Thick As Thieves: An Enemies-To-Lovers Romance (Paths To Love Book 5) Read online

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  Thick As Thieves

  Grahame Claire

  Thick As Thieves (Paths To Love, Book Five) Grahame Claire

  Copyright © 2020 Grahame Claire

  All rights reserved. No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without the express written permission of the author. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.

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

  Editing And Proofreading:

  Sue Grimshaw, Edits by Sue

  Marion Archer, Marion Making Manuscripts

  Karen Lawson and Janet Hitchcock, The Proof is in the Reading

  Jenny Sims, Editing4Indies

  Cover Design:

  Hang Le, By Hang Le

  Ebook ISBN: 978-0-9974728-4-4

  For those who are far from perfect.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Epilogue

  Enjoy this book?

  Bonus Scene

  Book Stuff

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Grahame Claire

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Drew

  “You’re up, Carter.”

  Coach nudged me out of the dugout. No words of encouragement. No more words at all. Didn’t need them.

  This was the moment.

  Final game. Two outs. Bases loaded. Down by three runs.

  I was a pitcher, but the best hitter on the team, and it was my turn at bat. Judging by the chin nods from my teammates as I passed, they believed in me. If anyone could knock it out of the park, my teammates had faith that it was me.

  I took my time walking to the plate. Saw my mom, dad, brother, and girlfriend on the front row of bleachers, clapping and cheering like crazy people. God, I loved them. My brother tipped his hat, and I nodded back. This was for them.

  Get ready to be College World Series champions, boys.

  I tapped the bat on the dirt twice. Got in my stance. Waited.

  The pitcher wound up and the ball sailed straight into the catcher’s glove.

  “Strike!”

  These people wanted a photo finish. I couldn’t hit a homer on the first pitch. Everybody knew that.

  The second ball came.

  Swing and a miss.

  I looked toward the fences. Hit the bat on the dirt again. And swung for my life when the ball zinged toward me.

  Crack.

  I took off for first base. By the time I reached it, I realized the ball landed just inside the fence.

  Damn. Mitchell home.

  When I was halfway to second, the outfielder had reached the ball. He fumbled it as I rounded the base. Jackson home.

  I ran to third with a speed I didn’t realize I possessed. Ryker crossed home plate.

  All tied up.

  I sped past the plate just before the third baseman caught the ball.

  The noise of the crowd spurred me on. Almost home.

  I dove headfirst for the plate. Pain shot through my shoulder and my knee, but it didn’t matter as I stretched to touch the plate.

  The catcher tagged me.

  I looked at the umpire.

  “Safe!”

  * * *

  I opened my eyes. The soft whir of a machine was the only noise in the otherwise quiet room.

  Mama jerked up in her chair. “Drew.” Worry and relief tainted her tone.

  Dad spun around from his place by the window. Lines of concern surrounded his eyes. Or maybe he hadn’t slept?

  I looked down. Scratchy linens covered me up to my chest. My leg was propped up in a sling, and my shoulder throbbed like a bitch.

  “Mama.” My voice didn’t sound like my own. It sounded as if I hadn’t spoken in days.

  “Oh baby. How do you feel?”

  Like crap.

  “We won, right?” Had I dreamed the whole thing?

  Her smile was sad as her eyes glassed over. “Yeah. You won.”

  Dad stayed rooted by the window, his expression closed off.

  “You’re awake?” My brother came in with two Styrofoam cups.

  “Apparently.”

  “Thought you’d be out longer after surgery. How bad does it hurt?” He pulled up the chair next to Mama.

  “Pretty bad. Did the doctor say when I can get back on the field?” I wasn’t entirely sure how long I’d been in this hospital, but I couldn’t wait to get back on the mound.

  Mama’s face fell. “Baby, they did all they could but—”

  “A month? Six weeks?” Panic rose. That was an eternity. And what about my deal?

  She shook her head and put a hand on mine. “I’m sorry.”

  Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.

  No.

  Dad turned away, and my brother looked down at his feet.

  No.

  The future. My dreams. Shattered into a million shards that felt like I was being stabbed to a slow death.

  I’d heard the tear when I slid home. But there had to be some way to fix the damage. Baseball couldn’t be over.

  No.

  A figure paused in the doorway. My angel. A semblance of relief at the sight of her penetrated through the pain and shock.

  “We’ll give you a minute.” Mama stood, and the rest of my family followed her out of the room.

  My angel leaned against the doorframe for support. She was perfect. Beautiful. Sweet. Her support was what I needed more than anything. Just like always, she was there. And as soon as I got out of there, we were getting married.

  “I can’t do this.” The words were harsh with no remorse.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you, sweetheart. I’m gonna be fine.” I wasn’t sure of that, but the need to reass
ure her outweighed all else. Together, we would be fine.

  “You’re not going to be fine. You’ll never be a baseball player again.”

  “We don’t know that—”

  “I heard the doctors. Your career is over. The Rangers don’t want you. Neither do I.”

  What?

  Surely, she didn’t . . .

  “You don’t mean that,” I said quietly.

  Her stance in the doorway—folded arms, pursed lips, cold stare . . . What was she saying?

  “I’m supposed to be a baseball player’s wife.” Not . . . it doesn’t matter. I love you, Drew.

  I balled the sheets in my hand. Pain lanced through my shoulder.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but words wouldn’t come. It didn’t matter anyway.

  She was gone.

  She’d turned on her heel and was gone. Vanished.

  I could have torn every muscle. Fractured every bone.

  But nothing could hurt like this.

  Baseball—gone.

  Erin—gone.

  What was I supposed to do with my life now?

  Why. Fucking. Me?

  My two great loves . . . gone.

  As I stared at the empty doorway, my heart shriveled into nothing.

  Pain.

  That was all that was left. It was all I could feel.

  It would be what I’d always feel.

  Chapter One

  Drew

  “What have you done to my apartment?”

  I stopped as soon as I crossed the threshold, the scent of eucalyptus hitting me. It smelled just like the house I’d grown up in.

  “Reminding you who you are.”

  Mama tacked a photo on the refrigerator with—was that the magnet I’d made in fourth grade? The entire surface was littered with pictures and ticket stubs and mementos of a life it seemed as if I’d never lived. All the reminders in the world would never make me into the person she thought I was. I didn’t deserve her efforts.

  How had she gotten in anyway?

  And why would she bother?

  Especially after what I’d done.

  A quilt my nana on her side had made was draped across the back of her old sofa. The pink and blue flower-patterned cushions were as ugly now as they had been when I was a kid. Had this thing been in storage all this time? She’d died, hell, it had to have been a good fifteen, twenty years ago. Yet something about it immediately brought back memories of playing dominoes with her. She never let me win. The one time I’d beaten her, Easton and I had celebrated with ice cream.

  Easton.

  Fuck. Not thinking about him. Too much guilt.

  I threw down my briefcase onto the counter, an old, decrepit laminate that should’ve been removed two decades ago. Everyone else I knew in this building had swank apartments. I’d been told this outdated one was all that was available. Even though I’d known it was a lie, I hadn’t been in a position to argue.

  I opened the cabinet next to the sink and froze. “Are these your glasses?” Slowly, I pulled one out. On the shelf above were plates and bowls I recognized as Mama’s favorites. My parents had had them since they were married. We’d eaten off them all my life.

  “Look at me.”

  That tone of voice, the one with the strength of a hundred men and more backbone than I’d ever hope to possess, was almost enough to make me do it immediately. But whatever she had to say, I didn’t want to hear. I’d done enough shitty things for six lifetimes, and today was the culmination of the worst. She didn’t even know about that yet.

  “Drew Harris.”

  Shit. I felt like I was ten again. I’d gotten myself in deep and screwed up things with my family. Done things to them there was no excuse for.

  I filled the glass with whiskey I’d lifted from one of the executive’s offices at Starlight Petroleum Energy. Then I slid Mama a bottle of water across the counter.

  “Mama, I love you, but there’s nothing you can say—”

  “I’m the reason you aren’t rotting in prison right now, so you sure as hell are going to listen to me.”

  I clutched the glass instead of doubling over like I wanted to. Her words were a sucker punch to the stomach even though they were true. What did I think? Dad, Easton, and Mulaney would want anything less than the worst punishment possible?

  “I didn’t—”

  “Don’t lie to me.” Steely determination stared at me across the island. “And don’t make me look like I was wrong.”

  How was I supposed to do that? She was wrong, though I’d never admit that to any of my family. Once they sank their teeth into what they thought I’d done, they wouldn’t let it go. I’d never conceded a thing. As long as I drew breath, I wouldn’t.

  “What happened to you?” Her face contorted in pain as if it was her fault I’d turned out so terrible.

  I shrugged. Life had happened to me. This was who I was. I didn’t have to apologize to anyone for that, not even Mama. Though her sad look kind of made me want to.

  “What’s Dad going to say when he finds out you’re here?” My lip curled into a sneer at the mention of my father. He’d assumed the worst about me. Even though he was right, the benefit of the doubt would’ve been nice.

  “Not a word.” She twisted the cap on the water bottle, but it didn’t give. When she couldn’t open it, I unscrewed the cap and placed it back in front of her. “Stop avoiding the subject.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.” I drained the whiskey in my glass and ignored the disappointment coming from her as I poured another glass.

  “I don’t want you behind bars, especially while I’m dying.”

  “Mama—”

  She held up her hand. “It’s a reality, and there’s no reason to avoid it.” I wanted to. “But you can’t get away with what you’ve done.”

  “You want me to turn myself in?” I didn’t bother hiding the sarcasm. Out of everyone, I thought Mama would have my back.

  “No, I don’t think that would accomplish anything. I have something more important for you to do. You’re going to do community service.”

  I snorted. Was she kidding? Like I should be anywhere around people. “I don’t think so.”

  “At Paths of Purpose,” she continued as if I hadn’t protested. “Starting tomorrow, you’ll go there every day for the foreseeable future.”

  “I have a company to run.” And I wasn’t wasting my time at whatever that place was Mama was trying to send me. I didn’t have the time. If I didn’t figure out a way to make some serious money stat . . .

  “I’ve already spoken with Mrs. Quinn. She’s willing to let you volunteer there because I’ve expressed your eagerness to do whatever she needs.”

  I rubbed my face with my hand. “Why would you tell someone that? And what kind of place is this?” I couldn’t cook, so I’d be of no use in a soup kitchen. Hell, I didn’t even know how to do laundry. And they could all kiss my ass if they thought I’d pick up trash off the side of the street.

  I had so much on my mind now, and with the mess I’d gotten myself into, I didn’t need something trivial on my plate.

  “An abused women and children shelter.”

  I stared at her. Seriously. That was the last place a man like me needed to be. I fucked willing women in no less than twos.

  “No.”

  She looked at her lap for a moment before she lifted her gaze to mine. “Then I have to do the right thing.”

  A tingling began at the base of my neck. What did that even mean?

  “Four thirty in the morning. Be ready.”

  “Four thirty?” It wouldn’t even be daylight yet.

  “If you aren’t there, I’m going to the authorities.”

  Chapter Two

  Sonya

  “Where is it?”

  I batted my lashes instead of wiping the spit that had landed on my cheek.

  “What?” I ran my finger down his arm clad in a Dormeuil suit, the vicuna fabric soft to the touch. If seduction
was the best means of distraction, so be it.

  Tamas Levitt took a step closer. His nostrils flared. Hot, cigar-stained air blasted into my face. “You know what.”

  Stay cool. Stay. Cool.

  I toyed with his coat sleeve and smirked. “I really don’t.”

  There were many shades of red when it came to emotions. An embarrassed shade with an almost pinkish hue. A bright red caused from too much laughter.

  Crimson. The volatile red of anger.

  I couldn’t pinpoint Tamas’s exactly, but it didn’t look healthy.

  “The. Coin.”

  I tilted my head, then blinked at him a few times as if trying to dig into the far recesses of my mind. I even went so far as to press my index finger to my lips. Apparently, that gesture was too over the top.

  Tamas yanked on my wrist. I stumbled forward until our noses were pressed together. “This is the last time I will ask. Where. Is. It?”

  Could the man not speak in full sentences? Every word was enunciated in his thick Hungarian accent.

  I faked a light bulb going off in my brain. “Let’s look for it,” I suggested brightly. “Where is it supposed to be?”

  His mouth pressed together in a thin line. His breath in my face had been irritating before. Now it was suffocating.