Lovely Darkness (Creeping Beautiful Book 4) Read online

  Contents

  Lovely Darkness

  DESCRIPTION

  CHAPTER ONE - ADAM

  CHAPTER TWO - NICK

  CHAPTER THREE - INDIE

  CHAPTER FOUR - MERC

  CHAPTER FIVE - ADAM

  CHAPTER SIX - INDIE

  CHAPTER SEVEN - NICK

  CHAPTER EIGHT - ADAM

  CHAPTER NINE - DONOVAN

  CHAPTER TEN - MERC

  CHAPTER ELEVEN - INDIE

  CHAPTER TWLEVE - NICK

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN - ADAM

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN - INDIE

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN - NICK

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN - ADAM

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - MERC

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - NICK

  CHAPTER NINETEEN - INDIE

  CHAPTER TWENTY - MERC

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - NICK

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - INDIE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - DONOVAN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR - MERC

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE - ADAM

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX - NICK

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN - MERC

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT - ADAM

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE - DONOVAN

  CHAPTER THIRTY - INDIE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE - NICK

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO - MERC

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE - NICK

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR - ADAM

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE - INDIE

  CHAPTER THIRTY- FIVE - MERC

  EPILOGUE - NICK

  END OF BOOK SHIT

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  LOVELY DARKNESS - BOOK FOUR

  Edited by RJ Locksley

  Cover Design by JA Huss

  Cover Photo: Wander Aguiar

  Cover Model: Gil Soares

  Copyright © 2022 by JA Huss

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-978-1-950232-81-9

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Find Julie at her website

  www.JAHuss.com

  Chat with Julie

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  On BOOKBUB

  DESCRIPTION

  Sometimes I wish it was just him and me.

  Sometimes I wish there never was an Indie or a Donovan. That McKay and I just ran away together when we were young. Sailed around the world. Climbed mountains. Learned to parachute. Did whatever we wanted and never thought about this place, or the Company and our place in it, ever again.

  Sometimes I wish we were broke, and uncomfortable, and stressed out about things like rent, and food, and bald tires.

  I wish we had done it differently.

  I wish I had listened to Gerald.

  I wish I wasn’t thirty-seven years old, filled up to my neck and choking on regrets.

  Lovely Darkness is about love, and regrets, and accepting the truth—even if it breaks you. It is the last book in the dark romantic thriller series, Creeping Beautiful, and must be read in order.

  CHAPTER ONE - ADAM

  Core McKay sleeps next to me now.

  It’s a stroke of good luck and I’m still having trouble wrapping my head around the idea that this one small piece of my life feels complete.

  His body is hot, and hard, and there is a lingering scent of workshop on him. I want to fuck him before I get out of this bed.

  But I can’t.

  Things to do today. Things that don’t involve McKay and I don’t want him to wake up during my escape, so I push all those thoughts away for later.

  Tonight. I will make it all up to him tonight.

  McKay is a pretty good sleeper these days. When Indie was young, he only ever slept with one eye shut. He was forever listening for her soft footsteps on the creaking floorboards of Old Home.

  And even though there is a lot about Indie that deserves such close attention, she’s a grown-up now. And Core McKay is getting old.

  I have to pause here to smile. Hold in a laugh. He’s not old. He’s a year younger than me, but the thought that he might make it to middle age horrifies him.

  And we’re nearly there now. Practically thinking about retirement.

  I take one last look at my best friend and then slowly extract myself from our bed, walk to the door—stepping over every single loose floorboard that might creak—and go into the hallway.

  Six-year-old Magnolia Accorsi is waiting for me. Her blonde hair is a wild, tangled mess of kinks. She won’t sleep in braids even though she would make my life much fucking easier if she did. This morning she’s wearing a smirk, a pair of light blue shorts, and a frilly white tank top. Her bronzed arms are crossed over her chest and she’s leaning against the chair rail that runs down the hallway towards the stairs on either end. A pair of sneakers dangle from her fingertips.

  She came prepared.

  She can do that because she doesn’t share a room with anyone, but I’m still in my pajama pants.

  I point to the front stairs and then we’re off, our bare feet barely making any noise at all as we descend. We go down the hallway to the family room and kitchen, pause in the laundry so I can dress in cargo shorts and a t-shirt, slide on some sneakers, and then we slip out one of the French doors.

  I made sure that McKay didn’t arm the security system last night. Told him Sasha or Merc might trigger it in the night if they tried to go outside for some reason. It’s not likely that either Merc or Sasha would make such a mistake, but he agreed.

  Once outside, Maggie and I walk around the far side of the pool and slide into the thick woods that surround Old Home on nearly all sides. There’s a little path—one Indie and Nate made back when they were kids, I’m sure—and it takes us right to the river.

  A couple minutes later, there we are. Looking at the dock where the boats live.

  There are two of them—the larger one that we take down river to the ocean on occasion, and the smaller one that is left over from Indie and Nate’s childhood adventures. Imaginary or not. They took that boat out thousands of times.

  Maggie and I climb into the bigger boat and get busy untying it and a few minutes later we are started, and settled, and motoring our way south. We take the Old Pearl River until we bump into the eastern edge of the Rigolets where there are already a lot of boats out here. Fishermen. Which is what we’re technically doing too, but that’s really only technically.

  Maggie sits next to me, playing co-pilot in the second captain’s chair to my left until we are making our way east through the deep-water trench, and then the only thing she says is, “Breakfast?”

  I nod my chin at the galley. “Go ahead.”

  She goes into the galley and she’s busy for a little while. When she comes back, she places a plastic plate in front of me filled with pancakes—no syrup, just butter—and sets a tall glass of orange juice into my drink holder.

  Maggie likes to cook and I like her cooking, so this makes me smile. But the really delightful thing about this moment is how she’s always trying to take care of me. I appreciate this more than she’ll ever know, so this warms my heart.

  We eat the pancakes with our fingers, licking the butter off when we’re done, then gulp down our juice.

  It feels like the old days when we sneak off like this and even though I know I’m not supposed to miss it, I do. I miss the old days when Maggie was all mine and every day was our own private adventure.

  But this new life we have with her parents and McKay, th
is is what she needs. And anyway, I need McKay. I don’t need to remind myself of that, but when I think about how I miss our old routine, it feels like a reminder of all the time McKay and I spent apart.

  We’re not supposed to be apart. That’s just not how it works.

  McKay and I are a set. Like Nathan and Indie, I guess.

  I’ve come to terms with it. I still don’t really like Nathan, but it’s none of my business who she takes up with. It’s a relief, actually. Nathan has always been a relief. He watches out for her. He’s been there for her. But he and I, we’re two completely different people. And I cannot forget who he is.

  What I’m really saying is—who he isn’t.

  He isn’t one of us. Meaning Untouchable. And technically McKay isn’t either. Thank you, rational side of my brain, for bringing that up. But McKay grew up in it. He’s dripping with Company privilege.

  Even though he lives down the hall from me now, Nathan St. James will always be just a boy who lives in a small house across the lake.

  I really come off as an asshole when I think about Nate. This makes me chuckle.

  Maggie notices. “What’s funny?”

  “Oh, nothin’. Just thinking about your father.”

  When I glance over at her, she’s making a puckered-lip face. She shakes her head. “Nah. I don’t need those thoughts.”

  I chuckle again. “You really don’t.”

  I’m not too worried about Maggie and how she might turn out, even though I probably should worry about her. Her parents are Indie Anna Accorsi and Nathan St. James. Her pedigree couldn’t be any more indiscriminate. Gerald Couture would be turnin’ over in his grave if he knew about this.

  Fucking Gerald.

  I kinda feel bad the old guy went out the way he did. I heard he shot himself in the head when the government showed up to raid his island. Which is a joke, but not really a funny one. Not the part about Gerald killin’ himself, at least. I really kinda liked the guy. But the part about the government raiding his island and acting all shocked and disgusted—as if their bosses weren’t all taking part in those hunts and auctions. Hell, everyone on that raid team had probably been on that island three or four times at least. They weren’t there to arrest people—they were there to hide the fuckin’ evidence.

  That place was not a secret. There are very few actual secrets in this world for people like me. For other people, everything around them is a secret. They just don’t see it, or they do, but pretend they don’t. They’re too fuckin’ busy with their phones, or their streaming services, or all those stupid videos on socials to give a fuck about what’s going on right under their noses.

  I let out a sigh. I’m starting to believe nihilism might be my thing.

  Now that is funny.

  You know what else is funny?

  Carter Couture has been living in my house on and off for almost fifteen fuckin’ years so it’s highly probable that Maggie’s breeding isn’t the mistake it appears to be.

  But that’s not why we’re out here. A problem for another day.

  We escaped today to do the debrief. So I cut the motor in the middle of the Rigolets trench, drop the anchor, and then Mags and I get our fishing gear ready. We do this in silence. We’ve morphed into this new phase, I guess. One where we do things out of habit without speaking.

  I like it.

  The silence feels a lot like when Indie was little and I took her on jobs.

  But then again, it’s totally different.

  For one, this isn’t a job. Just a little conversation about last night.

  And two, Indie and I were never close the way Maggie and I are.

  I don’t care who her biological father is, Maggie Accorsi is my daughter.

  Indie was never my daughter. She was my… ward. Charge. Possession. Weapon. Lover, a few times. And now, I don’t really know what we are.

  Friends, maybe?

  But then again, maybe not.

  We’ve got our lines in the water and we’ve settled into the chairs on the deck when I finally say, “OK. Tell me everything.”

  “Well, I like her.”

  “Why’s that? I mean, I like Wendy too. But why do you like her?”

  Maggie shrugs. “She feels… like home.”

  “Huh.” I consider this. Wendy does feel like home. I’ve worked with her a lot over the years. She’s a regular in my life. She’s way more of a friend than Indie is, that’s for sure. “What’s that mean?” I ask Mags.

  “You know. She’s just…” Maggie goes silent for a moment, considering her words. “She just feels like family.”

  “She is family,” I remind her. “I’m a hundred percent sure the two of you are related in some way.”

  “No. That’s not what I mean. Wendy just feels…” She stops again. This hesitation makes me pay attention. Wendy is special in some way or Maggie would just say things like, She’s fun. Or, She makes me laugh. Off-the-cuff things like that. But Maggie doesn’t say those things. She says, “Wendy feels connected to me.”

  “The way Indie feels connected?”

  “No. The way you feel connected.”

  “How is that different?” This isn’t what we’re here to discuss, but I can’t help myself from asking the question.

  “Indie feels like a mom.” Maggie shrugs. “That’s just different.”

  “How is that different from me? Don’t I feel like a father?”

  Maggie laughs. “No.”

  “What do you mean, no? I am your father. Not by blood, but I’m the one who raised you.”

  “I know. But that’s not what moms and dads are, Adam.”

  “Now why are you calling me Adam?”

  She giggles. “You’re so sensitive about it. But you just don’t get it.”

  “Explain it to me.”

  “You know. Like. Moms and dads are… requirements.”

  “You didn’t even have a mom until I brought you here.”

  “God, don’t you ever listen?”

  “I’m listening. You’re just talkin’ in circles.”

  “Moms and dads are…” She stops. Starts again. “Moms and dads are…” She sighs. “You should know this. You have a mom and dad.”

  “Not really.”

  “But in your head, Adam. You have a mom and dad in your head.”

  “OK.”

  “So that’s what moms and dads are. Just… there.”

  “And so I’m the dad?”

  “No.” She chuckles. “That’s Nate. Don’t you get it? He’s my dad. You’re my… Adam.” She beams a smile at me. “It’s so different.”

  “OK. Whatever. Go on. Wendy…”

  “Wendy is like you. Different. And I like her. Not as much as you, but I like her. We’re going to be…” She shrugs.

  “Friends?” I offer.

  “Sure. We’re gonna be friends.”

  But that’s not what she was thinking. What she was trying to say, and couldn’t, was that she’s not connected to Indie and Nathan. Not the way she should be if I hadn’t taken her away from them when she was two. In fact, what she really said was that she’s more connected to Wendy—who is a complete stranger—than she is to her biological mother and father.

  And that just makes me feel like a dick.

  I’m trying to decide if I should push this line of questioning, and maybe figure out a way to fix the problem, when Maggie changes the subject.

  “I like Nick. Do you like Nick?”

  “Sure.” But I’m not convincing and she’s not convinced.

  “What’s the problem with Nick?”

  “Nick isn’t the topic here. Wendy is the topic. What did she talk about?”

  “Well, Nick kind of is the topic because that’s my reward, remember? I spy for you, you fill me in.”

  And now her grin is devious. Like she’s plotting against me. Not in a serious way. I am one hundred percent sure Maggie won’t ever plot against me the way Indie did. Her life, so far, might not be perfect but I did it
a lot better this time around. As a general rule, I don’t make the same mistakes twice. “After you deliver the goods, little girl. Now spill.”

  “All right. Well, Wendy and Indie chattered nonstop until almost midnight. It was Nick this and Nate that.” Maggie makes a face. “Like I care about their love lives.”

  “What else?”

  “Nothing much. They were like…” She makes another face. “So. Gross.”

  I can’t stop the laugh. “What’s that mean?”

  “You know? They were like teenagers on TV, Adam. Like… stupid teenagers on TV. I thought they were gonna pull out some fuckin’ makeup and turn the night into a mani-pedi party.”

  “Magnolia.”

  “Sorry. But I really have nothing to report. They didn’t talk about anything interesting. There was no mention of jobs. At all. No killing. No violence. No plans. No secrets. Wendy talked about Nick and Indie talked about Nathan. And I’m just not interested in my mom and dad’s love life, OK?”

  I have to chuckle at this. I loooove this little girl so much. She delights me, even when she swears.

  She sighs again. “And now you’re gonna say I didn’t earn my reward. And that’s not fair. I did my job. It’s not my fault they were acting like this was some ten-year high-school reunion.”

  “They are old friends.”

  “Don’t change the subject. I want my reward.”

  “Fine. We made a deal and my word is always good.” I reach over, grab the handle of a metal tacklebox, and drag it across the deck towards me. Then I flip it open, fish underneath the top tray, and pull out the envelope. I hand it to her.

  She takes a deep breath and the smile that spreads across her face is so real and so big, I have to smile with her. She takes the envelope with reverence. Like we just made our way through some Indiana Jones tomb and this is our hard-earned treasure.

  This analogy kinda fits because this is the Nick Tate letter that we found inside the baby-sized coffin when we raided my twin brother’s tomb weeks ago. I didn’t let her read it back then, and she was mad about that. Maggie is motivated by two things: secrets and puzzles. She will solve any puzzle you put in front of her, but once it’s solved, there had better be a secret revealed at the end. She loves secrets. Well, hopefully, so far, knock on wood, she does not love keeping secrets. But she sure does love to learn about them.