Page 4 of The King of Hearts (The Raven Group #1)

As a boy, and up to his middle teens, Tomas was always lanky and somewhat awkward, nerdy even.

Once he hit puberty, his cheeks were covered in pimples and he started wearing wire-rimmed glasses.

He’s always been tall, but he was rail thin, and he kept his brown hair longer than was socially acceptable.

He’s changed a lot over the last several years.

He traded the glasses in for contacts, which brings out the striking blue in his aqua eyes.

I’ve always been jealous of his eyelashes because they’re so long and full.

His dark-brown hair is cropped on the sides with the top just long enough to run fingers through it.

His body, once slender to the point of bones protruding, has filled out and is now packed with hard muscles.

He has on a pair of well-worn jeans and a V-neck t-shirt.

Boots cover his feet, and he wears a baseball cap flipped backward.

Several colorful tattoos are inked on his forearms and biceps.

He has a few more on his chest and a couple on his back.

He’s told me he wants his entire chest and back, along with his arms, covered. He lets me draw the designs.

All in all, my best friend is smoking hot and has starred in many a girl’s wet dreams.

“I look good, don’t I?” he asks, wide grin still in place.

“Whatever.” I slap the back of my hand against his hard abs and scoff. “You know you do.”

His eyes roam up and down my body. “It’s a good thing you look good too, or I’m afraid we couldn’t be friends anymore.”

I shake my head at his ridiculousness. “You’re impossible.”

“But you still love me.”

“I see Tomas has made it home.”

We look over toward the stairs at Mom’s voice, watching as she descends the last step, a friendly smile in place.

“It’s good to have you back.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Rivers.” Tomas smiles.

“Will you ever call me Caroline?”

He chuckles. “Probably not.”

“Will you be joining us for church today?”

Tomas inclines his head. “I’ll be there. Dad and I are leaving from here.”

“That’s wonderful,” she remarks.

The door behind us opens and Dad walks out, momentarily pausing when he sees the three of us standing there. Rafaele appears behind him, and he nods to his son.

“Good to see you, Tomas,” Dad says, stepping forward and holding out his hand for Tomas to shake.

“You too.”

“Mrs. Teller?” Dad asks.

“Safe in the location she chose.”

Dad nods. “I trust I’ll have your full report in my email by this evening?”

“I’ve already sent it,” Tomas replies.

“Good. Bennett said you did well.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Dad lifts his arm and checks the time on his watch. “We better get going or we’ll miss the beginning of Father Vaughn’s service.”

My lips twitch, and I stifle a laugh at the funny face Tomas is making.

I reach over and pinch his thigh. “Behave,” I hiss under my breath.

His grunt of pain is so low I barely hear it, and I bring my hand back to my lap. A moment later, I barely catch the snort before it leaves my throat when Tomas makes a circle with his thumb and pointer finger with one hand and slides his other pointer finger through it.

Sometimes he can still be such an immature child.

Feeling eyes on me, I slide my gaze to Dad and see his brows tucked into a frown as he looks at me and Tomas.

“Sorry,” I mouth silently and focus my attention back to the front.

Father Vaughn is currently regaling his parishioners about Jesus’ disciples.

He isn’t your typical catholic priest. My guess is he’s in his mid-thirties.

Just below the cuffs of his black clerical shirt, the edges of black tattoos are visible.

His dark hair is cut short on the sides, but hangs a little longer on the top, and he has a few days of hair growth covering his cheeks and chin.

He’s tall, well over six feet, and you can tell by the way his clothes fit that his body is solid muscle underneath.

I never would have imagined I would find a priest attractive, but Father Vaughn definitely fits the bill.

As if sensing my thoughts, his eyes move from looking at his parishioners to the pew we’re occupying.

He looks at Tomas for a moment before they lock on me.

A cold feeling slithers over my skin, just as it always does when I look into this man’s eyes.

They appear solid black and seem to bore into a person’s soul.

Without fail, each time I look into his eyes, I get the feeling of judgment.

The notion makes no sense, because as a man of the cloth, he should only believe in judgment that comes from God himself.

I break my eyes from him and stare down at my lap. My fingers are locked together, and I tighten the grip I have around them, pushing away the chilly feeling Father Vaughn invokes in me.

I keep my head down as he continues his sermon, not wanting to chance that intense stare again. Usually, I can somewhat ignore the oddness of Father Vaughn’s bottomless black eyes, but this morning they seem exceptionally perceptive. Like he knows some deep, dark secret.

I mentally shake my head and ignore the more than usual intensity of Father Vaughn. I avoid looking at him for the rest of the service and instead keep my eyes down on my lap or direct them somewhere over his shoulder.

Not nearly soon enough, church is over, and everyone gets to their feet, a light murmur of voices filling the room.

As he does every Sunday after service, Father Vaughn walks down the aisle to the back of the church, where he’ll stand at the doors and greet each member as they exit.

My family and I get up from the front pew and make our way toward him.

“Father Vaughn looks particularly yummy today,” Tomas says in my ear. He’s practically smashed his chest to my back to whisper so only I can hear. “Wouldn’t you say?”

“Hush.” I elbow him in the ribs.

“Just stating facts,” he mutters. “The things I’d let that man do to me.” He hums in the back of his throat, sounding like he’s damn near salivating. “I’d let him bend me over his altar and shove his big har?—”

Even as my cheeks heat at the developing visual, I cut him off before he can continue. “Tomas!” I hiss and dig my elbow in deeper. “Cut it out before someone hears.”

He grunts with a laugh, but thankfully stops his fantastical musings. And just in time since we’re only seconds away from facing the object of his fascinations.

Tomas has had a crush on Father Vaughn since he took over the church several years ago. He likes going into great detail about what he wants our priest to do to him if given the chance. I think he does it because he knows it embarrasses me, but I know his fantasies are no less true.

“Another great sermon, Father Vaughn,” Dad says as he holds out his hand for our priest to take.

Father Vaughn smiles. “The Lord is my guide. It’s His words. I only deliver the message He wishes me to.”

“Of course.”

Mom holds out her dainty hand, and Father Vaughn clasps it gently with both of his. “It’s lovely to see you again, Caroline.”

“You as well, Father. As my husband said, what a lovely sermon.”

Father Vaughn inclines his head. My parents move forward, and then it’s my turn.

Inwardly, my nerves are quaking as I step directly in front of him. Outwardly, I square my shoulders, stiffen my spine, and force my lips to curve into a cordial smile. My hand is steady, if somewhat clammy, as I hold it out to him.

“Father Vaughn,” I say, silently praising myself for how even my voice is.

Father Vaughn’s hand envelops mine, and I barely hide the cold shiver it causes. He has large hands, and it’s surprising to feel the calluses on his palms.

“Savina. It was a pleasure to have you in church today.”

He says it like it’s a rare occurrence for me to attend church when I’m here every Sunday with my family. I have been since before I could remember.

“Thank you,” I murmur. “I’ll be here again next week, just as I am every Sunday.”

His lips twitch at my quiet quip. He releases my hand, and my first instinct is to rub my palm down my skirt to wipe away his touch. Instead, I curl my fingers into a fist and step to the side.

I avert my attention to my parents, needing to forget about the man who makes me feel uneasy. It’s not until we’re out of the church and on our way to our waiting cars that I feel like I can breathe properly again.

Before Tomas leaves, we make plans to meet this week for lunch to catch up.

David, our driver, holds open the car door for Dad, Mom, and me.

The cool air in the interior feels good against my flushed skin as I settle against the plush leather seat.

Dad, who sits beside Mom on the seat across from me, pulls out his phone as soon as the door closes.

A crease forms between his eyebrows as he looks at his screen.

“Everything okay, dear?” Mom asks when she notices his expression.

It takes him a minute before he darkens his phone and grabs her hand, lacing their fingers together and placing them on his thigh.

I’ve always been in awe of my parents’ relationship.

I’ve never met a man and woman more in love than them.

I hope to one day have the same special connection they share.

“Bishop and Ryker are bringing in a mother and her young daughter. He said the mother’s condition isn’t good.”

I sit up straighter in my seat and clasp my hands in my lap. A hollow feeling forms around my heart because I know what this means.

“Is he taking them to The Sheppard House?” Mom asks before I get the chance.

The Sheppard House is a small gated community where a select group of people live.

No one is allowed access to the property unless you’re part of The Raven Group or a member of the community.

It’s sort of like a safe house for people with violent pasts who need a secure place to go when they’ve got no other choice.

“No, he’s bringing them to the estate. He says it’ll be better for the mother. He’s worried she won’t do well around a lot of people.”

“I’ll have a room prepared,” I say. “What time are they expected to arrive?”

“Soon. They’re leaving the mainland with them now. Dr. Bale has been informed and will be there if either of them need medical attention.”

“Details on the situation?”

“He didn’t say,” Dad replies, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “Only that he found them in the city. He’ll explain more once they get here.”

I nod.

Mom’s fingers tighten around his. “I’ll have Lea cook something light for the mother and make sure we have something for her daughter.”

“Thank you, sweets,” Dad replies.

I twist my fingers together, anxious for what’s to come, wondering and worrying about the mother and child and the condition they’ll arrive in. Especially the child.

I’ve seen and heard a lot of horror stories over the years, and with each one, my gut twists with pain and sickness for the victims. The world is a nasty place filled with people who like to prey on the innocent.

I wish they’d all die, and I want a hand in making that a reality.