Page 38 of Speak No Claim

“Respect doesn’t stop venom, Hennessy.”

In the blink of an eye, she eased the branch toward the snake with a steadiness that made my finger ready to shoot. The branch settled just behind the copperhead’s head, and the snake struck, but it couldn’t move from her pinning it without hurting it.

My pulse suddenly slammed against my ribs. Still crouched, she reached down with her free hand. Rendering me speechless, she slipped her fingers behind the snake’s head and, in one fluid motion, firm enough to control it, she lifted it only a few inches from the grass and flicked her wrist, tossing it into the dense brush several yards away.

I lowered my crossbow a little, unable to tear my eyes away from her, spewing, “What in the actual fuck was that?”

She turned toward me with a smug expression. “It was just protecting its territory. You have that in common.”

I’d seen a lot of shit in my life, but that was out of control.

“You really don’t have any survival instincts, do you?”

“Says the man who just got saved by a woman.”

“Trust me, sweetheart, it wouldn’t have bitten me.”

“Not when you’re out here looking like Hercules.” She gestured to my crossbow, but it wasn’t just that.

I was on my way to the gym in the west wing of our house, wearing gym shorts, a muscle shirt, and sneakers, when I saw the smoke. As I lowered the crossbow to my side, her gaze followed the movement before her eyes shifted to all the tattoos on my body.

Curiosity took over. Her stare shifted from one of my tattooed sleeves to the other, landing on my chest piece.

I ignored her deep regard, exclaiming, “What are you doing out here anyway?”

Her brown eyes sparkled, never leaving the details of my tattooed art.

Waiting a moment, she kept her attention on my ink until finally confessing, “I’m dancing for the gods. What are you doing?”

Cocking my head to the side, I questioned, “Which one of them forgot to give you any common sense?”

Her concentration on my tattoos didn’t diminish. If anything, she started studying me like I was this jagged puzzle piece she was trying to fit into a tight place. I hated being the center of attention. I was more of a “hang in the background” kind of guy, which was why I never dressed in anything other than casual, comfortable clothing.

I wasn’t pretending to be someone that I wasn’t, dressing in the same pretentious attire to project this perfected, polished image that everyone in town worked so hard to maintain. It was utter bullshit. You could throw a rock and hit corruption at the Graves.

Those who lived in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. Except everyone here hid behind granite and brick. It was how old money survived generations of lies and manipulation. Nothing else mattered but ensuring the legacy continued, no matter what.

History proved that much.

* * *

It was why I knew where the bodies were buried.

Chapter

Twelve

Onyx: Everyone loves these tattoos. Few know what they mean.

Staying in the background helped me in more ways than one. I knew what she was trying to do. I learned from an early age how to read people. Who was lying, who was pretending, who was bluffing, and who was just full of fucking shit. A person’s body language always told me their story.

Some of it was instinctual, some of it was learned, and some of it was bred.

Most of it was bullshit.

I still loved to observe, though, knowing my mark, knowing my enemies, knowing who I couldn’t trust for a second. Everyone had a tell, and it was usually their demise. It was easier to control someone when you knew the signs.

Defaulting into her witty personality, she teased, “You should try it sometime.”