everything between us is up in the air and so complicated that I can’t breathe.

I see him alone standing on my porch, staring at me with those forest green eyes and I want him.

It’s the thing that I haven’t really let myself admit.

I want Brandon Archer.

Good, bad, dirty, all of the things in between I want all of it. I want all of the him. My mouth goes dry and I can’t say anything at all as I push the door open and let him in.

I’ve spent most of my life keeping secrets. Some are little and some are not. Some are harmless, some would devastate everything.

And then there are other secrets. The ones that wouldn’t just devastate—they would destroy.

The thing about secrets is no matter how you deal with them, someone will be hurt when they come to light. And they always do.

That’s the other thing I’ve learned.

I remember the first time someone broke my trust. I was in first grade and my best friend came to my house. I told her about the chocolate that my mother hid in our library and how sometimes when I was really upset with her, I would steal a piece. Later, she got mad at me, my friend, and she ran to my mother and told her that I was stealing chocolate.

Mama didn’t so much care as I was upset with my friend.

The nature of secrets is to be told. Spread. Broken. To be spilled over and shared.

To slice into and break apart.

Four years ago, I slept with my best friend. The boy who had kept my secrets and held my heart. And then I ran away. The truth was—the secret that I hid was—I was going to leave before that night ever happened.

It only happened because I was leaving.

Being in Green County with Archer without being with Archer hurt too much for me to stay.

Running away was the best and worst decision I’ve ever made.

But now I’m home again and secrets are spilling over and piling up and begging to be told, begging to be shared.

It is the nature of secrets to not remain. To find their way the truth. And that terrifies me.

Archer steps inside my house and I fall back a step to let him.

“I thought you’d be too busy to come bother me,” I say crisply, falling back on snark and sarcasm.

“You weren’t answering your phone,” he says, glancing at where it’s sitting on the kitchen table. His eyes narrow. “Did you have company?”

I blink. His voice a little bit annoyed. I glanced over the table and realize that Michael’s coffee cup is still sitting across from mine.

It’s the nature of secrets to come to light.

“No, I woke up in the middle of the night, ended up with two cups. I forgot that I had made one. It doesn’t matter. What are you doing here?” I ask as I scoop both cups off the table and dump them in the sink with the rest of the dirty dishes.

Then focus on the way he’s frowning at me like he doesn’t quite believe me and doesn’t know if he should push.

“Do you remember Scarlett?” he asks.

I frown. “No. Who is she?”

He blows out of breath, frustrated, “A couple years ago, while you were gone, Eli got into some trouble. Scarlett had a lot to do with it.”

“What kind of trouble?” I demand.

Archer shifts, uneasy. “The kind that included rehab and a six month vacation from the force.”

“What the actual fuck? Why the hell would you keep this from me?” I shout, jerking away from the dirty dishes, my mind racing.

Eli was on drugs?

“You were happy in Boston.” Archer says, patiently. “I wasn’t going to fuck that up telling you your brother had a drug addiction and a bitch with her hooks in him. I took care of it. I took care of Eli. Took care of all of them.”

“Taking care of Eli includes me,” I protest. “It always included me. We take care of both of them together.”

“Yeah, well. You left. You left so I had to take care of them by myself and I did the best that I could.”

“Wow,” I say and I give him a fake smile, “Tell me how you really feel, then.”

“Why don’t you tell me,” he snaps, “why the hell you decided that you should sleep with me and then run away for four fucking years?”

I swallow hard. “I don’t want to have this conversation,” I say.

“And we can we only do things on your timetable,” he says, bitter. Frowning, he shakes his head, “Fine. I’ll play your game. But I need your help.”

“With what?” I ask, nerves in my belly. I’m used to seeing a lot of things, but Archer angry…I don’t know what to make of this.

Of him.

He’s never pushed me. Not when it comes to us. If there is an us.

“I need to know everything you know or can find out about Morningstar. You’re a journalist. You can dig deeper than I can, go places that legally, I can’t. He’s connected to this and I need to know how.”

Of course. Of course, he needs to know. Now that I have Michael and John breathing down my neck and Gabriel—. I shake my head. I shut the thought down before it can cross my face and clue Archer in.

“Okay. Give me everything you’ve got and I’ll see what I can find out. I can’t make any promises you know that.”

“Yeah. I get it. Just do your best—that’s all I need, okay?”

“Hey where’s Eli?” I ask, belated, my voice all fake happy.

“He’s at the station doing some research.” Archer goes quiet, and then, “Have you heard from Gabe today?”

I nod. “Yes, he was in meetings with clients all day. If you don’t hear from him, it’s nothing to worry about.”

Archer starts to turn away. It’s the nature of secrets to be shared.

“I left because it hurt too much to stay.”

He goes still, the kind of waiting, watchful stillness that makes me nervous. And makes want burn hot and heavy in my gut.

“What did?” he asks quietly.

I shake my head, helpless, because I can’t answer that question.

Archer curses sharply under his breath and then crowds me against the kitchen counter.

“Stop hiding from me Hazel,” he snarls.

So I take the leap. I say, “It hurt too much to be around you. I couldn’t just stay here and watch you work your way through all the women in the fucking County. While you came to me and told me your secrets. I was the girl who held you together but never the girl that you wanted. I couldn’t do it. I had to leave.”

He’s staring at me like he’s never seen me before.“ Hazel,” he says stunned, “What are you talking about? It was never like that. That’s not what we were.”

“That’s always what we were. We saw each other’s worst sides, Archer, and because we did we could show everyone else the best. I got to see both sides of you—the good and the bad. You know all those girls who fell into your bed love you because of every good thing about you. I hated it then. That’s my secret, my Brutally Honest. I fucking hate it there because they didn’t know you. They knew the best sides of you but they didn’t know everything. And I couldn’t stay here and watch you with them. So I left.”

“Why haven’t you said something? Why did you run away for four years instead of talking to me?” He sounds so hurt and betrayed, it twists my heart up a little.

“What did you want me to say? Okay, I know we can’t be together cuz you know, all the reasons, but I’m in love with you—” I freeze and he makes a noise like a wounded animal.

“Hazel,” he almost groans and then he’s on me, his lips on mine and I am lost, completely drowning.

The thing that’s always saved me. I’m drowning in it now.

His hands are in my hair, fingers digging in and holding me where he wants as he kisses me, soft and sweet and slow. Until I snarl against him because it’s been fucking four years and we’re finally alone, without Eli five feet away sleeping, and I’m tired of wanting when he’s so fucking close. I snarl and my hands, on his shoulders, curl into him, nails digging into his broad shoulders and he hisses, breaking away from my lips as he groans.

He likes that, the bite of pain.

“Don’t tease,” I murmur against his lips and he groans.

“No teasing, baby girl. Just us.” he kisses me again, these deep long licks that have me clinging to him and my body reeling. I want more. I want everything.

I don’t get to keep him. I don’t get to keep this but I want it anyway.

He kisses me, and I whimper as he does, and he takes my soft noises, swallowing down my little whimpers, his hands closing around my hips, holding me still and close. He holds me like I’m fragile and precious and like he can’t get me close enough, like he wants to press me into his body, until we’re not Archer and Hazel, and separate.

And with his hands on me like that, his lips eating up every noise I make and the sweet taste of him on my lips, I can almost let myself think this means as much to him as it does to me.

“Hey,” he whispers, pulling away a little. “I’m losing you, pretty girl. Stay with me, huh?”

Tears sting my eyes and I lean into him, pressing open mouth kisses to his throat while I shove my emotions down. I scrape my teeth over his skin and he shivers, just a little.

“Bedroom,” he mutters and I freeze.

The one time we had sex, it was in my bedroom, wrapped in darkness and moonlight and so damn intimate and real it almost broke me.

There is a very real fear that it will, if I take him there again.

So I whisper, “too far,” and jerk away from him. Strip out of my tank top and sprawl across the couch and it’s a dirty trick but it does the job.

Archer forgets completely about my bedroom, and sprawls across me on the couch. His lips suck sweet pressure against my throat, and I groan, my hand in his hair as he slips lower and jerks my bra aside, taking me in his mouth.

And I scream.

Archer groans, his tongue twisting around my nipple, and we’re loud. His mouth on me, his muffled noises, my pleas for more, please, more, Archer! Louder and louder, until it eats up the silence around us and it’s just him and his hungry wet mouth, and me, my body writhing under him, riding that delicious line of want and too much, and then he’s pulling away and I snarl.

He kisses me as he yanks my pants down, and I scream again, into his mouth, as his fingers fill me. Fuck into me, hard and perfect because they’re rough, but sweet. I arch as his thumb brushes my clit, swallowing the noise that wants to break free, the one that is more sob than scream, more his name than anything else.

“Hazel,” he murmurs, and I blink. Focus on him.

Fuck. Bad idea. Shouldn’t focus on him. Not when he’s staring at me like that, like I’m the fucking sun and stars and every good thing. Like I’ve always wanted him to look at me.

“You’re so perfect, baby,” he says, hoarsely, and his fingers twist, deep inside me and I scream.

The orgasm startles both of us, arches my back off the couch and I’m shaking, my whole body wrapped up in the feel of his fingers on me, in me, and the pleasure that’s washing through me. Cresting. He doesn’t stop. His thumb keeps moving, that maddening little circular stroke that has my hips jerking up, into his touch, and my hand wrapped around his wrist, and I don’t know if it’s to drag him closer or push him away and I don’t think it matters anymore.

Nothing matters but this.

The second orgasm is slower. It builds, slow and sweet, while he fingerfucks me and whispers dirty promises in my ear and licks a path down to my nipples.

The third orgasm hits as soon as he covers me with his lips, tiny licks and the whisper of a pull on my clit, his fingers holding me open as he tongue fucks me.

And it’s not enough.

I want more.

I want Archer

“Fuck me,” I whisper, when he slowly thrusts his fingers into me.

“Please, Archer, fuck me,” I moan, when he licks his fingers clean and goes down on me.

“Dammit, Archer,” I snarl, when he puffs soft against my skin, “fuck me.”

I scream, when he does.

When he shoves his jeans down, and rips his shirt off, and he’s towering over me, all muscle and tattooed skin and I catch the tiny hoop hanging from his nipple and twist.

His hips punch up, and I laugh, low and pleased, because he does like pain.

My nails dig into his back, when he slides into me, and I sob. He breathes my name, like a promise. Like home.

Like I am everything he’s ever wanted.

When Hazel kisses me, it’s this quick, sweet press before she jerks back. Away. Eyes wide and worried. Like she’s afraid I’ll be…what? Mad? Does she think I’ll be pissed that she’s done what I’ve wanted her to do for years?

Since I came home from the Corps and she punched me in the nose, and I realized my little blue eyed ghost had grown up and grown some balls.

I fucked girls. They were in and out of my bed regularly, all sweet and willing and easy.

But I didn’t get attached, and they fucking knew better than to. Getting attached was stupid—I wasn’t looking for long term. I wasn’t even looking for the weekend. I’d had too many people in my life disappear for me to want to invite some hot piece of ass into my life long term.

There was one girl. In high school. Hazel fucking loathed her, which, looking back was kind of a tell. She was a sweet girl. Maddie May.

Honest to god, that was the girl’s fucking name.

Anyway. I thought I could have something with her. She was sweet. She liked Eli. Even Nora could tolerate her and Nora didn’t like anyone Eli or I brought home.

But then she left. Said she wanted more than the County. I was invited, which I guess was some kind consolation prize. Maddie knew I wasn’t leaving the County. She knew I wouldn’t leave my family.

She said we were codependent and dysfunctional and had a few unappealing theories about me and Eli.

And she was right. Of course she was. Not about me and Eli—that’s just fucked up right there, the kid is my brother but about our dysfunction and dependence?

Yeah.

That was us all day.

Maddie reminded me that I can’t have this. Not when I have them. And since I know Eli and Hazel and Nora will never leave me, I don’t mind too much, giving up the idea of stability with some girl who won’t ever really get me.

Fuck a girl here and there.

But my family is here. Always will be.

Except.

Hazel.

Hazel was both. She was the girl I could be me with, and she was home. And when I came home and she let me know just how pissed she was that I’d left—it clicked.

I knew she was in this weird place of want and distance. Like she was arguing with herself about what she should want, what she should let herself want.

And I knew all the reasons we shouldn’t be together.

Nora.

Eli.

She was my best friend, and I ruined every relationship—I didn’t want to ruin us.

But then.

She kisses me, and she looks so nervous. Body tense and ready for me to push her away.

“Hazel,” I murmur, and crawl up the bed, until I’m leaning into her space. Her eyes are wide and watching me, confused. Until I close that space between us, and her eyes drift closed, a noise like a sigh slipping free.

Like. Yes. And this is right. And Finally.

So I lift her, and she makes this happy noise against my mouth, and I swallow it down, lick it from her lips, tease a whimper from her when I nip at her lip and slide along her tongue, and it’s not enough.

It’s not enough.

I shift, my knees coming up on either side of her, and she arches into me, all pliant soft heat pushing against my hard dick and—

“Fuck,” I snarl, ripping away from her mouth, and she laughs.

Throaty and low and fucking hell, I love that noise in her mouth. I love that I am the one who pulls it from her, and I’m the one who kisses it from her lips.

She’s staring at me, her eyes hooded and glittering with hunger and this breathless excitement that I remember. Her pinky nail is caught in the silver hoop on my nipple, a relic from my years in the Corp and stupid fucking decisions made under the influence of too much alcohol.

She tugs and I gasp, arching against her and she laughs.

That noise hasn’t changed, not even a little bit, over the years. She still laughs when she’s turned on and desperate, and it still rubs against me like an electric wire of want.

I want to take my time with her. Want to stretch it out until it lasts forever.

I can’t go another four years, without feeling her tight and warm around me, her skin silky against mine, her lips sucking bruises against my collar bone.

I don’t think I can go four days.

She’s begging, and I almost come, when I thrust into her. When her body shudders around me, so close to the edge, that she’s almost coming just from that. I freeze, when I’m inside her, fighting the orgasm that’s crawling up my throat. Kiss her, slow and soft, and whisper her name like a fucking prayer, until she’s smiling, her lips lazy against mine.

She drags a hiss from me when she rolls her hips, this filthy fucking motion that makes me see stars. Breathe a curse against her lips that she licks away and kisses until she breaks off with a low moan, arching into me as I fuck her.

No.

No.

Not fuck.

I fuck girls who don’t matter. The endless parade of them who will never matter.

But this. As I thrust into her and she rolls up to meet me, her hand on my chest, tugging that fucking ring, her body a wave of motion that keeps tugging me toward climax, her eyes lazy and hungry and so fucking full—this isn’t fucking.

I’m not ready to name this.

But I know what it isn’t.

She moans, suddenly, and her body freezes, even as she yanks hard on my nipple ring, and rears up, biting me, muffling her cry against my skin as she comes.

Even torn up by orgasm, she’s fierce. She’s fighting, and demanding my own pleasure.

She’s Hazel. My fierce, stubborn, beautiful ghost.

I thrust into her again, and she whimpers, as I come. As I drop down on her, forgetting for a moment to keep my weight off her, and kiss her, pleasure blanking out everything but the need for her.

I come, and she shudders, and if it feels like we’re holding each other together. If the way she clings to me, and the way I kiss her, is a little desperate—well.

We both keep that to ourselves.

The room is quiet, and she’s breathing, slow and even, against my chest. She’s pliant, so soft against me. For a long time, we lay there, in silence.

But I know her. And I feel it, the moment she starts to pull away. The moment something trips in her pretty little head, and says, no. Dangerous.

She doesn’t pull away from me.

It’s worse than that.

She gets closer. Snuggles into me, her grip turning impossibly tight, and her lips brushing against my skin once, as she sighs.

Then.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” I mutter, tightening my grip and yanking her back to me. She huffs a breath, like she can’t believe I did that, and shoves a hand between us, onto the bruises she sucked into my skin, and no.

She’s not pushing me away, not after this.

“Why?” I ask simply, giving her the room she’s asking for—enough of it, anyway, that I can look into those big blue eyes.

I see the flicker of hesitation; the way she bites her lip.

She used to do that, when Nora was demanding something, some piece of information that Hazel thought wasn’t good for her.

She’s weighing the consequences of telling me the truth and protecting me.

“C’mon, Hazel,” I murmur, sliding my fingers up her bare back and into her hair. I get a grip and use it to pull her head back, gently, so she’s looking at me. “You don’t protect me, Hazy-eyes. Never did. We protect them, but we’re honest with each other.”

“Leaving four years ago was to protect you,” she says back, her voice breathy and fuck, I love hearing her like that. All turned on and hating it.

“Leaving was to protect you. Don’t lie to yourself.” I shake her head a little and her eyes roll up, pleasure chasing across her face.

“I can’t be with you,” she whispers, eyes closed.

Shit.

I knew that. Knew that we couldn’t be more than this and what we already were.

But fuck it hurts, hearing her say it out loud.

“I can’t be with you because it would kill Nora and infuriate Eli and because you need someone—“

“I swear to fuck, if you say better than you,” I say, casually, “I will turn you over my knee and spank your ass.”

She smirks, a slow thing and I add, “And it won’t be the good kind of spanking, Hazy girl. “

She laughs, and rolls away from me. I sit up with her, trace my fingers over her back.

But the levity falls just as quickly as it rises, and she curls inward, slightly.

She’s naked and sweat slick, her hair rumpled from my fingers, and her lips red from my kisses.

And she looks, impossibly, like the ghost of a girl I pulled from her shy shell, so many years ago.

“Archer we don’t work, like this.”

“Why not?” I ask, against her skin.

Her head tilts to the side and she pins me with that sharp blue gaze that sees right through me. “I can think of two damn good reasons.”

Eli. Nora.

Because this—fuck, this would devastate them. Nora would never understand, even if I could get Eli to. She raised us together.

Hazel had never, not once in the sixteen years since we all ended up on Nora’s couch with a few ratty bags and a shit load of grief—she has never called me brother.

I’ve never been her brother.

I’ve been her partner, and her friend, and her ally.

But I’ve never been her brother.

I don’t want to be.

That doesn’t mean Nora and Eli would agree, if I were to show up at the diner and announce that I was in love with the girl I grew up with.

Fuck. I freeze, going tense. And because I’m pressed against her, she feels it. She twists a little, her gaze finding mine, curious and worried.

“I don’t care,” I whisper and her mouth falls open, a little. I smile, a little bit of tension easing in my chest and I sit up. Pull her against me and whisper the words against her skin. “We spent our whole life taking care of other people, Hazel. We spent our whole life taking care of them. When is it our turn?”

She gives me a tiny smile and kisses me, gentle. “We don’t get one.”

I growl against her lips, and she huffs a laugh, a small, startled noise. “That’s not good enough for me, Hazel.”

She stands, shifting away from me. Slips into a pair of shorts that are barely there and pulls a loose tank top on.

Covering herself up and hiding from me.

“I don’t want to do this,” I say clearly, and she goes very still. Her eyes wide and watching me. “I don’t want to fuck you in secret or get you off while Eli is asleep in the next room, muffling your screams because he can’t know. I don’t want to sit across from you at Mama’s and pretend we’re nothing more than we always have been.” I shake my head and stand up, dressing. “I love you too much to do that shit anymore, Hazel.”

I follow him out of my into my bedroom, and he cleans up while I get dressed, my body still buzzing with remembered pleasure, and reeling from the quietly spoken confession.

I don’t know what to do with an Archer who is in love with me. I’ve spent too many years telling myself that some things aren’t possible. Too many years knowing that it didn’t matter how I felt or how he felt—there was too much between us to ever be an us. Too much from Eli and Nora to let us be more than the other half of the family.

But now he’s saying the things I’ve wanted to hear, and told myself could never happen and it’s so damn tempting.

I want it so damn bad, I’m ready to take his hand and drag him to Mama’s. To go to the station and kiss him hard and dirty against the wall behind his desk and traumatize Eli in the process.

I can’t.

But I want to.

So fucking bad.

He’s in the kitchen, pouring tea in glasses, and tossing the stuff to make sandwiches on the table. I slide in beside him and it’s easy.

The fact is that being with Archer. Working with him has always been effortless. We never talked about what we did—we never needed to. We understood each other without talking about it.

So it’s like breathing, slipping back into that. Handing him cheese while I slather mayo and mustard on the bread, tearing off lettuce while he scoffs and piles both sandwiches high with ham and roast beef. Cutting both sandwiches neatly in half and placing them on plate while he adds a pickle to mine and a bag of chips to the table and pulls his open to salt and pepper it.

It’s easy and it stings and it makes everything we could be—a whole future and a life—almost reachable.

“Archer,” I say, and my phone buzzes.

His eyebrows climb but I swallow hard and shove the words down and look at the message.

Unknown: Stop playing house. Get to work. She’ll see you at the lake.

I swallow my nerves and tuck the phone away before taking a bite of my sandwich. “What was that?” Archer asks.

I shrug and offer up a thin smile. “Story I’m working on. What’s going on with your triple homicide?”

He blows out a breath. “I don’t know. I need to talk to Eli, but every time I do and Scarlett comes up, I lose it.”

Typical Archer.

“What happened, there?” I ask, gently. Ignoring the fury I’m feeling that my brother was being dicked over by some bitch and Archer didn’t think to tell me.

That doesn’t matter, and doesn’t have a place, not right now.

“She was someone he met at work, if you’d believe that. From a precinct in Topeka. We had a kidnapping—domestic shit, custody didn’t shake out the way the dad wanted so he scooped the kids and beat tracks to here. It was Scarlett’s case and she met Eli and that was it. You know how he can be with the initial fall.”

I do know. My brother has always fallen too hard and too fast.

But after Amy and then Lisa, I don’t know. I thought he’d back down. “Was there anyone else, after Scarlett?” I ask.

Archer shakes his head. “It happened a few months after you left. He met her and a three months later he was moving out and the Chief was furious and—fucking hell, Hazel he was snorting coke like it was going out of style and going to work a fucking case. He’s what I would arrest, if I weren’t doing everything I could to keep him clean and on the force.”

“What happened?”

“Scarlett was dirty. We got that from her department pretty quickly, once I realized something wasn’t right and started digging. She’d been stealing from the evidence locker for years and letting some big fish skate out of their arrests without a damn thing sticking. But she’s smart. She played it close. Then, with Eli. I dunno, Hazy, it’s like she got sloppy. Didn’t care if she got caught. Or maybe she was just cocky enough to think it’d be missed. She never had a lot of respect for the GCPD. I don’t know. But I talked to Billings, and got Eli clean. He was on probation with the force for almost two years. But he also flushed out Scarlett and Topeka owed us for that, which helped keep Billings happy while we got him back on the straight and narrow.”

And he stayed on it.

But it makes sense, now. Why Eli looks so fucking haunted, so much of the time. Why his smile is brittle and not quite as real as my brother has always been. Sometimes he is. But it’s different.

Tainted.

God.

“What happened to her?” I ask, and my voice is pure venom, all biting fury that gets Archer’s attention.

“She vanished. Left Topeka and the County, and went to hide with whoever the fuck she’s been working for.”

Bitch. Fuck up my brother’s life and then vanish. Bitch deserves to be strung up and skinned slowly—

“Breathe for me, Hazy-eyes. She’s gone. Eli is safe. I need you with me, not hell-bent on bringing that whore to her knees.”

I snarl and he laughs. Even now, he’s more amused by my temper than intimidated by it. Dumbass.

“Eli is fine, now. He is, sweetheart. And we can use this.”

“Why? How?”

“Morningstar. Eli thinks Scarlett was working with him.”

My blood runs cold, because it’s the second time he’s mentioned that name.

And Michael did, too.

“There’s something bigger here,” I murmur, and Archer shifts, stealing a sliver of onion that falls from my mostly untouched sandwich. “It’s why I came home.”

Not strictly true, but close enough.

“Green County is a corridor. And the prostitutes down on Victory are too well organized—there’s something in the background. Fuck, Archer, even Emery is dirty.”

He stiffens, and his eyes dart away. I go still. “You fucked Abbi Emery?” I say, slowly. Because I know him, and I know what the hell he looks like when he’s feeling guilty about shit.

“Don’t judge me,” he mutters, dropping the last bite of his sandwich on his plate.

I laugh, a short, incredulous noise. The girl has been trying to get Archer in her bed for the better part of the past sixteen years, since she realized that an Airplane Orphan would buy a mountain of goodwill in Green County.

Even when she was a senior in high school, Abbi Emery knew exactly what she wanted.

“It was a dumb move, I’m aware. Eli has had a lot of fun reminding me on a regular basis. Now. Moving along. What the fuck are you talking about?”

I blink at him. “Archer. C’mon. You know the County isn’t as Boy-Scout Americana as the fucking tourists would believe.”

He shrugs, a little uncomfortable looking and I huff a sigh. “The County is lousy with corruption. It’s on base, and it’s in the Mayor’s office, and the only reason I tend to think it’s not in the force is because you’re there and you’d kill someone for touching your precious force. But it’s a thing. And I think this—the murders the other day—have to do with that.”

“Why?”

“Because why else would someone go through that much trouble? There was a lot of rage behind her murder, right?” I play it over in my head. What he told me. The blank horror in Eli’s eyes.

And Michael and John, bloody and furious and too fucking calm.

Yeah. This was personal.

“You shouldn’t get involved,” he says suddenly, and I jerk, hard. My eyes wide. He’s got this look, coming over his face that I know too well.

“Archer-”

“It’s dangerous, Hazel. You need to stay out of it and let me do my job. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.”

“Archer-”

“Just. Forget Morningstar. Forget Scarlett. I’ve got it.”

I stand while he’s still babbling, and he watches me. Watches as I skirt the corner of the table and get a good grip on his hair, and jerk his head up.

I kiss him silent.

His hands find my waist, drag me down, and I whimper as I land against him, his cock hard against me.

Already. Jesus. He could fuck me again, already, and that’s a very tempting thought.

“You’re gonna get yourself hurt,” he whispers.

Probably. With Gabriel being held by crazy killers, the chances of that are a lot more likely than Archer realizes, not that I’m gonna be the one to clue him in.

“Let me help. I’m good at digging up secrets. And I never got hurt doing it, when I lived in Boston.” I nip his earlobe as he traces a hot path down my throat, and his teeth close over the curve of my neck. My hips roll down, into him, without any real permission from me. “You need me.”

He hums against my skin, an acknowledgment of that. Breathes the words against my lips. “I’ve always needed you, Hazy-girl.”

I make a noise that’s like a whimper and he takes it. Takes my lips and gives me back so much more. Holds me close, and together, when his words threaten to shake me apart and his lips curve over mine and coax me open, licking into my mouth with this hunger that’s fucking insane.

I want him.

As stupid and dangerous and impossible as it is. I want him.

I think I always will.

I twist in his grip, and until I’m straddling him in the chair, and rocking against him and his hands are in my hair. So easy. It’d be so fucking easy, to slip his jeans down and tug my shorts to one side and ride him, right here.

I groan and he laughs against my lips, arching up into me, his voice a filthy hot promise in my ear. “Wanna ride me, huh, baby? Just fucked you. But you’re a greedy girl and you want it again, don’t you?”

His hips punch up again, punctuate his statement and I moan.

“What. The. Fuck. Are you doing?”

I was sixteen, when I met Eli for the first time.

It’s funny, that someone who became the central figure of my life could be absent from it for sixteen fucking years. Half my life, and he wasn’t part of it. That’s weird as fuck, when I think about it too hard.

Because if there is anyone who has affected me, it’s Eli. Nora and Hazel, they have their places, and they’re important. I wouldn’t be the man I am, if Nora hadn’t kicked my ass back into line, and Hazel hadn’t demanded I step up and take care of Eli. But Eli. Lijah is what kept me moving. He forced me to be better, and kept me from falling apart, when Hazel left and always needed me. Even when she left and Nora got used to being on her own again, Eli needed me.

I was sixteen, when I met Eli for the first time.

I was furious, all rage and grief and violence balanced on a hair’s trigger.

Eli was the same, but he turned all that fury and grief inward, made it his own burden. He was terrified of being abandoned, terrified of being a problem and having Nora turn him out.

The kid was a fucking mess.

But he was my mess. And I put him back together, patched up the worst cracks in his self-worth, and he started to heal. Not completely. Some things you never completely heal from—losing your single mother in a fucking plane crash is one of those things. But what Eli needed was a place to belong. Someone to belong to.

And I gave him that. We gave him that.

Doesn’t mean we didn’t fight like fucking savages, when he got pissed, and he did.

Often.

I’m pretty sure that this moment, with him standing in Hazel’s kitchen, all furious lines and disbelieving eyes, as Hazel sits panting and on the edge of orgasm in my lap—pretty sure this is one of those times we’re gonna fight like savages.

“What the hell is happening?” He demands, his voice a tight line of fury. Hazel is tense and still in my lap, and I look at her, quickly. Checking that she’s not freaking out too badly.

She totally is.

Shit.

“Up, baby,” I murmur, patting her ass and she scrambles out of my lap and away from me.

And that isn’t happening.

“This’s got nothing to do with you, Eli,” I say, softly, catching her hand and dragging her close enough to me that I can catch her before she bolts. She throws me a disbelieving look, like she can’t quite believe that’s the argument I’m going with.

“She’s our fucking sister, Archer!” Eli yells.

Hazel throws up a hand, and glares at Eli. “She is right here, and wasn’t fucking forced into anything, so if you have a problem with this-” she points between us, “you don’t get to be pissed at him. You take that shit out on both of us.”

“You’ve been in love with him since you were fourteen, Hazel,” Eli snaps, disgusted. “Of course you’d jump all over him. He’s a fucking slut who needs to learn where the fuck his boundaries are.”

Hazel freezes, her eyes wide and hurt, and I see the second it clicks with Eli, just how far over the line he’s crossed. “Hazel,” he starts, and she skitters back a step.

“Get the fuck outta my house,” she orders, her voice low and tight. Eli makes a wounded noise and she snarls, ripping her hand from me, and marching to the door. “You want to treat me like one of his throw away whores, Lijah, I’ll treat you the exact same way. Get the fuck out.”

Eli is pale, and throws me a pleading look. I shake my head. “You fucked this one up, dude. I’d do what she said.”

He glares, all furious indignation, but he does. He leaves. She stares at him when he’s on the back porch, giving her his pleading puppy eyes. “Hazel, you know I didn’t mean that. This—it’s fucked up. You know it’s fucked up.”

She stares at him. “I know that I told him no. That I wouldn’t do a fucking relationship, because I was worried about you. And you want to tell me I’m one of his whores? Fuck you, Elijah.”

She slams the door in his face, before he can protest or attempt to defend himself and I rise, studying her. “You okay?”

Hazel gives me that are you a fucking idiot? stare I know so well, and makes a dismissive noise. “Cat’s out, now. Get out of here and do some fucking damage control. I’ll call when I find out something useful about Morningstar.”

She goes on tiptoes to kiss me, and then she’s moving, away from me.

I know a Hazel dismissal when I see one, so I don’t bother to push for more.

Especially since I can see Eli next to my car, glaring at me.

Fuck.

I take a deep breath, and shove out of the house, buckling my gun belt on and jogging down the stairs of the farmhouse.

“Don’t,” I warn, before he can even open his mouth. “You don’t get to have an opinion about this.”

“I don’t get to have an opinion about you fucking our sister.”

I jerk around and shove him, hard.

Hard enough that he stumbles back a step.

Eli never expects me to go on the offensive.

“I’ve never fucked Hazel. And you’ll treat her with some fucking respect, or I’ll lay you out, Lijah, I swear to god.”

His eyes go very wide, and he pales. Sways just a little. “Archer,” he whispers.

“You don’t get an opinion, Lijah. Not on this. What Hazel and I do, that’s between us. We’ll let you know when and if it affects you. Until then, keep your fucking mouth shut and give her the fucking respect she deserves.” I glare at him and he nods, once. Still watching me with that wide, almost scared stare.

I can’t deal with that stare. Not yet. So I turn to the Roadrunner and throw over my shoulder, “Let’s go. We’ve got four dead bodies and we’re still no closer to answers.”

There is a part of me—a pretty sizable part—that wants to drag Archer back into my room and fuck him senseless, just to shut Eli up after that nonsense.

Another part of me wants to call Nora and tell her not to believe a word Eli says.

Both are throwbacks to when I was in high school and Eli was the annoying big brother who dragged me into more trouble than he managed to drag me out of.

And neither part is something I can indulge in right now. I swallow hard and pull out my phone. It buzzed again, while I was eating with Archer, and I’m not so stupid to think it’s anyone but Michael.

I’m right. It’s a picture this time, and my fingers creak, too tight, on the casing of the phone.

Gabe is sitting in the same chair. His shirt’s been cut away, and there are burns on his chest that weren’t there in the last picture.

But he’s glaring. His honey gold eyes still bright with fury and indignation.

That helps, for some reason.

Unknown: Two hours. The lake.

I glance at the timestamp. Shit.

I’ve got just enough time to get my shit together and make a phone call before I need to leave. I make the call.

“What’d need, baby girl?” a low drawl answers, and I smirk.

How the hell a redneck tech head ended up in Boston working as a busboy in a dive bar?

God’s little mysteries, I suppose.

“Hey Jase. Need you to dig for me,” I say. Because it’s been almost six months since I vanished from Boston, and I never explained to Jase. I didn’t need to. If he was curious, there’s very little the hacker couldn’t find out. So there’s literally no reason for me to waste time with apologies and explanations.

“Personal or for a story?”

I smirk, a little. “Both.”

He laughs, and I hear the clatter of keys as he brings his computer to life. Vaguely, I wonder how drunk he is.

A world class hacker and programmer he might be, but the boy spends so much time drunk it’s a wonder he can find his way out of a paper bag much less the NSA’s database.

“Detective out of Topeka. Scarlett Materson.” I spell it out for him, and he whistles.

“How much you want?” He asks.

“Everything.” I murmur, and there’s a breath of hesitation. A quiet demand for more information. I sigh. “She hurt my family, Jase.”

“You’ll have it by morning.”

“Need it sooner than that. And, I need you to find out what the fuck happened to her when she left the force. Pay attention to whose paying her.”

Jase is laughing now. “Damn, Hazel, I’ve fucking missed you.”

I smirk. He always did love a challenge. “Do me a favor? Dig into Morningstar, too. Time’s important, ok?”

“Gimme a couple hours,” he says, and hangs up without a goodbye.

My smile fades as I lower the phone and drop it in my purse as I scoop up my keys.

At least someone is happy with me today.

It occurs to me, as I twist the wheel and turn onto a small, dirt road, that this is one of the stupider things I’ve done.

I feel like the girl in a horror movie that you yell at as she wanders into the basement alone, like some kind of fucking idiot.

Except, I know there’s a killer waiting, and it’s not a basement—it’s a lake that I used to spend my summers swimming with Archer and Eli. It’s where I lost my virginity, the year after Archer ran off to the Marines.

It’s where Gabe and I would sit and smoke, while Eli made out with Jess and I dreamed about getting the fuck out of the County.

Later, Aidan and Colt would join us here. Remi brooding nearby like an overgrown emo giant.

And now.

Fuck. I huff out a breath, and stare at the shoreline.

They had to pick a place like this. In the middle of fucking nowhere. No one knew where I was. And so full of memories that it’s hard to keep a grip on what I’m doing here.

John is standing on a small pier, where we’d fish and dive off, and lay sprawled out, staring at the stars.

A girl is sitting on the edge, her feet dangling in the water.

Michael is leaning against the rail next to her, ignoring me entirely.

I wonder where the fuck they left Gabe and how they can be so confident that he’ll be there, when they return.

Then I remember that Michael and John murdered four people in cold blood less than forty-eight hours ago.

If they want to hold one reclusive, eccentric baker, it wouldn’t be terribly difficult.

John shifts, and I let out my breath. Shove the door open and climb out of my truck.

“You’re late,” he calls, and I glance at my watch.

“I’m not, actually,” I say, angry suddenly.

“Your pet cops were at the farmhouse a long time, Hazel. Should we be concerned?”

“I’m fucking here. Alone. If anyone gets to be concerned, it’s me,” I snap.

John snarls, jerking forward and a cool feminine voice splits the air. “Enough, John. Leave her.”

It draws both twins to a sudden and abrupt halt. Michael straightens away from the dock and exchanges a glance with his twin as Hanna says, her voice soft and musical, “Come sit with me, Hazel. My brothers promised you a story, and I suppose it’s time to deliver.”

The fact that we’re in separate cars helps. I need a little distance from Lijah, and if I know anything about the kid—I do—he needs the space from me. I’m still refusing to think about that look he gave me in her driveway, just like I’m refusing to think about the way she swayed so fucking sweet on my lap and how close I’d been to sliding into her again, before Eli interrupted.

Shit.

I wonder, briefly, if he’s already told Nora.

The fact that my phone is ridiculously silent says probably not.

Good. We both need to focus, and we have this nice juicy homicide to focus on.

Never thought I’d be glad to have four fucking dead bodies and no leads, but if I can use it to distract Eli from the giant elephant in the room, I’ll take just about anything right now.

I’m at my desk, and Billings is on his way toward me, waving a file like it’s got some kind of magic eight ball answer when Eli gets back, carrying two cups from CinSations. He offers me one silently, and I eye him.

“Did you two have a lover’s spat?” Billings asks and I flip him off as I take the coffee and nod at Eli.

It’s not an apology. Not quite. But it’s a peace offering and I’ll take it.

“We found Beth’s car.”

That jerks my attention to Billings and Eli whistles. “Where?”

“A strip club on Victory. The Foxy Lady.” He glances at the file. “Their surveillance is down, of course, but I sent Harrison and Tucker down to talk to the owner.”

I frown and Billings points at me. “Don’t get greedy, Archer. You need help with this. Emery is breathing down my fucking neck—no one likes four fucking dead bodies in a house that looks like Manson let his family loose in it.”

Fair point. “We got the car being processed?” I ask.

“Yeah. Do we know any more about Crystal’s boyfriend?” Billings asks, and I shake my head.

“We’re looking at finding him. Crystal didn’t leave a lot of clues about who the fuck she was dating.”

“Talk to the father. And find out why the fuck the car was at a goddamn strip club.”

I nod, and kick Eli’s desk. He’s staring at his computer, his face a little pale. His eyes jerk to mine and then Billings. “Yes, sir,” he says, but it’s got no force behind it. I frown at my brother and Billings eyes him for a moment longer than I like.

He might have given Lijah a second chance, but the Chief hasn’t forgotten just how close to the edge Eli skated before I yanked him back.

I give him a reassuring nod I don’t feel and Billings moves away. I wait until he’s safely away and then glare at Eli. “What the fuck, Eli?” I snarl.

“Dude.” He’s staring at his computer. “Look at this.”

The email is from an address I don’t recognize.

From: J.drhckxtrme@gmail.com

To: Elijah.Beasley.GC@gmail.com

Subject: In Case She Doesn’t Answer.

Yo. She said if she didn’t answer her phone to send this shit to you. Attached, find all relevant shit on one Scarlett Materson—that bitch is some dangerous shit, dirty as fuck. And also, everything I can dig up on Morningstar operation. It’s not much, but I’m still working. She thought it was a person. Not the case. Near as I can tell, she’s looking at an organized ring—drugs, prostitutes, trafficking the works. What the actual fuck is she digging into down there? You’ve got at least three people at the top of Morningstar. It’s a BFD. And they’re dangerous as fuck.

I don’t know what she’s digging up or who this story is for, but I know she’s got a bad fucking habit of getting into trouble. Do me a favor and make sure she doesn’t get herself shot again.

I’ll keep digging into Morningstar and Materson. If you need anything else, call the bar.

J-

Eli’s fingers are shaking as he scrolls over the files, but he stops before he opens them. Forwards the emails to me first. I circle back to my desk and open the files.

File after file after file—I can’t keep up as they stream open, all of this information about Scarlett and Morningstar pouring across my fucking computer.

“Archer, this was my personal email,” Eli says, his voice shaking. I nod. Scanning through.

There’s bank statements, and arrest records and lists of people and clubs—names I recognize, addresses in and around the county, and routing numbers, and—”Jesus Christ, Lijah,” I whisper.

Scarlett is deep. Deeper than I thought, if she’s working this close to fucking Morningstar.

And the bastard found surveillance pictures of her. How the actual fuck did he manage to do that? She’s been off the grid for the past three years, since she ran after Eli exposed her for dirty.

And it’s not from a lack of looking. I’ve looked. I want this girl.

“Archer.” Eli sounds like he did when we were kids and he was desperate to be reassured. Desperate to be told that everything was going to be okay. He sounds scared and plaintive and so damn young. It hurts me, a little, to hear my brother sound like that. “Archer, who the fuck is this guy and what the hell is Hazel doing?”

The brothers told a story that was tragic but had a feel of scurrility to it. A fairy tale edged in horror and the taboo.

Sitting next to Hanna on the dock, I know that her story is different. There is no fairy tale here, and there sure as fuck is no happy ending. She’s sitting still, her bare feet skimming the icy water below and I wonder if she can even feel it.

Spring has hit Green County hard, but it’s still cold.

“You’re gonna freeze,” I say, sitting next to her on the dock, my feet curled under me. Above us, Michael makes a triumphant noise, almost I told you.

Hanna doesn’t respond to that. Or my statement. I glance over at her.

And swallow my gasp.

I haven’t seen Hanna in almost eight years. Since I graduated high school. I remember her, of course. It’s hard to forget the youngest McGrey. She was always quiet and reserved, almost painfully shy and hidden between the shadows of her older brothers.

But I remember her.

A beautiful, almost fey-like creature. Eyes so bright they look like blue shining stars. Blonde hair that is all wisps and fluff, like a cloud around her pale, perfect face and pink rosebud mouth.

She was gorgeous. I remember Eli’s fascination with her—hell, most of the boys in our school were.

And she floated through it, completely oblivious, and happy with her brothers.

There was a lot of talk, a lot of bitchy speculation about the nature of their relationship.

Funny, because it’s too true.

My stomach turns at that.

But the girl sitting next to me. She isn’t a fey pretty girl floating through life anymore.

Her hair is a sleek, harsh line around her face, her eyes cold and remote, her lips a sharp line.

Something has gone very wrong, to turn the girl I knew in high school into this cold, hard woman I see today.

“It’s good to see you,” she murmurs.

“Wish I could say the same. Your brothers are—” I glance back at the twins. “Well, honestly, they’re scary motherfuckers, Hanna.”

She laughs, a quick sharp noise. Gives them a fond smile. “Yes. But they have good intentions, which helps.”

“They killed four people,” I say, softly.

Hanna’s smile dies, and her eyes go cold. Stares at me like I’m a bug on the bottom of her shoe. “You’re here to listen to a story, Hazel.

The girl was always different. It’s something she hated about herself, until she realized how ridiculous the rest of the world could be and then she took some pride in her difference. But as she grew older, and her tempers flexed and changed, she knew that it worried the only two people who mattered.

It was for them that she became desperate for a way to settle the demons that seethed inside her, the restless energy and the fury and the voices that whispered to hurt, to run, to bleed out everything.

Drugs quieted the voices. For a time.

Later a doctor listened to her and her brothers, and pronounced it bipolar disorder. Personality disorder.

Obsessive compulsive disorder.

All names that said what the girl had always known.

She was broken, in ways that couldn’t be fixed.

And maybe that was true. Maybe she would be broken forever. But now that she was broken.

She took what she wanted.

And she wanted her brothers.

And to punish the mother who was so bent on ambition and power and never on her children.

The girl knew exactly what she was doing. Joining the Morningstar organization was not done by chance or accident, no matter what her brothers believed.

At first it was merely moving drugs. Her brothers were good at it and no one would ever suspect the girl, with her wild moods and dreamy smile.

They would never suspect that she was ruthless behind that smile. That she climbed the ranks quickly in a Morningstar, quickly enough that three heads of the organization sat up and noticed her.

That is when it went to hell. Not because she was good at her job.

Because she was too good at it.

For three years the girl and her brothers fucked and dealt their drugs and climbed through the ranks of Morningstar. The oldest was brilliant and ruthless, and where he faltered, his sister was there, cold and logical, that perfectly broken mind seeing the best way to make corruption play.

And their brother, their wild, impetuous middle brother was the violent shield that made every insane, dangerous idea they had play out.

Together, they were a bright shining star in the criminal organization.

And then.

They were called in by the Board.

Because Morningstar was too vast, too well organized and profitable, and big for it to be one man at the top. There was a network. A group of bosses who ran various illicit trade and vice. The ones who, at the end of the day, the girl and her brothers answered to.

There was debate. The twins thought they’d be given a new territory.

The girl had no idea what to think.

But none of them expected to sit down with the Board and find themselves face to face with their absentee mother.

They walked out. She walked out.

I won’t work for that bitch, she snapped.

And the twins, who had given her what she wanted her entire life, fell perfectly in line behind her.

You need us. That from the man they had been working under for the past three years. His eyes flat and unamused as he glared at them.

Lars Browning. A businessman--a salesman--who happened to make his business on the wrong side of the law.

But the girl wanted nothing more to do with him.

It would have been easy. If it had ended there.

I stare at her, at the harsh line of her lips and the tears glittering on the edges of her eyelashes.

“If it didn’t end there, where?” I ask, quietly.

She smiles, then. This bitter edged thing that tells me, finally.

I’m finally asking the right questions.

“That, Hazel is the story you need to tell.”

Eli is trying to get Gabe to answer the phone.

I’m doing the same with Hazel. Neither are actually doing what a normal fucking person does, when they’ve got a phone.

Like answer the damn thing.

Eli curses, and tosses his phone down, and I glare at him. “Let’s go,” he snaps.

He’s got this urgency about him that has my hackles rising and my hand reaching for my gun even without considering what the hell I’m doing.

But I do what he says. I grab my files and phone and he snatches up his computer.

“We’re supposed to interview her father,” I say as he shoves out of GCPD headquarters.

“That isn’t going to give us answer. Hazel is gonna give us an answer. What the fuck, man. She’s got the fucking breakdown of a fucking mafia. In Kansas. Why the hell do we have a fucking mafia in Kansas?”

That’s actually a good question. The better question is:

“You think she’s hiding things from us?”

Eli slides into the car and lets the door slam shut behind him as I turn the engine over with a low rumble.

“I know she’s hiding shit, Archer. You do too. If she weren’t, we wouldn’t have this shit in our inbox.”

“Scarlett is tied up in this. You good with that? With what it means?”

He’s silent for a long moment, and then, “Scarlett brought this shit on herself. I don’t give a fuck what happens to her. I want my sister and I want to know why the fuck Gabe isn’t answering his goddamned phone.”

I slide a glance at him.

“Dude, what the hell is going on with you and Delvin?”

When did that change? It wasn’t noticeable—I mean, I knew there was tension and flirting and teasing. Everyone knew that. But so much of it was just Gabriel, who made every fucking thing a joke and damn the consequence. But when did it change to something that Eli gave back.

It was after Eli went to rehab.

After all the shit with Scarlett, and he was clean and trying to put his life together again.

There was a six-month span, that he didn’t live with me.

He wanted his space.

Nora said he needed the space to get over fucking up. Said that he couldn’t face me and my constant disappointment, and so he retreated. Moved into Hazel’s big empty farmhouse.

That’s when.

“Eli,” I start and he growls.

“You wanna talk about Gabe and me? Why don’t you tell me about what the fuck you’re doing with Hazel?”

I suck in a breath, because there is a comparison there.

And—

Fuck.

How serious is this thing with Gabe, this thing that I’ve ignored and pretended not to see?

I shove that thought away. Because it’s occurring to me, sudden and undeniable, that I fucked up somewhere.

I made Eli think I don’t trust him.

“Remember when I came home from the Corps? And she punched me in the nose?”

Eli freezes, and stares at me, his eyes wide and confused. “Yeah. Wha—”

“That was when. When I fell for her. Before that, she was just my best friend, the third spoke in our wheel. She was just Hazel. The girl who helped me keep you and Nora happy and healthy. But then—fuck, Eli. She grew up. Four years is a lot of growing up. She’s gorgeous.”

“If you want to fuck up our entire family because Hazel is hot, I swear to god—” Eli starts.

“Shut the fuck up and listen to me,” I snap.

And, surprisingly. He does.

“Hazel—she’s always been special. You know, I’ve always had a different kind of relationship with her.”

“I know you and her have always felt this absurd need to take care of me and Nora.”

I nod. “Yeah. But what you don’t know is that Hazel—she was fucked up man. We both were. A lot more than we let on and for longer. She had nightmares until she was almost sixteen—she was still having them when I left, and the only reason I thought she’d be okay was because Delvin was there, and he knew how bad it could be. But she knew how dark I could get—and I knew how fucked up she was. And it didn’t matter. I didn’t care. Her baggage? My damage? It wasn’t hard to carry, when we were doing it together.”

“You love her,” Eli whispers.

I can hear the worry and the fear and something else.

Something that sounds, impossibly, hopeful.

I look at him.

And nod. “Yeah, man. I do.”

He’s quiet after that, and stays that way until we reach Gabe’s house.

Because of course, that’s where we’re going.

“It’s gonna take me some time,” he says, softly as I pull up behind Gabe’s ridiculous sunshine yellow VW bus. “But if you’re both happy. Just. Gimme some time to get used to it.”

It’s better than I could hope for and I nod as he slips out.

He unlocks Gabe’s door, while I sit in the Roadrunner, watching, and that alone tells me—whatever the hell is happening between Gabe and Eli, it’s serious and I’ve been blind.

When Eli explodes out of the house, his face his pale and he’s running, almost stumbling as he does.

He looks terrified and sick and furious. And I know. I fucking know.

This is all tied back to the slaughterhouse, and Morningstar. To Scarlett and her whores.

And Hazel.

I know, before he says it.

“Gabe’s fucking gone, Archer.”

After I leave Michael and John and Hanna, I need the familiar. So I head to Mama’s, and if I’m pale and shaky, I have almost thirty minutes to get my shit under control before I’m there and she’s demanding to know what the hell is happening.

Halfway back to town, I turn on my phone.

The twins parting words are still chasing around, like fucking taunts, in my head.

Tell the rest of the story.

And

Gabe is fine, but what happens next is on you.

And

We don’t mind dirty hands. Don’t test us.

The thing is that I don’t think they wanted to kill anyone else. Hanna, sitting on the edge of the pier, had looked more tired than anything.

My phone lights up, going crazy with messages and I feel my heart drop as I get the gist of them.

Eli and Archer are furious and worried and Jase has clearly sent them more info than I have.

The last message stops my breath.

Eli: Where the fuck is Gabriel?

So the cat’s out, then. They know Gabe is missing and that I’m keeping secrets.

I feel a flash of gratitude, for that.

I should tell them I’m fine. Have them meet me.

But. There is one last person to talk to, before I can tell this story. So I swipe the screen, dumping the messages to be dealt with later, and dial the number Michael sent me before I left.

“King,” a crisp, whiskey warm voice almost purrs.

“Seamus King,” I say and I hear the way he shifts, on the other end of the line. “I’d like to sit down and talk with you.”

“And who is this? Why should I give a shit what you want?”

“Because right now, I’m a journalist writing an expose, and all I’ve heard is the shit the McGreys have to say. I thought I’d give you a chance to defend yourself, first.”

“And why should I not kill you and the story?”

I breath a laugh. “King. You aren’t that stupid. And you aren’t who I want. So meet with me and give me who I want.”

There’s a moment when I think he’ll refuse. But King is a businessman.

“Who are you going after?” he asks, instead of agreeing.

“I want Scarlett Materson.”

A low laugh ripples across the line, and I shiver. The twins didn’t tell me enough about King to make me comfortable. They told me just enough to know he’s dangerous and I need to be very careful.

“I’ll meet you in forty-five minutes.”

“The Central Green,” I interject and he hums an acceptance.

And I hang up.

My fingers are shaking when I dial Archer’s number. Because I’ve lied to them. I’ve hidden so damn much.

The nature of secrets is to come to light.

“Where the fuck is he, Hazel?” Eli snarls, and I swallow.

“Put me on speaker.”

He spits a curse, but I hear the roar of the engine, and I say, clearly. “Archer, pull over and turn her off.”

There’s silence from both of them, and then the rumble changes, as the Roadrunner slides to side of the road and he kills the engine.

And then there’s silence, so deep and sudden it’s almost an ocean, something I can drown in and I want to.

I want to drown in it, because I don’t want to say this.

He will hate this.

They both will.

“Hazel, baby, I need you to talk to me. I need to know you’re okay.”

I hiccup a laugh, because of course he’s worried about that.

Of course he’s worried about me being safe.

Archer is always going to be a caregiver. First and forever.

“I know who killed Crystal Watson and her family. And Beth Griffins.”

Beth matters, even if my brother and Archer don’t see how, yet.

Stories and family and betrayal and secrets—all seething along under the surface.

That’s what the County has always been.

What it will always be.

“What are you talking about?” Archer asks, his voice low and tight and angry.

“They want something from me. It’s not illegal, so calm down. But I have to do this. I have to tell their story.”

“Why? They’re dangerous, Hazel. Why the fuck wouldn’t you tell me?”

“Because they threatened you. They said that what they did to Crystal, they’d do to you and Eli and Nora.” I take a breath, and then, “And they took Gabriel.”

Eli makes a noise, all broken and hurt and I swallow hard. Oh, Gabriel.

When this is over, and Gabe is safely home. I’m going to lock the two of them in a room together to sort out whatever is keeping them apart.

“He’s fine, Lijah,” I lie. “They haven’t hurt him. They just need him to leverage against me. And I’m doing what they say—I’m bringing him home.”

“No,” Archer snaps. “You get your ass to the house, and we’ll decide what—”

“I have to go, Archer. Go over the information Jase sent you. I’m—I’ll be home in a few hours. I have to do this. They want their story told. After that, you can arrest whoever you want. But they want their story told. Let me do my job.”

“Hazel,” Eli says, his voice this choked, desperate thing. “Hazel, please.”

I make a soft shushing sound in my throat. “This isn’t Amy, Eli. Gabriel is going to be fine. We’re bringing him home.”

He cries then, and I hang up.

My brother has Archer and Archer will take care of him.

But. There is another brother who needs—I mutter a curse and scroll through my contacts until I find it.

There is a ring. Two. Three.

Stubborn, reclusive bastard.

“Hello?” The voice rasps across the line like thunder and falling rocks, all deep and authority and impatience.

Aiden Delvin never did have much patience for anything beyond the Rayburn brothers and Gabriel and his photography.

“Aiden, it’s Hazel Campton.”

There’s a beat of silence and then, “What’s wrong?”

Fair enough. He was also always too damn smart for his own good.

“Gabriel. He—there are some people. They want me to do something for them. And I am. But they took Gabriel.”

“Is he alive?” Aiden snaps, and I hear a voice in the background, a voice we both ignore.

“Yes.”

“I want to talk to him.”

I hesitate, and Aiden snarls a curse. “You don’t have him?”

“I’m working on it.”

There’s a furious silence, long and tense and then, “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Tomorrow at the latest.”

“Aiden, you—”

I hesitate. Because as much as I want to say he doesn’t need to come home. I know better.

Gabriel is going through hell. And having his favorite brother by his side when he comes home—that won’t hurt anything.

So I ask the question that is hanging between us, waiting to be acknowledged. “You haven’t been back in eight years, Aidan. Are you okay with this?”

“He’s my brother, Hazel,” he says, his voice very empty. Like that is all that matters.

Which is true enough.

King is a small man with a neatly trimmed beard, an impeccable suit, and a black Rottweiler sitting next to him, watching me approach.

“Ahh. I did wonder. It makes sense, that they would use you.”

“My brothers are cops,” I say, softly.

“You’ve enough of a reputation outside the County that you could be a threat, if you wanted to be. And in the County? Well. You’re a third of the Airplane Orphans. You’re a County favorite, darling.”

“Why are they trying to bring you down?” I demand.

And King laughs. “Do you really think that’s what they’re doing? Those three? What they hell would they do with the vacuum? Michael doesn’t want to run a criminal network like Morningstar. He just wants his sister happy and kept in a steady supply of drugs.”

“Then what is this about?”

“It’s about the mother,” King says, easily. “And about that fucking whore, Scarlett.”

I lean forward, staring.

“Tell me.”

King studies me, for a long moment.

And then he tells me everything.

The story. It’s the story that twisted up everything. The story I wanted and didn’t know I was chasing, when I came home.

And as I stare at it, blinking at the submit button.

The County Gazette will publish it, if I send it to them.

So will my old boss, at the e-zine back in Boston. Because the story is fascinating and intriguing and impossibly sensational.

And true.

So true. I hit publish.

The thing about Green County is that it’s home. It’s not a small town—but it has that feel to it. Like everyone knows everything about everyone. We know who married who last weekend, and how long they dated before that. We know who fucked before they married.

We know all there is to know. The good—Louise makes the best pie in the County, and has since her great grandma gave her the recipe. The bad—Marks Automotive is where you go to get a cheap car, but you’ll pay for it in repairs a week later, and everyone will gossip for months about what an idiot you are. The ugly—well. We don’t talk about the ugly. It’s abusive husbands and the mamas’ who take a little pill to get through playdates and dinner time, and the girls who give blow jobs to pass AP English and the boys who spike their girlfriends’ drinks at party.

But that’s not all.

Here’s the secret.

Green County is no different from any other small town Americana you’ll find sprawled across the Heartland. It’s kind and generous and frustrating and under it all, there are a thousand secrets that no one will address.

That is the truth of every small town. But ours more than most.

Three days ago, four people were killed. The papers will continue parsing it apart, trying to tease out a reason.

Some will say it was senseless violence.

But some aren’t me. And I’m here to tell you a story.

Once upon a time, there was a girl and two brothers and they were happy.

I wish that is where this story ends. A simple fairy tale, as easy as it is short, and utterly unremarkable.

It’s not.

Nothing is ever truly without reason.

A girl grows up alone, with only her brothers and their fumbling concern. A girl with demons and a deep need to be loved. To matter.

This isn’t to say she was perfect. She wasn’t. She was beautiful, but cold and calculating and cruel.

But children become the thing they are shaped into.

Once upon a time, there was a woman. She was smart and hungry, and poor. And she made choices.

She fought her way from a working girl in the streets of Kansas City, to be the favorite of her pimp. But it wasn’t enough. She wanted to be the power that moved pawns. She wasn’t happy as the pretty face on the arm of a powerful, dangerous man.

She wanted his power. His danger.

Green County is a small place. It’s not the kind of place that would seem like a spot for a criminal organization.

Why do two women fight? Why does a place as small as Green County become such a valuable piece of a criminal empire?

Why are four people killed so brutally?

It’s like everything else in Green County. It’s family.

Want.

Family.

Betrayal.

Once upon a time, Hanna McGrey hated the mother who deserted her. She walked away from dangerous people, and took her brothers with her, and stole the drug trade of a powerful criminal empire, because she hated her mother.

And all things have consequence.

It was on a cold night, almost six months ago. Her brothers were out, dealing with their street dealers, while Hanna worked at home.

She was alone.

Strange in and of itself, because her brothers were almost obsessive in their diligence, keeping her protected.

The attack came quickly, brutally quickly. Two people.

Scarlett Materson. A dirty cop who vanished when her ties to the criminal empire came to light. There was speculation, that she ran the whores in Green County.

What wasn’t speculation was that Hanna’s mother considered Scarlett a surrogate daughter.

Another oddity—that the surrogate daughter of Hanna’s estranged mother would lead the attack on her.

Scarlett took a few boys with her, and they tore into Hanna.

The attack wasn’t sexual.

That was the only concession they made for her.

But when it was over, Hanna was barely alive. She had three broken ribs, a shattered wrist, her leg was broken in three places. Her face had been especially brutalized—her jaw shattered. She was concussed and had a ruptured spleen, a collapsed lung.

She was dying.

The message was simple.

Back off.

Scarlett and her boys worked for other people. And that was who Hanna’s brothers wanted.

They were patient.

They waited, while Hanna recovered, a slow fucking process—and she wouldn’t. Not really. She wouldn’t ever be the kind of ethereal untouched lovely she had been, before the attack.

And while they waited, they learned.

Scarlett ran the whores in Green County. But the two people she answered to? Ran everything.

Kathy McGrey. And Rusty Watson.

You know his name, now.

His daughter was in that house. So was her best friend—a young woman with a bright future and a tiny baby who will grow up alone.

It looked, on the surface, like a home invasion. It was supposed to.

It wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t. Nothing in this town is ever simple, and John and Michael McGrey had never allowed anyone to harm their sister.

Slaughtering John’s family. Killing the mother of his illegitimate child. It wasn’t random. It was justice. The kind of fucked up justice that makes sense, in the world of secrets and crime.

I wonder, if Scarlett is still alive. I wonder what hole she’s hiding in and if the McGreys will find her before they turn themselves in.

A tiny part of me hopes that they will.

Secrets and lies and family. That’s what makes up this County. What has always made up this County.

The brutality we saw, this week. It was one family’s secrets and rage.

I wonder if that will be the end of it. But I know. It’s not.

Because secrets. They’re everywhere.

And they’ll come to light.

I’m waiting for it.

Sitting in a booth at Mama’s. My phone is going off, alive with texts and fury from my brother and Archer.

The story is bouncing out, further than just our little County. Jase is doing what he can, making it spread.

The text doesn’t surprise me. Not really.

Unkown: Meet us at the Black Prism. Bring the cops.

Some of my tension eases. Mama Nora is standing near the table and I shiver under her hard stare. “You okay, Hazy Girl?”

I remember when she first called me that. I was thirteen, and still closed off. Still refused to get close to anyone but Eli. Still lost in my own mind and my books, more than present here.

She said when I looked at the world, I looked through a haze. Smiled, so full of affection and warmth that it hurt, to see. Called me Hazy Girl, and it stuck.

I smile, and blink away the memory. “Yeah, Mama. I’m okay.”

She doesn’t push me, just gives me a worried sort of look, and backs away, going to fill coffee for someone else.

I look at the phone again.

Hazel: Meet me at Mama’s. Hurry.

They hate it.

Both of them.

In the end, it doesn’t matter. We aren’t playing by Archer and Eli’s rules. Not this time. The strings are still being pulled by Michael and Hanna.

So we go.

All three of us, together, and I will never tell them, but it feels right. Being together, like this, even with the uncertainty and danger. It feels right.

Three killers, two cops, and a journalist walk into a bar.

Sounds like a bad joke, right? It’s not.

It’s the end--dear god I hope it’s the end--of the worst day if my life.

I just hope we all walk out alive.

The Black Prism isn’t a bar. Not really. It’s a club, and it belongs to Seamus King.

Slimy bastard. Eli and I have been watching him for years, but there’s never been anything we could actually pin on him.

Somehow I don’t think that today will change that. The Prism isn’t being offered up so King can bare his neck for the GCPD.

“Eli,” I murmur, and he nods, pulling Hazel close. She huffs her displeasure but doesn’t argue as I walk deeper into the empty club.

“Drink, gentlemen?”

I suck in a breath as I see King behind the bar. He’s got a cocky sort of smile on his lips. Like this is a grand adventure and a big joke.

Like he knows damn well that whatever happens, he’s walking out of here.

“Where are they?” Hazel demands, leaning forward.

“Patience, darling. You’ve done beautifully.”

“King!”

The voice is like a nightmare. Shrill and taunting and furious, and so fucking familiar. Eli makes a low noise, all rage and hurt and I step toward my brother, catching his eye. King lifts a hand, and I realize something.

We’re still in the shadows. Deep in the shadows, where it is too easy for us to be overlooked.

Hazel realizes it too, at the same instance, and her gasp is only just barely muffled.

We aren’t here to participate.

We’re observers.

Scarlett Materson stalks from a long hall at the back of the bar. She looks the same as she’s always looked—small, and beautiful and dark. Dark brown hair pulled up into a tight pony tail. Tight black pants and a red top that highlights all her best features.

And she’s furious.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she demands, and King gives her a bland look. “You said you’d control the McGreys. That they wouldn’t be a problem for Morningstar.”

“I did,” King says agreeably.

“Then what the actual fuck is this?”

She throws down a tablet, and I feel Hazel give this little twitch, a smirk turning her lips.

“That, Scarlett, looks like an expose.”

“How the fuck do you consider this controlling them?”

“Calm down,” a deep male voice orders, and Hazel shivers. Scarlett stops, abruptly, like a puppet with cut strings.

Rusty Watson looks different than the last time I saw him. Less wrecked. There is grief, in those dark eyes of his. A set of world-weary and defeated to his shoulders that I’d bet was new.

But he doesn’t look like he’s one strong word away from falling apart.

We really should have talked to Crystal’s father.

“King.”

“You expect me to control them when your tortured their fucking sister?” King snarls. “You’ve met John, haven’t you? The boy is an animal. And Michael let him off leash—for what you did. Don’t blame me if that mess lands on you.”

There’s a moment of utter silence, and then Rusty snarls and lunges forward. “That was my family, you bastard!” he roars.

“Calm down,” Scarlett shouts, throwing herself into Rusty and knocking him away from King.

“I told you when you attacked her, that there would be consequences. You should have left them the fuck alone,” King spits.

“I’m going to kill them,” Rusty says, softly, almost to himself and Scarlett sighs. “There’s no fucking way I’m letting those bastards kill my family like that, and—”

“We didn’t kill them all,” Michael says.

The reaction is instant. Rusty’s pulled a gun and trained it on Michael before the words die. Fury rippling through him.

How the fuck did I think that the grief stricken father was anything other than a threat? How did I buy into that fucking act?

“You’re a stupid bastard, coming here,” Rusty breathes.

Michael spreads his hands, and shrugs. “Maybe. Or maybe, if my brother doesn’t hear from me in the next fifteen minutes, he kills the kid. Maybe, if my sister doesn’t hear from me, she sends every file and document we’ve ever copied from Naomi to the cops.” He stills. “Maybe I am stupid. But I’m not so stupid that you’ll shoot me here and not feel the consequences.”

“And maybe I don’t give a fuck.” Rusty spits, stepping forward.

Michael laughs. “You should have left us alone. That’s all we wanted.”

“You wanted to ruin her,” Scarlett snarls and Michael turns his gaze on the girl who destroyed my brother, once.

“No, we didn’t. But Hanna does want to take everything from her.”

The words stutter. Catch. Rusty’s face twitches into confusion and I hear Eli’s snarled curse, hear Hazel gasping his name. But it’s all distant.

So fucking far away.

The only thing that makes sense, that makes it through the haze of confusion, is the gun.

Michael’s hand, filled with the black metal of the gun, and Scarlett’s eyes, so wide and startled.

The echoing report of it, and she makes a noise. Something like a gasp, all wet and stunned and pained.

Eli howls, a noise that is too full of loss to make any kind of sense.

Nothing makes sense.

Not a fucking thing about this town.

“GCPD!” I shout, yanking out my gun and stepping forward. Michael is smiling, folding to his knees, a content little thing. He’s dropped his gun, and his hands are behind his head.

He knew. He knew this would be how it ended. That it would always end like this.

Eli is crouched next to Scarlett, and she’s gasping for breath, blood pouring from the bullet wound in her chest. Her eyes are wide and cloudy with pain, but she smiles.

The bitch touches his face, with bloody fingers, and she smiles as she dies.

“Archer,” Hazel says, urgently. “Where the fuck is Gabe?”

“I keep my promises, Hazel,” Michael. “King made sure we always kept our promises. Go home.”

He smiles at her, then, and I want to punch him. Want to drag my brother away from the whore on the ground.

Rusty is gone.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and then he goes limp and silent. Patient and secretive as I call in the arrest.

It takes a few weeks, for things to settle. The County is anxious and on edge after the spree of killing, and with Rusty Watson still on the loose.

I hear more than most of the public. Having a brother on the case helps.

So I hear, before it hits the papers, that Michael is dead. Poison in his cell.

They find John and Hanna a few days later, on the sprawling farm they grew up in.

It was the plan, from the very beginning. There was no happy ending for them. They were too—everything. Too volatile, too dangerous, too, too, too.

Some of the public distrust and nerves settled, after that.

But it’s going to take time. Especially since we know that Morningstar is still out there. Still seething, like a silent secret, under the surface of the County.

It’s been two weeks but things are finally settling into a normal. For us, that means this. Finally.

We’re having family dinner, because Nora pitched a fit.

And that is a whole different nervous-making ball of worms.

She’s in my kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the side dishes. I can hear Archer and Eli arguing over the chicken Archer is grilling. It strings a smile across my lips, and some of the tension in my chest eases.

“When were you planning on telling me?”

I pause and look at her. She’s sprinkling cheese on the pasta salad and I have no clue what she’s talking about.

“C’mon, Hazel. You don’t think I raised you and him and somehow managed to miss that the two of you have been in love since you were fourteen.”

I pale and she laughs. “You knew?”

“Of course I knew. Why the hell do you think I gave you and him so much space? You and Archer are perfect for each other and always have been because you allow yourself to be there for each other. You’ve been working together like an old married couple since you were old enough to care about boys. I never thought you’d be stupid enough to run away from him.”

She cocks her head at me, her gaze fierce but loving.

Demanding and understanding. All the things Nora has always been. “You two can destroy each other. Or you can be the best thing that’s ever happened to either of you. Don’t run from that.”

“It scares me,” I say, quietly.

“The best things in life do, Hazy girl.” she answers, calmly. “Now go get your boys before they burn down the back porch.”

My boys. What she’s always called them.

Makes sense. If she knew how I felt about Archer, she wouldn’t continue to call him my brother.

I leave the cake I’ve finally finished frosting on the table and head to the back of the house. Eli is headed into the house, and Archer. Well. Archer is being utterly Archer. He’s gathering trash from the porch and watching the grill as the fire slowly dies.

He looks so right, there. Like he was never gone.

“Are you happy, sis?” Eli asks.

I nod. “Yeah. Feel a little guilty about it, but. Yeah. I am.”

“Why feel guilty?”

I focus on him. He’s watching me, those hazel eyes of his puppy sad and sweet.

“Because you lost someone you cared about.”

He takes a shuddery breath, and his eyes close. We haven’t talked about it, how Eli is dealing with the sudden death of Scarlett. We haven’t talked about how withdrawn and moody he’s been.

Oh, he’s been present. He was at Gabe’s when we found him, tied up and unconscious in his bedroom. He was there at the hospital when Gabe woke up and stayed until my grumpy best friend threw him out, and his brother arrived.

But he’s been quiet. Archer is worried, even if he isn’t talking about it much.

“I’m okay,” he says, now, slowly. Quietly.

Impulsively, I hug him and his arms come around me, almost too tight. He’s clinging to me, a subtle tremor running through him, and I bury my head in the crook of his neck. Whisper, softly. “You’re allowed to miss her, Lijah,”

“She wasn’t a good person, Hazel.”

“We don’t always love good people. Doesn’t make losing them easier.”

Eli stares at me, turning that over. I lean up and kiss his cheek and Archer makes a low noise in his throat as he enters. “Back off, Lijah. I called dibs.”

I give my boyfriend a hard stare. “You called dibs.”

He grins at me, completely unrepentant and I roll my eyes at him. But all of the annoyance fades away as he tugs me into him. His lips covering mine. And everything fades away.

Archer makes everything fade away, with his big hands on my hips, holding me close, licking into my mouth like I’m the air he needs to live.

Far away, I can hear Eli gagging, and Nora shushing him, her voice soft. I can hear Gabe and Aiden arriving, and my best friend’s laughter and mocking.

It’s not perfect. There are still so many secrets in the County, and the people I care about are hurting.

But Archer is here, and I’m in his arms. Surrounded by our family.

It doesn’t have to be perfect, to be right. And this has always been right.

DIRTY STOLEN FOREVER

GREEN COUNTY BOOK 2

PRE-ORDER TODAY!

Colt Rayburn loved Aiden Delvin, once. A lifetime ago. Before duty and the Marines took him a world away, chewed him up and spit him out.

Aiden would have waited forever for Colt to come back. But Colt didn’t want that, and he’s rebuilt his life. Without the man he loves.

When Colt comes home from a deployment that went wrong, Aiden is there. Inexplicably back in Green County and impossible to resist. He swore he’d never go back to that place, never destroy Aiden the way he had when he walked away the first time.

But Aiden grew up and changed too, while Colt played war hero.

Both of them know what they want. After all this time. But can a love story that destroyed them once be rebuilt, when life and duty still hangs over them both…

About the Author:

Nazarea Andrews (N to almost everyone) is an avid reader and tends to write the stories she wants to read. Which means she writes everything from zombies and dystopia to contemporary love stories.

When not writing, she can most often be found driving her kids to practice and burning dinner while she reads, or binging watching TV shows on Netflix. N loves chocolate, wine, and coffee almost as much as she loves books, but not quite as much as she loves her kids.

She lives in south Georgia with her husband, daughters, spoiled cat and overgrown dog. She is the author of World Without End series, Neverland Found, Edge of the Falls, The Blood Scion Saga, and The University of Branton Series, as well as Before & After and Fatal Beauty.

Stop by her twitter (@NazareaAndrews) and tell her what fantastic book she should read next.

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