Give Me Grace (7 page)

“You
don’t know?
” he ground out. “This is Henry’s
sister,
Casey. You really think she’s some kind of junkie? Did she look like she was cracked out on meth to you? It’s obviously some kind of mistake, one you should’ve recognised before you went all Batman over her just like she accused you of. What the hell is with you lately?”

Without waiting for an answer
, he called out, “Grace, wait!”

She spun around with raised brows, walking backwards—no doubt in a hurry to get as far from me as possible. “Look. We’re sorry, okay? How about I give you a ride back to Henry’s and we can send Casey home in a cab?”

“It’s my car, asshole,” I muttered.

“Shut up,” he snapped.

Pausing, Grace spared another glare in my direction before her face lit up in what I could only conclude was a look of glee. It would’ve made me nervous if I wasn’t so focused on her glossy lips. Remembering the sweet scent of honey, I wondered what they would taste like if I licked them.

“
Actually, that’s not necessary,” she replied.

My eyes lowered as she started walking towards us again. It was impossible not to. Jared might’ve been a boob man, and Travis had an odd quirk for the naked lines of Quinn’s back, but I was all about the legs, and this girl was born with stilts.

Hell.

“I’ll take you up on your offer, but there’s no need for Casey to catch a cab. Actually…”
she turned her considering gaze on me, unholy glee lingering in her eyes “…there’s something you can do for me if you wouldn’t mind?”

Travis cleared his throat pointedly.

Folding my arms, my blue eyes narrowed as I offered Grace a cool smile. “Sure. What do you need?”

She grinned. “I need you to go to the Qantas freight terminal for me.”

“You have freight?”

Grace shrugged. “If you could call Mitsy ‘freight,’ th
en yes, I do.”

Travis tilted his head and asked the all-important question. “What’s Mitsy?”

“A dog.”

My brows flew up. “You brought a
dog
with you?”

“Yes. A dog. They’re common as pets, you know? Never had a pet before, Casey? Considering your profession, you probably prefer the company of bats, right?”

Travis choked on a laugh beside me. Prick. If he told Grace the only pet I’d ever owned was a frog called Batman when I was eight years old, I’d strangle him right there in the damn airport.

I’d caught the frog down the backyard of our house where I used to watch the tadpoles in the dirty creek. I always went
there to escape when my father was having one of his rages. I had to sneak the damn thing inside because I wasn’t allowed pets. I set up him with rocks and water in an old fish tank I’d found in the garage, putting it out of sight behind the desk in my room.

I
t had only been a week when late one night his croaks boomed through the quiet house like thunder, alerting my father to his presence. He stormed into my room shoving the door open so hard it banged against the wall. Batman flinched, going quiet. He knew something bad was going down. Animals were masters at sensing hostility.

Horror
knotted my belly when my father grabbed my beloved pet, threw him on the floor, and crushed him beneath his boot. I remember howling so loud he reached over and clipped me across the face. The blow packed enough force for a bone to crack in my jaw. Dazed, I puked on the floor, and after growling at me to clean up the mess, he left the room, slamming the door behind him. Tears blurred my eyes when I collected the frog’s lifeless body off the floor and took him outside. Even now I couldn’t erase the sound of Batman’s bones crunching beneath my father’s boots.

“I’ve had a pet before,” I
muttered through gritted teeth.

“Good,” she replied. “Then Mitsy should be no trouble for you.”

“So you play in a band back home, Grace?” Travis was half twisted in the front passenger seat of Casey’s car, questioning me on the ride to the duplex where Henry lived.

The car was a Corvette S
tingray in spectacular condition. I’d watched
Gone in 60 Seconds
enough times to know this was Casey’s
unicorn
car. The tyres were wide with thick tread that screamed “mess with me and I will mow you down like a motherfucker.” Not a single scratch or dent marred the gleaming gunmetal grey paint job, and despite the vintage model, the interior smelled like new leather. Just sitting in the back seat had my insides fizzing like I’d overdosed on champagne.

“Not at all. I haven’t played for years
. Not since before Henry moved in with Evie and started uni,” I replied distractedly as Mitsy chewed savagely on the corner of the back seat. I winced at the sacrilege. I didn’t need to know Casey to know he would shit a brick when he saw the damage. Still. The man had it coming—shoving me up against the wall the way he did and accusing me of being some crack whore. I bit the insides of my cheeks as I left the dog to it. Who knew Dalton’s tiny furbeast would come in so handy?
Karma was a bitch called Mitsy,
I thought with an audible snort. Feeling Casey’s gaze on me in the rearview mirror, I schooled my features.

To say he was u
nimpressed with collecting the dog was saying the ocean was a little bit wet. He’d backed up a step when the freight attendant brought Mitsy to the counter in the little dog carrier and handed it over with obvious relief. The damn dog hadn’t appreciated the flight, as evidenced by the bared teeth locked on the cage door and the pile of puke near his front paws. It had almost been worth bringing him to see the look of horror on Casey’s face. Mitsy, for some unexplainable reason, had barked excitedly when I came into view.

“This
yapfest is yours?” Casey turned raised brows on me with disgust. “With a name like Mitsy, I should’ve known,” he muttered under his breath, because yeah, if he had a dog, it would no doubt be some badass pit bull named 50cent. Wanker. I didn’t tell him the dog wasn’t mine for long if I could help it. This partnership was temporary. As soon as Dalton set down on Australian soil, it would be sayonara Mitsy.

“You
have a problem, Casey? Want to search his cage and do a pat down for contraband? I hear up the ass is the best place to hide things,” I pointed out helpfully. “Perhaps you should start there.”

Travis choked
from somewhere on my left and Casey scowled. “No problem, Slim,” he replied, taking a firm grasp on the cage as Mitsy growled in warning. “Seems like your type of dog.”

“My type?
Wow.” I raised my brows, choosing to ignore the insulting nickname he bestowed with such originality. “You’re pretty big on pigeonholing people. That just smacks of deep-seated issues. What’s yours?”

“What’s my
what?” he asked as we began the trek to the carpark, Travis kindly wheeling my suitcase for me as Casey led the way.

“What’s your issue?
”

“
My
issue?” he retorted, his tone implying that I was sorely mistaken and it was me with the issue.

Travis ping-pong
ed his gaze between the both of us with an amused glint in his green eyes. Ignoring it, I replied, “Yeah.
Your
issue.”

Casey shrugged, his muscular shoulders tightening beneath his worn
shirt. I fought not to stare. No man had the right to look as good as he did and turn out to be an asshole. The fact that I wanted to run my hands over that smooth, golden skin was like the universe playing a cruel joke. “No issue.”

But someth
ing flashed across his face before it was hidden quickly. If I had to name it I’d say his pretty blue eyes looked haunted. Just like they did when I mentioned him having pets. Perhaps he once had a cat that got run over when he was little? My heart filled with an unexpected surge of tenderness towards him.

“You’re just obviously
high-maintenance,” he added as we crossed the road and began weaving through parked cars. “Like your dog.”

I beat back the tender fe
eling with a big, baseball bat, bruising it into submission. The last thing I needed was to go getting a ladyboner over an antagonistic hero on a bender for justice.

“Screw you, Casey,” I hissed as we stopped in front of the magnificent car that I wanted to kick with the heel of my shiny black boot. “Oh wait. That must be your problem, right?
You’re all uptight because who wants to fuck a douchebag?”

Travis shouted with laughter, stowing my luggage as I released Mitsy from his little prison and clipped his leash
on with haste. As a final insult, the dog cocked his furry little leg, displaying his ample appendage as he pissed all over Casey’s motherfucker tyres.

“Dude,” Travis declared as they both eyed the dog like the menace to society that he was. “
You called a
male
dog ‘Mitsy?’”

N
ow here we were, on our way to Henry’s so the man could dump me and run. He was quiet, his temper seeming to have cooled right off, leaving him calm. It was almost unnatural and I found I didn’t like it. If this had been my car and a dog like Mitsy emptied his bladder all over it, I would’ve made them walk home.

“So Henry’s told me you’re a pretty big deal in the world of modelling. How long have you been doing that for?”
Travis asked.

“Since I was fourteen.”

“Fourteen?” he echoed, looking unimpressed. “That’s a bit young, isn’t it?”

“It is,” I told him honestly. M
issing out on normal teenage years and life at home had been lonely, though I suspect his expression related more to the exploitation of young girls in an adult profession. “But I got to travel the world and meet a lot of amazing people,” I added, as if that somehow made up for it.

Casey glanced at me through the rearview mirror.
“So you’re an international model then, huh?”

I cocked my head
, unable to avoid one last dig. “Sorry to disappoint you, Casey, but international model isn’t a euphemism for international drug runner and crack whore.”

Casey’s mouth fell open. “If you hadn’t—”

Travis cut him off. “Henry must be proud of you, huh?”

Swallowing the sudden lump in my throat, I stared out the car window. “I wouldn’t know,” I said softly.

Travis’s phone rang then, thankfully interrupting the conversation. He answered it and I tuned the call out, instead thinking of my brother. What had I gotten myself into, agreeing to spend weeks with a whole bunch of people I didn’t know? A sudden ache of loneliness welled in my chest. I fought the urge to message John and tell him that I needed him here to hold my hand.

“Grace?” Casey spoke quietly.

I glanced up, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror. “What?”

His eyes flicked to the road briefly before returning to the mirror.
He shook his head, dismissing me. “Nothing.”

Soon after, we pulled up
to the huge duplex where Henry lived. There was a mammoth security gate out front with black cameras trained on the drive like scary sentinels. I concluded the high brick fence was new going by the dug out turf bordering along the edges. There was no doubt fame had stripped their anonymity. It had probably resulted in rabid fans camping out on their doorstep until better security measures were put in place.

As though Casey’s car had just said “
open sesame,” the gates began opening, allowing us through the drive. The amount of parked cars announced it as a current hive of activity. They ranged from a huge blue Hilux to a gleaming black Porsche and a savage looking Subaru.

Travis and Casey exit
ed the car, but my confidence gasped its last breath like a rapidly deflating balloon. I went for the door handle but my hand wouldn’t move. What if I let Henry down? What if—

My phone rang, cutting off my meltdown.

Digging through my bag, I pulled it out and checked the screen.

Shit.

Suddenly the urge to projectile puke all
over the interior of Casey’s unicorn car overwhelmed me.

Breathe. Breathe.
Breathe.

My glance fell on Mitsy chewing
the interior with his inherent ferocity. He had bigger balls than I did. The tough little furbeast could probably teach me a thing or two.

With a churning stomach,
I hit the answer key and put the phone to my ear.

“H-hello?”

“Grace,” came the firm male voice on the other line.

“Yes?” I whispered.

“You know we’ve been trying to reach you for two weeks now.”

“I-I
know. I just … I’m sorry, but—”

“Did you receive the
package we sent you?”

“Y
es,” I whispered repetitively. My brain couldn’t seem to grasp much more out of the English language than a simple word.

When the call ended,
I threw the phone back in my bag like it was viper about to bite my face off. Oh God. Why did I have to answer?

Stupid, stupid girl.

The passenger door closest to Mitsy flew open and Travis ducked his head. “Coming?” His eyes widened in panic as they fell on the mutilated seat. Mitsy must have felt the sudden vibe of terror because he growled ominously.

“You’re dead,” Travis said. “You know that
, right? It was nice knowing you, Grace, and it was a privilege to have you share your last moments with me.”

I fought the urge to laugh hysterically. It was quite possible my life was forfeit
ed already anyway. The thought made me gag, literally, and Travis’s eyes widened further. “You okay?”

“Absolutely,” I muttered on a heave.
Knowing I needed to pick my battles meant Casey was priority threat number one. I ran my eyes over Travis’s thickly muscled, six-foot-three frame with hope. “You’re a big dude, Travis. You can take him in a fight, can’t you?”

Travis shook his head. “These muscles are
for display purposes only.”

“
Har har. Thanks for noth—”

I flinched
wildly when a loud rap came on the car window next to me and my head bumped the roof of the car. “You coming in, Slim, or are you going to sit in my car all day talking to yourself?”

“Go,” Travis whispered with sudden urgency. “I got this.” He shut the door, offered a quick thumbs up,
and walked around the back of the car. “Oh shit,” he said loudly. “Is that a scratch on the back of Marjorie?”

“What the fuck?”
Casey squawked before disappearing from view. Marjorie? The big badass car with the massive, motherfucker tyres was called
Marjorie?
“The eighteen hundreds called, Casey, they want their name back,” I mumbled under my breath.

Realising I had only a short window of time to escape, I
shouldered my bag and put Mitsy in a stranglehold. Bracing myself, I pushed the car door open and got out, shutting it quickly behind me. I was setting Mitsy on the grass when they concluded the potential scratch was simply a false alarm and returned to my side. I flashed Travis a grateful smile. He returned it before humming the death march as he wheeled my suitcase up the driveway.

My already shot nerves skyrocketed. I was sure the damage was easily fixed. I’d simply offer to pay for it if I ever saw the man again, which wasn’t likely. The thought calmed me as I took in the exterior of the duplex.
What hit me first was its inviting charm. In a tree-lined street, the duplex sat harmless and unobtrusive. A shared timber porch between both front doors ran along the front. The weatherboard was painted a deep, rich stone colour with white trim, and lush, bright green hedges lined the front gardens. It was obvious that warmth and happiness resided within, and it beckoned me like a thickly frosted cupcake with chocolate sprinkles.

I hesitated.

“You going to move or are you waiting for me to carry you in?”

Turning to Casey,
I delivered my menacing threat with a sweet voice. “You even think about carrying me, or touching me, or even breathing in the same airspace as me, I’ll punch you so hard you’ll be spitting teeth for a week.”