Chapter Two - Five
The Shrike farm is nothing like how I remember it growing up.
“Where are all the horses?” I ask Oliver as we come to a stop under the workshop carport.
“Oh,” Oliver says, waving his hand at the overgrown empty pastures. “Rory sold her horse when she left for college. Belle just sold hers a few weeks ago because she’s leaving for NYU. Jasmine quit riding a couple years ago and I never had a horse of my own. Cindy has a new pony now, and it’s out on the far pasture grazing with the cows until everyone gets home from Florida.”
“What about Snowflake?”
“Oh, she died a few years ago. But we buried her over under the old buckeye tree.” He points to an elaborately arranged pile of rocks acting as a marker. “Rory cried her eyes out and, well, you know my dad. Rory crying isn’t something he can deal with. So we had a huge funeral for her.”
Snowflake is dead. Has been for several years. And no one even bothered to tell me about it.
Do you blame them, Five? You walked away and never looked back.
The emptiness here is… sad.
When we were kids, this place was never empty. People were always staying here from out of town. Sasha and Jax would come with my niece and nephew. Merc and Sydney and all those cousins would appear every now and then out of the blue. Even James and Harper would bring their family at least once a year. Plus, we were always out here. My whole family was. The place was alive back then.
“It looks abandoned,” I say, opening my door and getting out of the car.
Oliver takes another look at his family farm and shrugs. “I like it like this. I don’t even remember the last time I had a moment alone, but I feel them coming now that all my sisters are growing up.” He glances back at me over the hood of my rental. “OK, so why’d you drag me out here?”
I gotta get something from the apartment over the workshop. But I don’t want Oliver to know about it. He can’t know about it. So I say, “There’s a hidey-hole in Spencer’s office. You know the one?”
Oliver smiles mischievously. “I know it. What do ya need?”
“A gun,” I say. “Something compact. Fit-in-the-pocket kind of compact. Can you get me one?”
“Can I?” Oliver huffs. “Of course. But he’ll know it’s gone. He counts them, ya know. Like… daily.”
“Yeah,” I say. “He does. But he’s not here. He’s in Florida. And I’ll put it back before I leave so he never has to know.”
Oliver considers this. “OK. Let’s go.” He turns and starts walking towards the house, but then looks back and finds my feet haven’t moved. “You coming?”
“You get it,” I say. “I’ll wait. You never know with your father, right? He probably dusts the place for fingerprints weekly. Or has a hidden security camera. I don’t want him to know I’m here.”
“Right.” Oliver laughs. Like this weird paranoid shit his father does is normal everyday Shrike business. “Be back in ten.”
Ten minutes is more than I need. And Spencer Shrike does have cameras. All over this damn place. In fact, if I hadn’t disabled the app he uses to monitor the farm, he’d know we were here right the fuck now because the second you drive through his gate at the main road, you’re tracked.
But I did disable that app. Because I’m fucking Five and I think of everything.
As soon as Oliver disappears into the house, I turn to the workshop. There’s a keypad to open the door, but I hacked it remotely last night, so I punch in the code, look over my shoulder one more time, and go inside.
The stairs that lead to the second-floor apartment are off to the left. I take them three at a time, then key the code to get into that place too.
I’m down to eight and a half minutes now. So I don’t waste time, just head straight to the bedroom at the end of the hall, bend down to the outlet cover nearest the door, and pull the mini screwdriver out of my suit coat pocket.
Thirty second later I’m reaching inside the wall, feeling around.
Please. Please tell me you’re still here, you little fucking piece of—there. My fingers brush against the smooth metal case, and I carefully maneuver it so it fits through the hole.
Thirty more seconds and I have the outlet cover back on. One more minute and I’m rekeying the code to the apartment to the one it’s supposed to have, and twenty-four seconds after that I’m doing the same thing to the one at the main door.
When Oliver appears at the front door of the house I’m sitting in the car, waiting impatiently. Three minutes to spare. That little shit is quick.
But he learned from the best, so I can’t complain about that.
“Here,” he says, getting in the car and thrusting the gun at me. He pulls out two boxes of ammo from his pockets and places those on the center console.
I laugh. “What the fuck am I gonna do with a hundred rounds of ammo? Jesus, kid. You’ve got some imagination.”
“Dunno,” he says. “Don’t care, either. But if you take a gun you take the ammo too. Even I know that much.”
He’s right. And even though this whole gun thing was mostly for cover, it can’t hurt to be prepared. I pop the magazine out, find it full, then check the chamber. Empty. I reach over, open the glove box, and stuff the gun and ammo inside.
“We good?” Oliver asks. “That all you needed?”
“That’s it,” I say, starting the car.
“Do you need backup?” Oliver asks, serious.
“Nah. It’s just a precaution, that’s all.”
“You got into some trouble over there in England?”
I shoot him a look as I navigate my way back down the driveway. “I’m not taking this gun to the UK, dumbass. I just have a meeting in Denver tonight and I want to go in packing heat.”
Oliver shrugs, like this is the most normal conversation ever. “Cool.”
We drive back to town. It’s a good thirty-minute drive and Oliver fills the time with mindless conversation. I’m zoning him out, thinking about that meeting tonight, when he points and says, “Stop!”
I almost screech on the brakes. Only my inherited Aston indifference keeps my foot off that pedal. “What the fuck, Ollie? You’re gonna make me crash the goddamned car.”
“It’s Rory!” He points to the steps leading up to Anna Ameci’s restaurant. And yup, sure enough, like a page out of a story book gone wrong, there she is. The one girl in this world I really didn’t want to see today.
Princess Shrike is here. In the same town as me.
How the fuck did that happen?
“Rory!” Oliver yells out the window.
“Jesus Christ, Oliver. Shut the fuck up!”
But it’s too late. Rory turns, squinting her eyes into the late afternoon sun as she searches for him. She sees me first, I think. Because she scowls, turns back to the restaurant, and walks inside without a word.
“Park,” Oliver says.
“No,” I say, easing up to the light on Laurel Street. “I gotta get going. And how is she here, anyway? I thought you said she was in the Hamptons this summer?”
“I texted her,” Oliver says with a grin. “Told her you were here. Sent her a plane ticket this morning. And she came, Five. She left her little college world and came here. For you. So fuck you if you think you’re not gonna see my sister today. I’ll call my dad up right now and tell him what you just did inside that apartment. I’ll call your dad up too. And then I’ll tell him you took his shit from inside the wall.”
What the fuck?
“We do have cameras, Aston. Everywhere. And if you think I’m too stupid to figure out you came here to get code from Ford’s stash, well… I’m taking you to school, asshole. Now park the fucking car, go inside Anna Ameci’s and sweet-talk my sister.”
“You got a filthy little mouth on you, kid.”
“Yeah, well. My last name is Shrike. My dad’s a biker and my mom swears like a tattoo artist. What’d ya expect?”
I stare at him for a few seconds. The light at Laurel turns green. Someone honks behind me. Oliver’s gaze is solid. Stoic. Firm. He will ruin everything unless I give in.
So I flip a bitch and park, pulling on the e-brake for effect.
“I’ll make you pay for this,” I say, getting out of the car.
“I can’t fucking wait for it, Aston,” Oliver quips back. “Now go be your charming, stuck-up self and tell my sister everything she’s been waiting to hear for the past six years or I’ll make good on my threats.”
I’d fight it, but what’s the point? I need him to stay quiet about what’s happening to me right now and hell, if talking to Rory—well away from said shit happening to me—is the only way to get that done, I can deal.
So I get out and walk up the steps to Anna Ameci’s. Rose Ameci—an old friend of ours from school—is working. It takes her a second to recognize me, but then—
“Five! Oh, my God, Five! You’re here? How are you here? When did you get back? Rory! Look! Did you know Five was coming home today? Holy shit,” she says, pulling on a young girl, who is walking past rolling her eyes. Her little sister, I think. “Isabella, get Rory and Five a bottle of champagne, will you?”
Rory is standing just inside the bar, looking like she wants to sit down and have a drink, but she’s not quite sure that’s part of her personality.
It’s not. From what I remember, anyway. Six years can change a person.
She looks sad when her blue eyes meet my brown ones. And she says nothing. Neither do I. Not because I have nothing to say—I have six goddamned years of shit to say—but because I just don’t know where to start and all the excuses I’ve planned for this moment just seem… lame.
“You look good,” I say. Which is totally lame and even I have to control my eye roll.
“Why are you here?” Rory is practically growling through her clenched teeth.
Well… she’s pissed. And she has a right to be.
“I have a meeting in Denver.”
“So I’ve heard. But why are you here?” She taps her foot on the tiled floor of the restaurant.
I unconsciously glance outside where Oliver is waiting, then catch myself and focus back on the princess. My beautiful, angry princess.
“Well?” she asks.
“You, of course.”
“Liar,” she spits. “You aren’t here for me.”
“OK,” Rose says, coming between us to break the tension. “This is weird. How about a table near the window for old times’ sake?” She grabs two menus and says, “Follow me, kids.”
I wave a hand after Rose to tell Rory to go first, relieved that she actually follows her, then glance back at the window, where Oliver is pacing outside the restaurant. That fucking kid. He thinks he’s got me. He thinks he’s in control—
“Are you coming or not?” Rory asks. And then she squints her eyes at the window and spots Oliver.
“Yes,” I say, walking towards her until I’m so close, she has to turn and continue into the dining room. Because this could go very wrong, very fast if I don’t get a few minutes to explain.
Lie. That’s what I really mean. I need to lie and calm her down.
We get the window table Rose promised, take our menus, and then, just as Rory is about to start in on me, the champagne arrives.
“Wow,” Rose says, as we wait for the champagne to be poured. “I can’t believe you two are here again. Remember that one time you guys gave your parents the slip on Christmas Eve? God, I think about that all the time. How romantic it was.” She actually sighs.
But it was romantic. And Rory knows it too. She glares at me, but her eyes are sad, not angry.
“It was the best day of my life,” I say, lifting up my glass. “I think about it all the time.”
Rory’s glare softens. Rose excuses herself. I nod my head to her glass of champagne. “Come on, let’s toast.”
Rory shakes her head slowly. “No. You don’t get to disappear for six years and then come home for a meeting, accidentally find out I’m in town, and then try to pull it off like it was all planned. Forget it, Aston. I might be blonde, but I’m not stupid.”
“Come on, Rory,” I say, flashing her my most charming smile.
“No, you come on, Five.” The way she says my name doesn’t conjure up visions of affection. “Just what the fuck?”
I glance around to see if anyone can hear us argue, but it’s not very busy today.
“I’m sorry, OK? That’s not how I planned things, it just got… complicated.”
“What got complicated? Me and you?”
“No,” I say. And goddammit, this isn’t the direction this conversation needed to go either. “Just… life, ya know?”
“Mmmhmm,” she says, her lips pressed together. “You came to town for a meeting and I’m screwing up all your plans. Does that about sum it up?”
Yes. That is a very succinct description of what’s happening right now. “No,” I lie. “I just didn’t know you’d be here—” She scoots her chair back, ready to get the fuck out of here. So I continue hurriedly. “But now that you are, Princess, I’m thrilled. How long can you stay? I do have a meeting in Denver tonight, but I’m coming back to FoCo to visit with everyone. And I was going to call you tomorrow and see if you’d like to meet up while I was in New York.”
“Passing through New York, you mean? On your way home to England?”
I sigh, feeling defeated. “Can you just please… cut me a break? Please? I need one, OK? How’s that for some reality? Shit’s gone weird and I’m here to try to fix it. I don’t want you involved, so I haven’t called—”
“Not one call!” she says, her eyes filling up with tears. “Not even a fucking Love Note!”
I have to stop and laugh at the mention of that old app I gave her for Christmas just before I left for Oxford. “Love Notes. You still have that thing?”
“Of course I still have it, you jerk! You made it for me! You promised me we’d keep in touch. You said you’d send me messages on it and what did I get? A big. Fat. Nothing!” The glare is back and she’s aiming it at me. “I think,” she says in a low, low whisper, “I hate you, Five Aston.”