Give Me Grace(20)

“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,’ then 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.

It 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 Stingray 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.