Page 39

VAUGHN
Laden down with a dozen reusable shopping bags, I struggled through the doorway and unceremoniously dumped all twelve on the kitchen floor.
“What’s all that?”
I spun around and found Kian lying on a yoga mat in the open-plan living room. He had his head swiveled in my direction, but his legs were in some sort of pretzel position that had to be insanely painful.
“Groceries.” I pointed at the food cupboard. “We were getting pretty low.”
Kian unraveled himself only to twist into a different, even more awkward position. “Yeah, I noticed, but we’ve run out of the money that was in the household account. Your dad’s business partner seems to have put a stop to the regular payments that used to go in there.”
I swore beneath my breath. “I’ll get it fixed. Just tell me if you need money.”
Kian bristled, like I’d somehow managed to insult him in the three sentences I’d uttered since walking in here. “If you just paid me for the work I’m doing, I wouldn’t have to, Mr. Moneybags. My wages haven’t been going into my account either.”
I sighed. I was probably more broke than Kian was. I’d been living off the tiny amount of money I’d managed to salvage from my trust fund after I’d realized Brooke had happily spent ninety-five percent of it without my knowledge.
Kian pointed to a package sitting on the dining room table. “That came for you while you were out by the way.”
I squinted at it. “What is it?”
“I’m already your currently unpaid housekeeper. Do you really want me to be your receptionist too?”
I glared at him. “What’s up your ass this morning? I didn’t mean it like that.”
Kian pushed to his feet, a sheen of sweat glistening on his lightly freckled skin. “I’m going to see if Rebel wants to go for a run.”
I watched him walk up the stairs to her room. I might have been amused by her loud complaints at being woken up for cardio if I wasn’t so busy hating on the fact Kian was clearly pissed at me.
I was the one who should have been pissed. It was him who’d walked out after grinding on top of me, then leaving me with a case of blue balls.
But I knew that was nothing compared to the way I’d walked out on him ten years ago. He’d denied sex. I’d denied our entire fucking relationship—years of friendship and months of slowly becoming more.
I sighed and picked up the package from the table. There was no return address, but the postmark was from California. In an instant, I was on edge, knowing it had to be from my wife. “What now, Brooke?” I muttered to the empty kitchen.
The package was legal-sized but oddly light when I picked it up. I shook it, but it didn’t make a sound, so I dug through the top drawer and found a pair of scissors. The sharp blades made quick work of the plastic mailer, and I tipped the entire thing upside down to empty it onto the table.
It took me a minute to realize the long golden strands falling from the package were hair.
I didn’t know how long I stared at the pile before I dared to reach out for the card nestled amongst it.
But my heart pounded when I turned it over to read the scrawl of letters written across it.
You can pay what your woman owes. Or we can continue sending parts of her. This is a warning. The next one won’t be.
My stomach swirled with nausea. I’d thought Brooke had been overexaggerating when she’d claimed these men she owed money to would kill her if I didn’t pay.
I tried to convince myself it wasn’t her hair. It could be any blond woman.
But what if it was?
Kian’s sneakers squeaked on the grand staircase behind me, and I quickly swept the hair and the card into my palm before I turned around.
Kian was alone.
“You couldn’t get her emo ass out of bed?” I asked, trying to hide the tremble in my fingers.
He scowled in a very un-Kian-like fashion. He was normally all sunshine and rainbows and positivity. But apparently not with me. Not anymore since I’d reopened Pandora’s box by practically begging him to fuck me the other night.