Page 18 of Unmask (Crew of Elmwood Public #2)

I stepped forward, my boots heavy against the porch. Not too close, I knew better than to crowd her when she was already spooked, but just enough for her to catch the desperation I couldn’t quite hide when I dropped my voice low and rough. “Little raven…please.”

Her lashes fluttered in response. The word, please , I never said it. Ever. Not to anyone, Kaylor being the only exception. “Fine,” she agreed. “But only if you promise never to lay a hand on one of my friends again.”

The muscle in my cheek jumped as I ground my molars together, fighting the urge to tell her exactly what I thought about her precious friend and his wandering hands.

I wasn’t the type to make empty promises, particularly to her.

She deserved better than pretty lies and hollow words.

“As long as he keeps his hands off you.”

“Kreed.” Her spine straightened as she fixed me with a glare. “I’m not kidding.”

“Neither am I, little raven.” The endearment rolled off my tongue like a confession, completely at odds with the hard line of my shoulders.

She stared at me, her internal debate playing out across her features as she weighed her options, whether to scream, slam the door, or both. Finally, with a soft breath, she stepped back, pulling the door open just wide enough to let Raine and me squeeze past. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Small victories. I’d learned to take them where I could find them.

The warmth inside wrapped around my skin and seeped into my bones after too many nights sleeping rough.

As I passed her in the narrow doorway, our bodies nearly brushing, I caught the barest hint of lavender, that soft, clean scent that had haunted my dreams and followed me through countless sleepless nights.

She wrinkled her nose at me. “You need a shower.”

I arched a brow, letting a hint of my old cocky smile ghost across my lips. “Are you offering yours?”

Her glare could have cracked granite, could have stopped a charging bull in its tracks. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as she leveled me with a look that promised swift and painful retribution. “Don’t flirt with me.”

Still, despite the ice in her voice, she turned and headed toward the kitchen, her bare feet silent against the hardwood floors. Her voice floated back over her shoulder as she added, “Oh, and you’re switching to coffee. It’s time to fucking sober up.”

Raine chuckled behind me. “Yep. We’re definitely staying.”

Kaylor disappeared down the hallway, leaving only the lingering scent of lavender and the soft whir of the coffee pot kicking to life.

Raine and I drifted into the family room, and I sank onto the couch, head tipping back, eyes falling shut.

For the first time in days, maybe longer, the stiffness in my shoulders loosened.

I hovered somewhere between awareness and sleep, clinging to the stillness.

Every distant clink from the kitchen, the soft percussion of ceramic against granite, the whisper of cabinet doors opening and closing, settled something in my chest. Every rustle of movement, every sign that she was there, real and safe and within reach, soothed the beast that had been clawing at my insides.

Footsteps padded back toward the room. I didn’t open my eyes, unready to shatter the moment. Across from me, Raine cleared his throat. “He looks like shit,” he muttered.

The corner of my mouth twitched.

“He’s looked better,” Kaylor replied dryly, her voice carrying that particular brand of understated sarcasm.

Even with my eyes closed, I could picture her perfectly, arms crossed over her chest in that defensive posture she’d perfected, chin tilted just enough to project that air of unimpressed authority.

The coffee maker gurgled and hissed in the background, punctuating her words with mechanical indifference.

“He needs to sober up,” Raine said, his voice dropping to that conspiratorial whisper. “And he can’t do that at home.”

“Why not?” She’d always been direct, cutting straight through bullshit to get to the heart of things. It was one of the things that drew me to her in the first place, the refusal to dance around the truth.

Raine chuckled sourly. “Our father isn’t thrilled with him. Between skipping practices, showing up wasted, and nearly decking a teacher last week, Kreed’s not exactly a poster boy right now.”

“Because of me?” she asked.

“Partly.” Raine’s honesty was brutally efficient. No sugarcoating, no gentle lies to soften the blow. “But mostly because he’s spiraling. You know how Corvos are. We don’t unravel. Not publicly, anyway.” He paused, and the leather groaned softly under his weight. “But he’s unraveling anyway.”

I heard the hitch in her breath, and the sound pierced through the fog of my pretended sleep, and I forced myself to keep my breathing even, my body loose and relaxed against the cushions.

“And you think I can fix that?” Her voice had gone smaller now, rearing those primitive and protective instincts in my chest. She shouldn’t sound lost and fragile.

“Can’t you?” Raine challenged.

“I don’t see how.”

“You can start by forgiving him,” Raine said, and the simplicity of it was devastating.

“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” I sighed. “I’m not there, Raine. Not with any of you, but definitely not with Kreed.”

My heart cracked down the middle, the pain of it immediate, visceral, radiating through my chest and settling in my bones.

“But he can sleep it off,” she conceded after a beat. “A few hours. Then you both leave.”

Relief flooded through me so fast it left me dizzy, a rush of gratitude so intense I nearly forgot to keep breathing. Not forgiveness, we were nowhere close to that, but not complete rejection either. Somewhere in between, which was more than I deserved and less than I needed.

Despite the fact that this entire conversation was centered around me, around my failures and my spiral into self-destruction, I didn’t want it to end.

Didn’t want to break whatever fragile spell had settled over this house, this moment of almost peace.

I didn’t want her to kick me out, to send me back to the crushing gravity of my father’s disappointment and the empty bottles that had become my only reliable companions.

Was it a cheap move to pretend to fall asleep so I could stay as long as possible?

Maybe stretch it into the night if I played my cards right?

Absolutely. But I didn’t give a shit about playing fair anymore.

Desperation had a way of stripping away pride, leaving only the raw need to be close to the one person who could quiet the chaos in my head.

The only thing that would make this night better was if Raine made himself scarce, disappeared into the darkness, and left me alone with her.

I wanted him gone with a fierce, selfish intensity that surprised me.

But I also knew she felt safer with him there, a buffer between us, a familiar presence that kept her from being alone with the person who’d shattered her trust.

I’d allow it for now, swallow the jealousy and the need for privacy, but eventually, when she’d relaxed enough to let her guard down, Raine would have to go.

“I know he’ll appreciate it,” Raine said. “How are you holding up?”

“Seriously?” Kaylor laughed disbelievingly. “You’re asking me how I’m doing?”

“Is that a crime?”

“Coming from you? Yeah, it kind of is.” The bitterness in her tone was fresh, recent, like a wound that hadn’t quite scabbed over yet.

Raine chuckled a little grimly. “Would it help if I said you’re nothing like I expected?”

“Not really.” Her response was immediate.

“Fair enough.” His tone shifted, softer now. “But if I could go back, I would’ve done things differently. It took me too long to realize that you’re as much of an instrument as we are. More so if I’m being honest.”

“That sounds like a manipulation tactic.”

“It’s not. Though I’ve definitely used worse.”

“Was that your version of an apology?” she asked curiously.

“I’m sorry you got dragged into this,” Raine said. “Sorry that we didn’t protect you when it mattered.”

Those were my words, my apology, yet it sounded so much more sincere and believable from Raine’s lips, and I half envied, half cursed him for it.

“That’s not good enough,” she said eventually. “But I’m tired, Raine. Hating you all takes effort. And I’m running low.”

“Don’t let it fester,” my brother murmured. “Trust me. It’ll eat you alive and turn you into something you won’t recognize. Kreed…he’s fucked up about how things unfolded.”

“Good.”

“You’re ruthless.” Admiration laced in Raine’s voice now, the type of respect he reserved for people who could match his own capacity for calculated cruelty. “It’s that spirit that makes you more Raven than Viper.”

“I’m not part of any crew.” The denial was immediate, fierce, but I caught the slight tremor underneath it, uncertainty perhaps.

“Remember that, killer Kay,” Raine said, and I could hear the smile in his voice, quiet amusement threading through his words like silk. The nickname rolled off his tongue with easy familiarity, and a stab of possessiveness twisted in my gut.

I kept my eyes shut, body still, feigning sleep while the last traces of alcohol fogged my head.

Kaylor’s soft voice mixed with Raine’s deeper one in the background, the kind of low conversation that should have lulled me.

It didn’t. Not when I heard the slight shift in Raine’s tone, the way it warmed like honey when he said her name.

My jaw tightened. Then I heard him move, the couch springs groaning slightly, and her breath hitched just barely.

I cracked my eyes open a sliver, enough to see his damn hand brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear.