Dare (BLOOD Brothers Book 5), page 27
Firecracker blamed me for the design plans getting more elaborate every week. I blamed her sparkling blue eyes and the way she said please like she didn’t know it was a nuclear-grade weapon.
Speaking of…
“Voodoo!” she called from the stairs, tugging her hair into a loose ponytail as she hopped down the last step. “I’m ready.”
I was supposed to be heading into town alone to pick up the custom French doors—doors that had taken four damn shipping hops and a forged delivery route to make sure no one ever traced anything back to Base. Old habits. Necessary habits. And with Grace here? Non-negotiable.
But when she’d said she wanted to come with me—sunshine in her voice, promise in her smile—yeah, I wasn’t about to say no.
“Looking good, Firecracker,” I said as I grabbed the keys off the hook.
She rolled her eyes. “I’m in jeans and a sweatshirt.”
“Exactly. Looking good.”
She bumped me with her hip as she passed. “You’re biased.”
“Obviously,” I said, opening the door for her. “And correct.” In more ways than one. The pale, haunted look had retreated. She had a healthier glow to her skin, a playfulness that came easier and easier to the smile she often wore.
The nightmares still came, but less and less. Two days earlier, she’d told a story about her sister and her eyes hadn’t instantly sheened with tears. Though she’d immediately flicked a look to Alphabet who gave her a quick shake of his head with a measure of regret in his expression.
She’d steeled herself, then lifted her chin and asked us for stories. Stories about when we were younger, home lives, families… None of us could resist her. It didn’t take long before we unearthed some hilarious memories that had her in stitches.
Progress.
The breeze hit us the second we stepped outside. Somewhere in the trees, birds were making an unholy racket. Springsong. Life happening again. Looked a lot like Grace these days.
I’d gotten the big truck out of the garage, we needed the extended bed for this trip. When I opened the passenger door for her, she winked then climbed into the passenger seat. Once she was in place, she grinned at me with that soft, relaxed look she only got out here—away from shadows, away from memories with teeth.
Satisfied, I closed the door and circled round to the driver’s side. As I slid behind the wheel, I tapped two buttons on my phone. It turned on the GPS. We had our own trackers, but habits were habits for a reason. Mirroring me, she pulled out her phone and swiped across the screen to show me she already had hers on.
God, I loved her.
“You excited to get the doors?” she asked, pocketing the phone once more.
“Sure am. Means we can finish the frame next week.” I flicked her a look. “You’re really getting that deck, huh?”
Grace grinned. “Told you I would win the deck battle.”
“You didn’t win. You wore us down.”
Her snort of laughter was everything. “You agreed before dinner was over. That’s not winning?”
“Bones agreed,” I corrected. Some reservations had been assuaged when I sourced the doors. More as we worked out how to do it. “Some of us took more convincing.”
She laughed, bright and warm, and I’d drive sixteen hours just to hear that sound again.
We rolled down the gravel until it met the mountain road, the forest curling in around us like a living tunnel. She rested her cheek against the window, taking it all in with the same wonder she always did lately—like the world was something she could touch now instead of just survive.
“We should take you deeper into the mountains soon,” I said. “Past Harlow Ridge. Maybe hit the falls.”
She perked right up. “Yes. A thousand times yes. And maybe camping?”
“I’ll allow it,” I teased. “As long as you remember that the wildlife out there doesn’t give a single damn how cute you are.”
“Yet,” she corrected. “You haven’t seen me try to befriend a bear.”
I groaned. “Why would you say something so horrible?”
She snorted. “Legend said the same thing last night.”
“Because Lunchbox is a smart man.” I flicked her a grin. “Also because none of us want to fight a bear on your behalf.”
“You wouldn’t?”
“Oh, I would. All of us would. We’d win too. But the paperwork would be hell.” Not to mention none of us were fans of being mauled. “Remember what happens to tourists who want to pet the murder cows.”
Grace burst out laughing again and then grew quieter, softer, as we dipped around a bend and the mountains opened up in front of us—
“Last night was beautiful,” she murmured. “The stars.”
Her voice carried that quiet awe she only used with things that made her feel safe. Or alive. Or both.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “You know, most folks never get to see the Milky Way like that. Too much light pollution.”
“You turned off every single light in the house,” she said, amused.
“Operation Stargaze,” I corrected. “Very important mission.”
She flashed me another dazzling smile. “Thank you for showing me the constellations.”
“Anytime,” I said. “You picked them up fast.”
“I liked how you explained them. How they connect. How old they are. How people used to navigate by them.” She paused. “It felt… whimsical and real all at once.”
“Good.” I reached over and brushed my knuckles against her thigh, brief but intentional. “You deserve things that make the world feel big in the right ways.”
She swallowed, staring out at the horizon. Something in her shifted—subtle but real. A tightening. A breath she held a beat too long.
“Voodoo?” she said quietly.
“Yes, Firecracker?”
She hesitated, and that right there was unusual. Grace did a lot of things—ran headfirst into danger, loved recklessly, laughed like she meant it—but hesitation? That wasn’t her unless something mattered.
She twisted her hands once, then exhaled.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said finally. “About going back to work.”
I didn’t react. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t give her the wide-eyed panic she might’ve been bracing for.
Instead, I let the truck roll steady down the mountain road and asked, calm as anything—
“Okay. Talk to me.”
She looked at me then—really looked—and I saw every piece of what she wasn’t saying yet.
Her independence.
Her identity.
Her fear of being fragile.
Her need to stand on her own feet again.
Her worry that we’d try to bubble-wrap her.
Beneath all that—hope.
Because she trusted us enough to tell us.
“I miss it,” she admitted. “I miss… feeling capable. Useful. I miss doing something that’s mine.”
I nodded slowly. “You’re allowed to want that.”
“You don’t think it’s too soon?”
“You’re the only one who gets to say whether it’s too soon,” I told her. “Not me. Not Bones. Not Lunchbox. Not Alphabet.”
Grace’s breath wavered. I reached over and hooked my pinky around hers, gentle and sure.
“And if you want to go back,” I said, “then we’ll figure it out. Together.”
Her shoulders relaxed. A little at first, then a lot.
“You’re not mad?” she whispered.
I barked out a laugh. “Mad? Firecracker, I’m proud of you.”
She blinked, startled. “Proud?”
“Hell, yes. Wanting your life back? That’s strength.”
She smiled then—small, aching, honest. The kind of smile that carved itself into a man’s ribs.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“Anytime,” I murmured, tugging her hand to me and kissing it before I released her pinky. . “As long as you don’t try to befriend any bears at your job.”
“I make no promises.” The lightness in her tone held elements of teasing. “The business can be pretty brutal.”
I groaned again, but my chest felt warm—full.
“I guess I thought that there would be more security concerns…” She chewed on her lower lip. “You think it’s safe enough for me to go back? Eleanor is gone, so I’d need a new agent.” Sadness trickled into her voice again.
Grace wanting her life back didn’t scare me. Grace not wanting it back—that was the thing that would’ve terrified me. I reached over and let my hand rest against her knee—warm, steady, grounding.
“There will be security concerns,” I said. “Plenty. I’ve already got a list running in my head.”
Her eyes widened a little, but she didn’t retreat. She never did anymore. If anything, she took on a measured expression that reminded me of Bones. I doubted either would appreciate the comparison, but I enjoyed it. Particularly because she was a lot prettier.
“Like what?” she asked.
“For starters?” I ticked one finger off the wheel. “We’ve kept you off the grid for over a year, Firecracker. As far as the public knows, you dropped off the face of the earth. If you walk back into the modeling world tomorrow, every blog, tabloid, and social media account is going to light up like a Christmas tree on crack. People are going to ask where you’ve been. Why you disappeared. Why you came back.”
She inhaled, slow and sharp.
“Second,” I continued, “modeling means travel. Shows. Hotels. Public venues. Crowds. Paparazzi. Photographers. People wanting access to you. You can bet your ass that if La Madrina’s people—or anyone tied to the shit we’ve been digging through—are still sniffing around, they’ll see you pop up again.”
She looked down at her hands. “So… not safe.”
“I didn’t say that.” I softened my tone. “I said there are concerns.” It would absolutely paint a target on her. Threat assessments were probably going to be nightmarish. We would need to take real time on them.
Her gaze flicked up, hopeful and uncertain all at once.
“And third,” I said, “you’d need to build a whole new team around you. New agent. New contracts. New circles. That means new people in your life. New connections to vet. Which we can do, but it’s work.”
There it was again, that tiny flinch when she thought she was going to be a burden.
“Hey,” I said, nudging her pinky again. “I didn’t say no. I’m just giving you the reality. If you go back, we build the safety net before you take the first step.”
She nodded slowly. “Okay. That… makes sense.”
I could tell she wasn’t done, though. The words were bunched up behind her teeth, fighting their way out. So I waited. Let her get there herself.
Finally, she whispered, “I do miss modeling. I miss the creativity. The artistry. I miss… feeling beautiful. Strong. Like I owned the space I walked into.”
God. Yeah. I felt that one like a punch.
She wasn't being vain. She was remembering a version of herself she’d been forced to abandon.
“You were good at it,” I said. “Hell, Firecracker—you lit up runways. When Alphabet found some of your old campaign videos? I thought Lunchbox was gonna have a stroke.”
That pulled a shaky laugh from her. “Legend said he almost tripped over a chair.”
“Lunchbox absolutely tripped over a chair,” I corrected. “Don’t let him lie to you. Man damn near face-planted watching you pose with a scarf.”
Of course, it had only been a scarf draped creatively. Rather than pornographic, it had been utterly sensual and captivating. Which posed another problem, her body, her call. But anyone being near her while she was that naked would need an even closer look and one if not two of us on set.
Her cheeks pinked in that way that always made me want to pull over and kiss the breath out of her.
“But…” she said slowly, “I also miss the people. The relationships I built.” Her throat bobbed. “After Eleanor died, I didn’t just lose my sister. I lost my world. All of it. And I don’t… I don’t want to hide forever.”
I reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear—gentle, deliberate.
“You don’t have to hide,” I told her. “Not anymore.”
Her breath hitched.
“If the thing you want,” I added, “is to go back to modeling—not because you feel like you should, but because you miss it? Then say that. Say you want it.”
She swallowed hard. “I think I do.”
“Then we figure it out.”
She blinked. “Really?”
“Really,” I said. “Grace, if modeling is where you feel most you? Most alive? Most in your element? Then we’re not gonna lock you up in the mountains and tell you no.”
Her shoulders eased. A small smile tugged at her mouth.
“I guess I thought you’d try to talk me out of it.”
“Oh, I will,” I shot back, “if you tell me you want to go do runway shows in South America with zero support crew and shit security. Or if you say you want to go back tomorrow without a plan.”
“I wasn’t planning that,” she promised.
“Good. Because I like my heart beating inside my chest, not ripped out by Bones.” Who would take far more convincing and I didn’t have a single argument that would work—yet. I turned that over in my head. Putting her out there would put us out there and any anonymity we relied on now would be eroded.
“So you’re not worried?” she pressed.
“I’m always worried where you’re concerned,” I said simply. “But not because you can’t handle yourself—because the world doesn’t deserve you.”
She froze. Absolutely froze.
Then her voice came out tiny and stunned. “That’s… that’s a lot, Voodoo.”
“Firecracker,” I said, “everything about you is a lot. That’s the point.”
She pressed a hand over her eyes, breath shaking, halfway between a laugh and a cry. When she lowered her hand again, she looked lighter. Brighter. Braver.
“So,” I said, “modeling, huh?”
She nodded. “Yeah. I think so.”
“Then we’ll prep for it. We’ll talk to the guys. Start the background safety net. Maybe keep your first gigs low-profile. Controlled. Choose photographers and designers who won’t sell their own mothers for a headline.”
Her smile grew, hopeful and full. “You really think I can do it?”
“Grace,” I said, letting her name land softly but firmly, “I think you can do anything you decide you want.”
She stared at me like she couldn’t quite believe I meant it.
But I did.
I meant every damn word.
“Voodoo?”
“Yeah?”
She settled her hand over mine on her thigh.
“Thank you.”
“For what?” I asked, even though I already knew.
“For not making me feel… fragile.”
I lifted her hand to my lips and kissed her knuckles. “Never fragile,” I murmured. “Just precious.”
She turned her gaze back to the mountains, sunlight catching in her hair, and I knew, clear as the constellations she’d memorized last night, she wasn’t breakable. Not anymore. She was rebuilding.
A woman we’d follow her anywhere she wanted to go. Even into town for French doors that cost more than my first car. A future she was brave enough to want? That wasn’t even a question.
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
ALPHABET
By the time Voodoo’s truck rumbled back up the long gravel drive, I’d already run four different search sweeps, two encrypted message threads with overseas contacts, and one deep-dive scrape on every Syndicate affiliate who’d so much as sneezed in the last twenty-four hours.
Nothing. Again.
Goblin nudged my boot with his nose and I reached down to ruffle his ears. He leaned into my hand, warm and solid, reminding me I was here, not buried in the digital dark again.
But Amorette wasn’t here. That part hit me every damn day.
Three months back at Base, and the trail felt colder by the hour. Even so, I kept digging, because I wanted to look Gracie in the eye and mean it when I said, I did everything I could to find her sister.
And because we didn’t leave people behind. Not ever.
The new deck was starting to look like an actual structure instead of a fever dream. Bones and Lunchbox were knee-deep in lumber, tools, and a debate about torque angles that had devolved into insults about each other’s math skills.
Bones hammered something with way too much force. “Lunchbox, I swear to God, if you tell me one more time that I should ‘eyeball the measurement,’ I’m gonna eyeball you off this deck.”
“You can’t eyeball structural integrity, Bones.” Lunchbox held up a level with saintly calm. “We’ve discussed this.”
“You’ve discussed this,” Bones growled.
I smothered a laugh. Then the crunch of tires on gravel had all three of us glancing up. We set aside the tools to circle around to meet them. Voodoo hopped out of the truck first, sunglasses on, smirk firmly in place.
Grace slid out of the passenger seat—jeans, sweatshirt, hair up, cheeks pink from the sun and wind. She looked… good. Better. Lighter.
“Got the doors,” Voodoo called, tapping the side of the truck. “And snacks. Firecracker stole half my trail mix but I let it slide.”
“It was mostly raisins.” Grace held up the bag.
“Blasphemy,” Lunchbox muttered. Then louder, “Grab an end?”
Grace headed over to climb up in the truck bed, but Voodoo lifted her off and Bones set her to the side where she burst out laughing at them. Not for the first time I marveled at how seamlessly she fit into our world—even the rough, sawdust-filled parts.
Between the four of us, we unloaded the doors. They were beautiful, heavy as hell, framed in rich walnut to match the suite upstairs. Grace brushed her fingers along the glass like she was imagining the view already.
