Page 15 of Lure (BLOOD Brothers #2)

Chapter

Fifteen

GRACE

O ne day bled into the next and rather than get bored or frustrated with the tedious task of taking each morsel of information apart, Alphabet seemed to come alive with the work. He’d zero in and stay at his desk and on his comp unless one of the guys bullied him away from it.

I’d asked if I could take Goblin for another walk just the day before and that seemed to rouse him. He’d blinked at me almost blearily. The redness of his eyes coupled with the rough dark of the stubble coating his face suggested what he needed more than a walk was a nap.

With a sigh, he glanced at Goblin then at the screen. Before I could backpedal my request, he keyed in several things then checked his phone before he stood. The cracks of his joints had me wincing, but they didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest.

Goblin bounded to his feet and turned in a circle next to me without getting in Alphabet’s way. “It’s supposed to be colder out there,” he warned me. “Storms coming through. Grab a jacket?”

Even his voice was hoarse and rough. “Maybe you should take it easier,” I said. “You sound bad.”

He shrugged then shoved his hand through the disarray of his hair. Three things happened in that moment, his raised arm sent a waft of distinctly unwashed and musky man in my direction. The smell of sweat wouldn’t usually bother me, but sweat laced with onions and something I couldn’t identify was really bad.

My nose wrinkled and I backed up a step before I even registered I was moving. He shot me a brief frown, then made a face himself before tested his own smell by raising his arm again. Oh, yeah. That was like old sweaty gym socks left in the bottom of the hamper bad.

“I can just go get that?—”

“Fuck,” Alphabet said with a scowl. “I reek.”

“I mean,” I began, fumbling for something that might be a polite response before I gave it up. “I don’t think you’re quite corpse-like yet, but it’s definitely nasty. Can’t be healthy.”

With a snort, he glanced down at Goblin. “And he definitely needs a walk. Ten minutes?”

What was I going to say? No? “Of course.”

“Thanks, Gracie.” Then he moved at a steady, if faintly limping pace out of the room. I frowned at the hitch to his gait. Maybe I should have just said no so he could get some rest.

Lunchbox stuck his head in the door not even a full minute after Alphabet and Goblin disappeared. “Good job, Gracie. A walk and some air will be good for him.”

“I hope so,” I murmured, then followed Lunchbox out to the kitchen to wait for Goblin and Alphabet. After his shower, and a shave apparently, he seemed in much better spirits. Even if his eyes were still red. He was also armed, a gun in a holster on the back of his belt.

The guys didn’t wear them in the house, but none of them seemed to leave without having it on them. After Mexico? Well, they wouldn’t get an argument from me. We walked for over an hour, lingering until the first spits of rain hit us and then a little longer.

By the time we got back to the house, dinner was ready and dark swept in soon after. I didn’t think the sun had gone down but the pitch dark nature of the storm clouds made the night come early. Rumbles of thunder rolled over the house while we ate. It wasn’t long before I excused myself to sleep.

Even after the walk, I wasn’t that hungry. The rain came down in sheets and I watched it out the windows as lightning flashed. With the lights out, I could almost pretend I was somewhere else entirely. Eventually, I curled up in the bed and listened to the storm. Sleep eventually swallowed me.

Following the debrief, the guys had fallen into a routine. Alphabet seemed permanently attached to his computer. But I might try to get him out for another walk today. Lunchbox started every day with a fresh loaf of bread. He smoked a brisket one day. On another he cooked up a batch of savory chili.

Voodoo spent more nights in my room than he spent away. Even if he wasn’t there when I went to sleep, I’d snap awake between one and two in the morning and there he’d be. More than once, he’d just been murmuring to me and wiping away tears I hadn’t even been aware of shedding.

Then there was Boney Boy.

I had no fucking clue what he was doing or where he was, but he didn’t bug me and I didn’t go looking for him. The problem with the passage of time was, I seemed to be losing track. I had no idea how many days it had been since I’d been rescued from the truck or we’d gone to my apartment or after we got back from Mexico.

Worse, I had no idea how long it had been since the last time I saw Amorette. My gaze tracked to the photo on the dresser. I looked at it every morning and every night. Still, she felt a million miles away. Blowing out a breath, I made myself turn away. Voodoo wasn’t in my room, but I could see from where he’d moved one of the chairs and the blanket there that he’d likely slept there with his feet up.

It surprised me that he hadn’t asked about sleeping in the bed. Despite me mentioning it during one of the times he was soothing me, he’d merely pressed a kiss to my forehead and told me to sleep. He would be right there. His staying wasn’t about sex either, cause we weren’t having any.

A part of me regretted that. The night we’d had at the hotel had been both desperate and… No there was no “and” about it. I’d been desperate to feel anything beyond what I’d been experiencing then. Voodoo had made it all go away.

As grateful as I was for that respite, I wasn’t sure what it meant going forward. Should I pursue another night? Would it help me forget? Or at least push it all away? And yeah, sex as stress relief or as a coping mechanism didn’t seem the best idea. Not after everything else.

Restless with the circumstances, but even more impatient with my own thoughts, I shoved out of the bed and headed for the bathroom. A lot of my bruises had faded. The soreness between my shoulder blades also seemed to have faded.

Twisting to look at myself in the mirror, I eyed the pinkish and ruddy line. It was thin but there. I didn’t need any more bandages, so that was good. After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I dragged my hair back and into a ponytail.

I went through the dresser to find clothes I could run in. Even though I’d never been a fan of running, or exercise of any type, I needed to do something . The spandex shorts hit me mid-thigh. The racerback tank top with the built-in sports bra was perfect. Socks took a hot minute then I had to find shoes.

There were boots and shoes in the mudroom, but I needed something for the gym. If I had to run in my socks, I’d do it. I delved into the closet and found a stack of shoeboxes in the back. I could have sworn these weren’t here before. Frankly, half the stuff in here still had the tags on it, but I hadn’t paid that much attention when we got here beyond seeing if there was anything I could use to get out.

“Score.” Second shoebox had running shoes in it.

The gym was in the basement, so that was where I headed. The house was quiet and the sun wasn’t quite up outside, though there was some light. Weird. The scent of coffee tickled my nostrils and damn near convinced me to detour to the kitchen.

“After,” I ordered even after I caught the faint whiff of maple syrup. Too much sugar. If I didn’t do something, I really was going to just start screaming and not stop. The walks helped, but agitation churned in my gut like I’d become some kind of plasma ball. Everything zapped me from the inside.

I followed the stairs around and then down the set to the basement. There were a lot of rooms down here, but thankfully, I didn’t have to prowl and sneak peeks behind every door.

The gym door stood wide open. It smelled like a gym too—a combination of sweat, cleaning products, and an old air freshener, maybe. Pungent and musky. I studied the layout, the equipment, and what supplies were here. There was a huge matted area, benches, basic weights, and multiple cardio machines including a Stairmaster, two treadmills, two bikes, and an elliptical.

There were four of them. They obviously needed to work out. Probably did it at the same time. Shelves in the corner had towels, a spray bottle with some kind of cleaning solution, and roll of paper towels.

Cool.

I’d kill for music, but I didn’t see anything that looked like a remote or a stereo and I was still sans a phone. The earlier irritation swarmed through me, and my heart hammered as I clenched my fists.

Yep. Time to run.

I chose the closest treadmill and studied the buttons. Most of these had programs that would alter everything from incline to speed, but I just wanted to move. Basic start. Excellent.

Got it going and kept upping the pace over the next few minutes until I was at three and half miles per hour. My legs protested right from the outset. I’d been too still for too long. The more I thought about it, the more irritated I became and the faster I ran.

Could I actually outrun my frustration? Or would I collapse from the effort? The answers were maybe and most definitely, and in that order. The hum of the machine and the slap of my shoes against the treadmill’s belt. At thirty minutes, I had the beginnings of a stitch in my side so I dropped back to three for a bit even though I’d finally found that place where all the noise in my head quieted.

Running sucked . It was good for keeping me trim and for endurance. I needed endurance on long photo shoots. It actually demanded a lot of energy, whether I had to scowl or wait for the light to be in the right position, or summon some sultry smile.

Part of it was playacting, inhabiting a role that the camera could catch. In the beginning, it had been me. I was the person in the photo, and I struggled to find something to care about—especially when the demand for sensual shots grew.

Then one day, I just pretended.

Pretending was easier.

I loved my job. I loved the places it took me. Most of the time, I even loved who it demanded me to be. The stitch subsided and I hit the speed back up, passing three-point-five for three-point-eight.

At forty-five minutes, I pushed past the four to four-point-five. Not only had the noise in my head quieted, but the tension which stretched out inside me and threatened to snap and break at any moment seemed to ease. Sweat slicked my face and trickled down my back.

I slowed it all the way down to a walk at the one-hour mark. My legs burned and so did my lungs, but fuck it felt good. Real good. The scuff of a shoe against the hard floor had me cutting a look over my shoulder.

Lunchbox crossed the room with a large bottle of water in hand. “Hey…”

My brain stuttered a moment as I processed his greeting. For just a few blissful moments, I’d forgotten everything. Where I was. Why I was here. The fact my sister was missing. It all rushed back in, bringing the tension with it, a milder form of it, but still back all the same.

“Hey,” I said, finally. At least my breath was already coming back under control. “Thanks.” I accepted the water and tilted the bottle up for a long drink. I damn near gulped down half of it.

“You doing okay?” The guarded way he asked the question had me cutting off the treadmill entirely so I could face him.

“Not really,” I answered and tried to summon a smile. “But my back doesn’t hurt really anymore and the bruises are fading. I can’t keep sitting around all day. It’s driving me crazy.”

“Hence, the running.” Arms folded, he studied me as though he were trying to peer right into my brain. Hated to break it to him, it was messier in my head than in my apartment. Probably better that he couldn’t see.

“Yep.” I stepped off the treadmill and moved in little circles. Probably kind of dumb to run for that long after not running for even longer. I’d probably end up stiff as hell.

Worth it.

Head cocked, Lunchbox pursed his lips. “Talk to me, Gracie.”

“About what?” I drained the last of the water before heading for one of the towels in the corner.

“About you.” He didn’t follow me but he also didn’t look away from where I stood wiping my face.

“Not much to say. I’m still here. You guys are still searching. None of us have answers.” I was back to being ready to scream again. That had me grabbing the spray bottle and a couple of paper towels.

“You’re frustrated.”

The urge to say “no shit” bubbled away inside. Thankfully, only some mildly ironic laughter escaped as I wiped down the treadmill. “You could say that. Going for the walks was helping, a little.”

His frown deepened. “I thought the debriefing helped.”

I shrugged. “It did until it didn’t. Not much is helping. I need to be doing—” I spread my arms and motioned to the room as if the answer should be lurking around somewhere. “Something. Anything. So—I ran. Now I’m going to shower and find clean clothes.”

That would keep me occupied for thirty or forty minutes. Then I’d be back to nothing. Maybe I could take Goblin out for a walk and head downhill this time. The main road had to be down there somewhere, right?

The moment the thought hit, I discarded it and the used paper towels in the trash before putting the bottle of spray cleaner back. I couldn’t take A-B’s dog. They were such partners. I also had no idea how far I’d have to go and I was really not built for survival or had I ever taken survival training.

“Do that, then come down to the kitchen. I’ll have your coffee waiting and…” He studied me for another long moment. “I think you need cinnamon rolls. Big fat ones. Light on the frosting, because you think it’s needless sugar.”

Was that so? “I didn’t say needless, I said too much.”

“Same thing,” he said with the faintest of smiles. “Cinnamon rolls need the sweet. Especially hot and fresh from the oven.”

My mouth watered and my stomach gurgled away. I could practically taste them and it sounded fantastic. “You’re really going to make them?”

“Yes,” he returned with a glance at his watch. “Get going, Gracie. I’ll have everything ready for when you come back down.”

I must have hesitated too long because he frowned.

“Don’t tell me there are too many calories in the rolls. You just did an hour on the treadmill and you’ve been hiking. Carbs are good.”

Snorting, I shook my head. “I wasn’t going to say no, I’m still back at—the offer. Thank you.” Cinnamon rolls were my favorite and I wished they were ready right now.

“You’re welcome,” he said, ushering me out of the gym and up the stairs ahead of him. “Now, hurry up and shower. You’re finally excited about something I’m making you, I don’t want the moment to pass.”

I was almost to my room when the guilt stabbed me. Had I really not expressed my appreciation for all his cooking? The man was a machine and he made something different for every meal. Very few items seemed to be repeated.

Giving myself a look in the mirror, I shook my head. I needed to be better about how I responded to them. They were trying to help and they had saved my life. It wasn’t perfect. Not yet, I needed more answers than we’d found. They were busy men, that much I’d gleaned, and they did mercenary work that included blowing things up.

I needed to keep their interest on finding Am and getting us home. Then we could all go our separate ways. But if another job came up and I was being a bitch…

Yeah, I couldn’t afford that. We—Am and me—couldn’t afford it.