Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
I tighten the knot of my towel without flashing Rocky, and I step out of the shower, going to the mirror. “I know you, Rocky. You wouldn’t come all the way out here just to tell me our plan is stupid. You could’ve done that over the phone. So what do you need to say?”
His jaw sets. “She won’t go if you don’t.”
Hailey.
He’s worried about his sister.
Concern fills his gray eyes. Why does my stomach drop? Why do I feel hollow that I’m not a part of his concern?
He doesn’t care about you anymore. Not after that job.
I push aside those painful thoughts, and I rake a brush through my tangled dark blue hair. Snagging knots and yanking roughly. “She wants to do this.” Pressure mounts on my chest. “She’s smarter than both of us combined. She’s thought all of this through.”
“I get all of that,” Rocky says with edge. “I know she’s smart. But Hailey has always been a fucking dreamer. She’s painfully idealistic. What I don’t get is why you would want to move to some boring, pretentious college town. It sounds like hell on earth.”
Maybe I want to live the Mystic Pizza life with her.
I’m not even sure I can be virtuous and moral, and I highly doubt I’ll find my small-town romance with a do-gooder gentleman who’s constantly merry and bright even after Christmas.
Hailey is hopeful, and Rocky is right. I’m full of cynicism.
Moving to Connecticut and starting over is her idea. Not telling her parents and my mom—also her idea. When we arrived at the motel, I suggested we contact them in a week or so to let them know our whereabouts. Just so they don’t assume we’ve driven off a cliffside and plummeted into the Pacific—or worse, got caught by the Feds.
There is a bad scenario where my mom is worrying her only daughter is dead or in cuffs, and I feel awful saddling her with that panic. But Hailey was firmly against divulging our location. She’s anti-conflict, and if they know our plan, it’ll start the equivalent of a nuclear reactor meltdown with lectures, guilt trips, and cutting disappointment.
I think Hails is also concerned that any contact with my mom might lead me back to conning.
Maybe that’s why I’m not making any calls. Hearing my mom’s voice, knowing I’m hurting her by being deceptive—a person I’m used to always being genuine toward—it’s painful for me. The only way to stay on track is to remember my best friend comes first. I’m just here to oversee the situation. A passenger on this plan. Along for Hailey’s ride in case the car crashes.
I do know how to change a tire. Thanks to my oldest brother.
But I don’t want Rocky to be right. It’s making me wish I truly believed in the soggy brochure Hailey showed me. I’m fully Team Hailey. In her beautiful boat.
Not in his busted, rotted tanker.
Quickly, the stubborn side of me takes over. I rotate to him and say, “Maybe I’m tired of doing bad shit, Rocky. Maybe I want to be good for once.”
His brows crinkle, his mouth gradually falling open. He straightens up off the wall. “What?” He looks at me like I’ve turned into Cruella de Vil and I admitted to murdering Dalmatians. “You’re not thinking about going clean . . . ?”
Shit.
Shitshitshit.
Panicked heat bakes me. He didn’t know. He just thought Hailey and I were settling down in some rich college town, willing to lie and cheat our way into the upper echelons of Ivy League society.
Oh fuck.
My mouth dries, and I’m more nervous about living without the skills we were taught. Deception. Seducing. Forging. Can it even be done?
Inertia.
The pact.
For Hailey.
I need to try.
“We’re doing this the right way,” I say, my voice quieter. “No con. No lies. We’re starting over for real.”
He blinks. “You’ve lost your fucking mind.”
Three
Phoebe
Rocky leaves the bathroom long enough for me to get dressed, and when I return to the bedroom, I catch him rifling through his sister’s duffel bag. He doesn’t care that I see him—or else he would’ve been more discreet.
What he said to me still rings in the pit of my ear. You’ve lost your fucking mind.
I rub leave-in conditioner through my damp blue hair and watch him toe the line between protective older brother and complete asshole.
I near him. “What the hell are you even looking for?”
Still focused on the bag, he doesn’t glance up. “Tension wrench, bump key, burner phones, spare IDs, extra cash, all the shit she’d have on her for a job.”
“Don’t waste your time. Tension wrench and bump key are in the trash. IDs and burner phones have been destroyed. Extra cash is in our boots.”
He solidifies. His eyes flash hot on mine. “Destroyed?”
“Yeah, they’re gone. We don’t need fake IDs. We just need the one real one.”