Angels of Belle Meade Page 9

  “Something tells me no one in your group is weak. As far as I can tell, you each bring something different to your coven.”

  “We aren’t witches,” Amilee corrects. Her tone is angry, almost offended I’d even suggest such a thing.

  “Never said you were.” I glance between them, searching for anything, something to bring me closer to Lennox. “But what are you, then?”

  “Just a group of girls who have grown up together and are willing to do anything to keep the others safe and away from boys much like yourself,” Emerson jumps in. Her eyes focus on me, never breaking from my face.

  Is she searching for something?

  I level my breathing with hers, watching her chest rise and fall until we are mirroring each other, but there’s nothing passing between us. Perhaps she is the more even-keeled of the group, and there are no sour thoughts circling around her mind, waiting for me to steal.

  We sit in silence, inspecting each other. Emerson keeps her attention toward her lap, while Amilee levels me with hers. Once our orders arrive, I finally break the awkward silence. I’m going to have to do this the hard way.

  “So, what’s Lennox’s deal?” I take a bite of my burger. I’m not even hungry, but to hold up appearances, I’ll stuff the greasy meat into my mouth.

  “What do you want to know?” Emerson asks, sipping her chocolate milkshake.

  Her mind is still blank. Does she have marbles between her ears? What the fuck! I need her mind more than Amilee’s. Emerson is purer. She’d give me more to work with.

  She’s from a broken home, but she’ll never admit it to anyone other than us. Because, whether she likes to believe it or not, she cares what others think. She’s also never kissed a boy, which I’m sure stems from some daddy issues. Oh, and her mother actually hates her, like in a real kind of way.

  WHOA! I pinch my eyes shut, unsure if Amilee’s jealous rant is just that, a jealous rant, or if she actually just handed that all over to me. I wonder what else I can get her to dredge up in that mind of hers?

  “Does she have a boyfriend?” I ask. Holy shit, I sound like such a pussy. I know she doesn’t have a boyfriend, but what I really want to know is if she purposefully keeps guys at a distance, or if I even have a chance of weaseling inside her thick armor.

  “It’s no secret you have a thing for her, so why don’t you just come out and ask us what you want to know,” Amilee says. She rolls her eyes out of some sort of twisted defense. I hate that she believes she has the upper hand, but I’m about to change that.

  “Is it hard being below her? You give and give yourself away like a candy in a dish, while sweet Lennox guards herself from prying hands, and still, still, a crowd gathers around, desperate for a single fleck of her sugar.” I stand, realizing this is a lost cause.

  You won’t ever have a girl like Lennox, because she’s dark. Deep down in her soul, she’s pitch-black. Why else would she be the executioner?

  Amilee’s thoughts freeze me in my path to the exit. I twist to see Amilee and Emerson’s heads tucked close to each other. When they notice they’ve garnered my attention once again, Emerson quickly glances away, her mind still locked like Fort Knox, while Amilee flips me off.

  I guess I won’t be using the best friend approach to get closer to Lennox. I don’t think I’ll need them. Amilee’s inner rants have given me everything I need to know, everything I’ve suspected.

  *****

  “Where have you been?” my father says the second the front door closes. The click of the lock feels like a vise around my neck, cutting off the airflow to my lungs.

  “Out,” I say, passing the formal sitting room on my way to the kitchen.

  After leaving the diner, I wandered, quite literally, around Belle Meade. I don’t know what I was hoping to find. It wasn’t until it started to turn to dusk when I realized how long I’d been gone.

  My mom’s jaw goes slack to deliver what I can only assume is another lecture. I reverse direction, preparing to escape, but knock into my father’s chest.

  “Not so fast.” He points to the kitchen table. “We should talk.”

  “I have a few questions, so, please, let’s chat.” I sit at the small table we keep tucked into the corner of the kitchen. It’s perfect for family breakfasts, but I may be the first to use it.

  “You won’t be asking any questions.” My father’s open palm hits the back of my head, and a sting radiates from the spot. “You were born into this family, Edric, and I expect a certain decorum and obedience. You can’t go walking through this town, mingling with their people, and not expect consequences,” he barks, slamming his body into the chair beside mine.

  The vase of flowers in the middle shakes. Their petals may be rattled, but I’m not afraid of my father.

  “So, what?” I roll my eyes like a teenage girl who doesn’t get her way. “Am I grounded for trying to make friends?”

  “Precisely,” my mother says.

  I twist in my seat to face her. “You’re fucking with me, right? I’m twenty years old.”

  “You live under this roof, you follow our rules.” Her eyebrow perks up, begging for me to challenge her.

  “How about you tell me why it’s so important for me to stay away from the people in this town, and then maybe you’ll get an inch of obedience?” I stand, looming over my father. He’s unfazed, but I know how to crack the thick armor around his demeanor. “Does it have something to do with the Angels? Or how Lennox is the executioner?”

  There it is. The only thing my father isn’t capable of hiding from me is that small twitch he gets in his right eye when he’s rattled. If I hadn’t known what I was looking for, it would’ve gone unseen.

  “Cat got your tongue, Father? Or is that a true, honest to Earth, shake in your hand?” There’s no need to hide the snide satisfaction I feel when he glances down at his steady hand. The fact he even checked is proof enough I have him where I want him.

  “What do you know?” My mother’s question is hurried, as if our conversation is on a time crunch. She steps forward, taking the reins from my father to play the domineering position.

  They’re a perfect combination. When one goes hard, the other backs down, and vice versa.

  “So, the folklore is true then?” I ask, turning to the door. When I do, my mother’s nails dig into my bicep. I check between her sullen expression and where they threaten to puncture my skin.

  “The Belle Meade Angels are nothing but folklore, something our ancestors dreamt up to scare us.” She releases me, brushing her hands down the front of her dress, unaffected by me and the things she’s afraid I know.

  “Does it still scare you, Mother? The stories of teenage girls who wreak havoc on those who overstep? Perhaps, if it wasn’t folklore, they’d have snapped your neck long ago for all of your sins.” I narrow my eyes, hoping to see . . . Yep, there it is. A hand to the back of her neck is her own tell.

  They’re stupid if they don’t think I haven’t observed them enough to know when their worlds stand on unsteady ground. They can lock me out of their minds, but some things we need to know can be found on the surface.

  “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go upstairs,” I add.

  My feet have barely graced the hallway tile when I hear them bickering back and forth. They’ll try to find a way to make me stay in line, but it will never work.

  “I will not be one to be forced to stay in line!” I yell, grinning knowing he knows I was inside his mind, even for a single second.

  “Do what we ask of you and no harm will be done.” His voice shakes. It must be hard to be afraid your son won’t stick to the agenda you’ve written out so clearly for him.

  I don’t bother to respond. There’s no point.

  Leaping up the stairs two at a time, I pass my brother in the hallway. Our shoulders collide, but neither of us are moved.

  “What’s your problem?” I walk backward to address him and his shit eating grin.

  “No problem here,
Little Bro.” His grin spreads wider.

  “Fuck you,” I hiss.

  “Better get that anger under control, Edric. Hate to see what happens when you can’t.” He skips down the stairs, probably right into my father’s arms to prove how superior he is to me.

  Once in my room, I slam and lock my door and crank up the volume on my stereo. I head up, needing the fresh air of the cupola. When we first moved in, the windows were painted shut, but the first thing I did was have them replaced. This is my space, my hiding place in a town where it feels like I’m held under a microscope.

  My blood boils from my brother’s warning. He’s right though. My anger can get the best of me. This isn’t news. Sometimes I don’t realize what’s happened until it’s already done.

  The windows are wide open, letting in a cool breeze. That’s what this feels like up here, like I could reach out and touch the untouchable.

  The town is lit up. Through the telescope, I see cars driving up and down Main Street and couples walking in the park. Scanning the scope back and forth, I convince myself not to stall in front of the Mayor’s Manor. I shouldn’t be peeking in her window, but damn, I’m thirsting for anything I may see.

  There she is. Too alluring for her own damn good. How could I resist the chance to see her?

  What is she searching for? Her comforter slides to the floor, and she scans her room. With determination, she stomps over to the desk, opens the drawer, and pulls out a leather-bound book. Her long hair cascades over her shoulder as her wild eyes dance over the worn pages, her spine perfectly curved as she heaves for a breath.

  Lennox’s head falls forward; exhaustion and uncertainty beam from her. Even across the distance, I feel it pulsing from her small frame.

  She calms and glances at the window. The way she pushes off the desk is slow. With her hair gathered at one side, she takes time to braid it, leaving long pieces dangling around her flawless face.

  Having been caught with the telescope on her window, there’s an excitement to know she’s aware I’m watching her. This shoots a rush of adrenaline through my body. My blood pumps heavily within my veins. This is when I should drop away, step into the darkness, but my feet stay cemented in place. My unbearable want to see what Lennox will do next, makes my decision for me.

  The black leather jacket slips from her shoulders and down her arms, leaving them bare. She’s strong, but dainty, resembling a diamond. You’re attracted to the shine and shimmer, but you know it’s power.

  Without breaking her stare from mine, she reaches for the hem of her shirt. She smirks. Lennox reminds me of the kind of girl who likes to toy with people but won’t cross the line. That makes one of us. I’ll cross the line, more than happy to push the boundaries.

  She pulls the shirt over her head, leaving her in a black, lace bra and black jeans. She sins like the parishioners in the pews on Sunday. She’ll be begging for forgiveness if I have anything to say about it.

  I pull in a lungful of air when her hands reach behind her to unsnap the hooks, teasing to reveal what she hides underneath.

  “Do it, sweetheart. I fucking dare you,” I say to myself, hoping she’ll hear me.

  The straps slide off her shoulders, but the cups stay close to her chest. She clutches it against her, not giving me the glimpse I want. Her middle finger raises high in the air, and I smirk when she pulls the curtains together.

  “Checkmate, Lennox. Check. Fucking. Mate.”

  Chapter Eight

  Lennox

  At the first sound of footfalls on the cherry hallway floor, I shoot straight up from my pillow.

  With the carpet runners at the cleaners, Sarah Beth uses the long, smooth area as her own personal Slip ‘N Slide. I, on the other hand, want the rugs back for my own selfish reasons. Sneaking out whenever I want is much easier with something to muffle my noise.

  The old floors in the manor are lived-in and creaky, much like the old bag barging into my room, her face impeccably painted. Ruby red lipstick pristinely drawn. The perfect shade of blush to accent her high cheekbones. Not a single hair out of place.

  “Lennox,” my mother says.

  “I wasn’t aware the devil woke before eleven.” I stretch my shoulders, the stress of the last few days weighing heavy on my bones.

  With a death-like stare, she stops at the foot of my bed. A cool breeze shoots up my legs as my blanket is ripped from my body.

  “Get up and around, you little shit.”

  “Are you really in a position to be demanding things anymore, Mother?” I slide my legs over the side of the mattress and stand, praying she’ll vanish into thin air. “The powerful has fallen, and in its place is her vengeful daughter.”

  “Don’t think for a second you are in control.” She waltzes over to me with purpose, and I bend backward to avoid her grabbing my chin.

  I’m too slow, and her nails gouge through my flesh. Blood trickles onto my white sleepshirt.

  “Are you finished?” I grit my teeth, insuring she doesn’t earn a wince or struggle from me.

  “Bringing your blood to the surface?” Her manicured dark eyebrow perks up in amusement. “Absolutely not.” She jerks her hand, forcing my face away from her disgusted scowl.

  My mother can spill my blood all over Belle Meade, because there’s nothing else she can take away from me. I’ve been born into a twisted purgatory.

  “Get dressed; look presentable,” she says over her shoulder as she leaves. “Your father is holding a press conference today, and you will stand beside him like the dutiful daughter you’re incapable of being.”

  The painting beside the door rattles with her exit.

  In the bathroom, I flip on the lights and lean forward to inspect her damage. Coagulated blood is evidence, but a storm brews in my eyes.

  The last couple of nights, I’ve fallen asleep wondering what the next day will hold. What kind of sorcery will Emerson, Amilee, and I learn we are capable of? I’m not prepared for the duties I’ve been born into, and I can’t help but wonder if there is a way out.

  Dressed in a long, high-waisted skirt, deep-mustard turtleneck sweater, and obnoxious cheetah print heels, my appearance is every bit the respectful daughter of the mayor.

  My family waits for me in the foyer. My mother is beaming at my father, until she spots me. Her expression slips, drawing my father’s attention to my entrance. With an air of confidence, he inspects me from head to toe.

  “You’re beautiful, darling.” He kisses my cheek, and when he leans back, he frowns at the scratches on my chin. “What is this?” My dad grazes his fingers over the fresh cuts.

  I eye my mother. Protecting her is the least of my concerns.

  “You could’ve covered those with makeup,” she spews, inspecting her nail polish, bored with the chaos she creates around her.

  “Hidden secrets don’t stay that way for long, Mother. You should know better than anyone.” I adjust my Chanel necklace, as if my appearance is something I dote over.

  “Is that a threat?” She lunges forward, but my father holds his arm up, separating the two of us.

  “If you don’t want outsiders to see the truth, don’t give them proof.” Her display of anger doesn’t impress me.

  “Mr. Callahan, they’re ready for you.” Ginger, my father’s latest assistant, strides over, adjusts his lapels in a familiar manner, and smiles at him in adoration.

  They don’t even try to hide it anymore. Girl might as well spread her legs right here and now.

  “Where’s Sarah Beth?” I ask.

  “I’m right here,” she squeaks, hidden on the other side of our parents.

  Mother’s protective hand rests on her shoulder. I don’t know why she feels the need to shield my baby sister from me. Anyone who knows our family is well aware of who takes care of her. Sarah Beth’s mouth dips into a frown, and her shoulders shrug.

  Flashing lights assault us as we exit the front door. Reporters and camera men line the edge of the portico, eager to hear wha
t the majestic Dax Callahan has to say.

  “Good morning, people of Belle Meade. We’ve called you all here today to set some boundaries.” My dad glances at our family, then returns to the microphones. “I have full intention of serving this community with honesty and integrity, but let it be known, I am not like the mayors before me. I will govern the townspeople the way I see fit. I will not be coerced, bullied, or strong-armed. I am Dax Callahan, and I don’t answer to anyone. Thank you.”

  With authority, he walks away from the journalists. The sound from the shutters opening and closing reveal the cameras capturing my father in all his glory.

  I don’t know much, but what I do know is everything is not as it should be.

  This press conference was a scare tactic. Anyone watching with half a brain will know.

  My father was personally addressing someone, but who?

  Dax Callahan isn’t one to be threatened. He sends chills up strong men’s backs. Something has happened between yesterday and today that has compelled him to pull this stunt.

  Once we are inside the house, we all release our breath.

  “Let’s go have breakfast.” My father guides my mother and Sarah Beth to the kitchen.

  “I’ll be there in a minute.” I head down the hallway to the downstairs bathroom and peek around to make sure no one is watching. When I’m sure the hallway is empty, I tiptoe into my father’s office, quietly shutting the door behind me.

  Piles of paperwork cover his desk. I wonder if I’ll find my answer there.

  “You’re going to get caught, Lennox.” Sarah Beth’s sweet voice startles me, and I jump back like the wood has burnt me. “I won’t tell anyone, and if you need to know anything . . .” She taps her chest.

  “What do you know?” I ask, circling the desk and crouching to her level.

  “I know what you are.”

  The sight of her tears breaks my heart, and when her little arms wrap around my waist, I stroke her hair to comfort her, to make the reality feel a little less scary.

  “It’s all going to be okay, Sarah Beth.”

  “Am I going to have to kill people, too, when I turn nineteen?” Her soft curls bounce with her cries.