Cherry Creek Page 3

  Plus, his name doesn’t even sound very American. My mom’s parents were Vauss’s. Mom claims they share the same father, and that’s how he came about to be a Deveroux instead of a Vauss. He took on his own mother’s last name rather than the Vauss name. I suppose that’s possible.

  But seriously, the man came out of the blue. Literally. Four days after the attack, he showed up at the apartment. One second we’re dealing with the aftermath of Brad’s attack, and then the next, it’s completely forgotten, and suddenly my mom is practically shooing me out the door. I guess it’s easy for her to brush aside the attack, it didn’t happen to her. For me, it’s all I think about when I’m alone. I put Brad in a coma. There’s a chance he might still wake up, and if he does, they’ll assess his mental state and go from there. I know charges will be brought against him for trying to kill me. It’s an open and shut case. I still have faint bruises on my neck from where he’d choked me, and his hands had been bloody from the self-defense wounds I’d inflicted upon him.

  The police wouldn’t be bringing any charges against me, and they were allowing me to leave the state once they’d been given my new contact information. If Brad wakes up, he’ll go to trial, and at that point they might need me to come back for it. Until then, I’m free to move to Minnesota.

  The jet trembles with turbulence, and my mind once again shifts back to Khristos Deveroux. He seems kind of young to be so successful. I don’t even know what he does, because I never thought to ask. He had indeed spent some time at the apartment, but I’d been closed off to him. My mind has been a jumbled mass of thoughts since the attack, and I’d balked at doing anything with him, because the man puts me on edge.

  I swear he’s not my uncle.

  Yet…I can’t deny the resemblance. We do look alike. His blond hair is darker than mine and my mom's, and he has dark, navy blue eyes like mine versus the light blue my mom has. Only my eyes have a hint of darker violet to them. They've always had just a faint trace of purple, but it has become more distinct in the past year. I don’t know how that’s possible, but my eyes have begun to change.

  The lady next to me shifts in her seat before going back to reading her Kindle. I glance at her briefly, and then turn back to the window. I’d been grateful Khristos had to leave two days earlier than he’d intended, due to some type of business emergency. I’d thought I could talk some sense into my mom while he was gone, but it hadn’t worked. Now, I’m flying to Minnesota on my own, and I’m glad to have some alone time to pull myself together. What awaits me in Cherry Creek? Who is Khristos really? He’s up to something, because I can feel it.

  ***

  A couple hours later, I enter the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport after walking through the arrival gate. I’m feeling uncertain and nervous, because someone is supposed to meet me here at the gate. I look around, clutching my backpack. The fact that my ‘uncle’ couldn’t meet me himself has me disliking him even more.

  There’s something odd about the way he looks at me. Like he’s curious, but yet he’s so…reserved. Kind of untouchable. Some people are naturally friendly, and he’s definitely not one of them. I guess I don’t care if he’s unfriendly. It’s what he wants from me that’s the problem. Rich uncles do not suddenly pop out of the woodwork and offer to take their niece back home with them. I don’t think he did it out of the kindness of his heart. There’s an ulterior motive. But what?

  The only thing that’s keeping me from panicking is the fact that I turn eighteen in September. I have three months to deal with this guy, and then I can bolt if he turns out to be some sort of freak. It’s the next three months that will be a bit tricky.

  Dang it, mom. I want to go to the nearest phone and rail at her again. I’d asked her over and over again why I had to leave before I'd gotten on my flight. I never did get a solid answer that made sense. All she kept saying was that getting out of Missouri would be good for me. That she’ll be fine on her own. She supported us for sixteen years before I was old enough to get a job, she’d make things work.

  I love my mom and would never think bad of her, but that’s just not like her. I’m going to go live with a rich relative, and my mom should have been begging to tag along. She would have insisted on it and would have bugged Khristos until he'd caved just to get her to leave him alone. Instead, she couldn’t get me out the door fast enough.

  “Livia Vauss?” a masculine voice questions from behind me.

  My body tenses, and I turn to look at the owner. Standing before me is a man that looks to be in his early to mid-twenties. His dark brown hair reminds me of the color of coffee, and it falls almost to his shoulders in slight waves. Some guys look stupid with long hair, this guy—he looks utterly masculine and sexy. Like really sexy. Light, silvery gray eyes stare back at me from an arresting face with broad cheek bones. I feel the ridiculous urge to run my hands through his soft hair. To move closer, so I can touch him in some way, no matter how small.

  I blink hard and try to snap out of it.

  “Livia?” he asks again.

  My eyes are drawn back to his gray eyes, and I’m envious of those long, dark lashes. This guy should be a model. Women would pay obscene sums of cash to look at this man. Then, I realize he’s waiting for me to confirm who I am. I struggle not to flush as I nod in acknowledgment. “Yes, but I prefer Livvy.” I’m relieved when my voice comes out steady.

  He smiles, flashing white teeth. My heart actually flip-flops. “Livvy it is. I’m Trace.” He holds out a hand.

  I can’t help but look at it warily. I’m not going to do something stupid if I touch him, will I? I’ve never been so dumbstruck in my life. I’ve run across cute guys before when I’ve been working or walking downtown, but I’ve never just stood there before, staring like a love-struck moron.

  Trace frowns and drops his hand. “I realize this is probably quite sudden. If you have any requests, or if there is anything I can do to make your transition more comfortable, just say the word.”

  The odd pull I’d felt towards him begins to fade as I grow accustomed to looking at him. My reaction to him is a bit strange, but I decide to shelve it and think about it later. Right now, I need to figure out how this move is going to affect me and my future.

  I draw myself up to my full five-foot-seven height and stare him down, which is hard to do since the man is over six-feet tall. “Who are you?”

  Approval flickers in his gaze. “I work for your uncle. I’m here to drive you to your new home.”

  “My home is back in Missouri,” I contradict.

  He nods easily. “Hopefully, someday you’ll call Cherry Creek home as well.”

  Not likely.

  “Ready?” he inquires.

  “I have to get my luggage.”

  “Someone will bring it by later.”

  “I’d rather get it now,” I insist.

  His expression remains unfazed by my stubbornness. “No problem. We’ll get your things first before we leave,” he agrees.

  We spend twenty minutes waiting for my suitcase at the baggage claim before he leads me out of the airport. He insists on carrying my suitcase, and I let him. When we approach a black, expensive looking SUV, I can feel myself beginning to grow nervous. I don’t care how cute this man is, I don’t know him.

  That’s the thing that bothers me the most about my situation. I don’t know a single soul in Minnesota. I am literally on my own.

  After storing my suitcase in the back, Trace walks around to the passenger door to open it for me.

  I don’t make a move to climb in. How do I know I can trust this man? “I’d like to speak with Khristos,” I say abruptly. After being nearly murdered by Brad, I need confirmation that this guy is being honest with me.

  “Understandable,” Trace murmurs as he pulls his cell phone out of his jeans pocket. He must know the circumstances of my situation with Brad, because he doesn’t hesitate as he presses a button and hands the phone to me.

  I watch him warily as I pu
t the phone to my ear. The phone rings on the other line several times before Khristos answers. “Yes?” he asks a bit curtly.

  “It’s Livvy,” I say awkwardly.

  “Livvy. Is everything all right? Where’s Trace?” he asks immediately.

  I’m caught off guard by the concern in his tone. The curtness is gone, and I can hear movement in the background, as if he had been sitting but is now rising to his feet.

  My voice is stilted as I say, “He’s standing right next to me. I just want confirmation that this is the man who’s supposed to drive me back to your place.”

  “Yes, he’s the man I sent. You can trust him, Livvy. He’ll bring you straight to me,” he assures.

  “Okay. Uh, thanks.” I hang up the phone and hold it out to Trace.

  He pockets it before nodding at me. “It’s good to be cautious. If you have any other concerns, don’t hesitate to come to me or Khristos.”

  I have so many concerns that I’d need more hands to count them out on, but I don’t tell him that. I climb in the SUV and buckle up, feeling uncomfortable. My mom and I have always been…well, poor. We barely make ends meet, and we’d had an old car when we moved to Missouri last year, but it broke down and hadn’t been salvageable. Now we’re carless and have to resort to city transportation. Well, my mom has to resort to city transportation. I don’t know what to expect from Khristos, but I highly doubt he lives in an area where there’s city bus stops. I have no clue how I am going to get around town.

  I’m feeling tense as Trace backs out of the parking space and begins to navigate the airport parking lot. My new life starts the minute I arrive at Khristos's place. I'm beyond wary, and in a way, I feel like I'm blindfolded. I can't foresee what's ahead of me. Nothing is familiar, and only time will tell whether this move is going to cause me more harm than good. It's the not knowing that grates on my nerves.

  I never considered myself the controlling type. I'm level-headed and naturally calm. But now that I'm in this predicament, I am desperate for some kind of control. Instead, I feel vulnerable and blind.

  “How was your flight?”

  Trace's voice startles me slightly, causing me to glance at him. His attention is focused on the traffic before us, so I take a moment to study him. He has some hair tucked behind his right ear, allowing me full view of his handsome features. My eyes drop lower, and I see that his short-sleeved shirt is now tight around his bicep as he keeps a relaxed hold on the steering wheel. The man is pure masculine perfection.

  Okay, this is getting downright exasperating. I tear my gaze from him and look out my window, my jaw clenching slightly. I'm practically salivating over him. Brad was my boyfriend for a year and I never, ever felt this way towards him. These feeling are new. I don't think I like them.

  “You're not scared of me, are you?” Trace asks as he slants me a look.

  His question has my head turning, my eyes darting to his. I find his attention is focused entirely on me, his gray eyes fixated on mine. I see concern in their depths. It's evident that it bothers him that I might fear him.

  “I don't know you,” I declare. “Trust isn't blindly given. It's earned.”

  “True,” he agrees as he turns his attention back to the road. “But just to clarify my intentions, I won't hurt you. The exact opposite, actually. I work for Khristos, which means I'm at your beck and call if you need anything.”

  What I want are answers. Why am I here? Who is Khristos really? But getting those answers out of Trace would be impossible. Trace's loyalty is to Khristos.

  Instead of dwelling on my predicament, I try to make conversation. Knowledge is power, right? “I've never heard of Cherry Creek,” I comment as I go back to staring out my window. All Khristos had told me is that it's a large town about thirty minutes west of Minneapolis.

  “It's a nice town. Granted, it's not like the city, but it's got its perks. And anything it doesn't have, the cities will certainly have,” he assures.

  “Where exactly does Khristos live? Is it in the more populated part of town? Does it even have a downtown district?” I ask with unconcealed interest.

  “Khristos lives on the edge of town, so no, he doesn't live in the center of it. And yes, there is a downtown. It consists of several blocks of stores and restaurants and whatnot. As I said, it's not like the city, but I promise you won't be bored. There's plenty to do in Cherry Creek.”

  I glance at him. “What does Khristos do for a living?”

  “He owns a club in Minneapolis.”

  “What kind of club?”

  Trace turns his head and looks at me curiously, amusement lingering in his gaze. “What kind of club do you think he owns?”

  My eyes narrow. “I hope it's the kind where the women keep their clothes on.”

  Masculine laughter fills the interior of the SUV, and it causes tingles to trek up my spine. The feel of those stupid tingles has me cursing all over again in my head. What is up with this crazy attraction I feel towards him? Isn't there a way to shut it off? Or ignore it somehow?

  “Yes, the women keep their clothes on,” he answers as his lip quirks slightly in the corner. His attention turns back to his driving. “It's a dance club.”

  “Does he do anything else?” I press.

  “I think you'd have to ask him. I don't have all the details, but I think he owns shares in a few other businesses.”

  I kind of already figured Khristos is a businessman of some sort or else he comes from old money. The minute I'd seen him in his designer clothes and spied the watch on his wrist, I'd known he came from a world of wealth. I can't help but wonder what he thought of the apartment when he'd been there. I smirk slightly. I'm sure he'd been overjoyed to sit on our old, lumpy couch. I'm also sure not a single stain was left unnoticed, and I'm guessing he'd been as disgusted with the grimy linoleum on the kitchen floor as I had been. The idea of Khristos being uncomfortable brings a little merriment to my somber mood.

  “Ah, I spy a bit of a smile. Now that has me very curious as to what you're thinking.”

  “Trust me, it's better left unsaid.”

  “Well, that does not bode well for either me or Khristos,” Trace says dryly.

  “Can I use your phone?” I ask abruptly.

  He looks at me, and his brow creases. “Again? Have I done something to offend you?”

  “No. I'd like to call my mom and let her know I made it here safely.” Truth is, I am desperate to hear her voice. It just hit me that I need to feel connected to my old life in some way.

  Trace's right hand leaves the wheel, and he shifts in the seat, pulling the phone out of his back pocket. He hands it to me.

  It's warm from his body heat, and I frown at it as I try to figure out how to turn it on. My old phone had buttons. This one is the touch screen kind.

  “Press the small button on the top, and then slide the phone icon to unlock,” Trace explains.

  I follow his directions and dial my old cell phone number. We hadn’t had a phone line at the apartment, so we'd shared the cell phone. Because I was younger and a minor, my mom had insisted I hold on to it the majority of the time in case of an emergency. My mom has some good qualities besides the not so great ones. But don't we all?

  The phone goes straight to voice mail. I end the call instead of leaving a message. That's odd. Her shift doesn't start for another hour.

  “Not home?” Trace asks lightly.

  “No. Thanks,” I say politely as I hold it out to him.

  He accepts it, carelessly tossing it on the dashboard.

  It's not fair to blame my mom for not picking up the phone, because I'm sure she's busy. But I still feel abandoned. I decide I'm no longer in the mood to carry on a conversation, so I fall silent the rest of the drive.

  I'm not sure what I expected when we arrive in Cherry Creek a bit later. I guess I thought I'd see a town with lots of buildings. Instead, I learn that Khristos lives on the eastern boundary lines of Cherry Creek, and that area is pretty rural. We wouldn
't be driving through town to get to his place.

  I peer out my window as we drive down a road with dense trees growing on either side. Every now and then, we pass a gate that leads to a private estate. I'm guessing this is where the wealthy live. It's certainly secluded out here.

  I'm not surprised when Trace pulls into a driveway and lets the SUV idle in front of a wrought iron gate. He presses a button on his visor, and I watch as the gate begins to open. I try hard to keep my eyes from widening as we drive past the gate and down a paved road that seems to weave through the trees.

  This is my life now.

  I've gone from living in a shabby apartment to living in a wealthy community. I'm not naive enough to assume that this is an upgrade. Living with Khristos could turn out to be pure hell. Evil can lurk behind the most beautiful mask.

  When we break through the trees and approach the main residence, I can't stop my eyes from going as wide as saucers. Khristos’s home is a mansion. A big one. It even has a circular drive with a round, well-manicured garden in the center. Beyond the driveway is the largest house I've ever seen. The roof is sloping in many places, so I am guessing it has a third level in some areas. The outside is white with gray bricks for accents, and the entrance is as elaborate as one would expect a mansion to be. There are three arches with two pillars, allowing for an overhang above the massive dark brown doors. I let my eyes roam the house as I take in the arching windows that betray massive rooms beyond their glass depths.

  “How many rooms?” I hear myself asking faintly.

  “I've never counted them before.”

  Not surprising.

  Trace parks the SUV and cuts the engine. “Ready?”

  I turn my head and give him a look. “No,” I say honestly. I'm trying hard to keep my head on straight and not allow this new life to scare the livin' crap out of me. But the sight of this large, foreboding mansion has me feeling uneasy. I don't belong here.

  Trace grins. “Your honesty is refreshing.”

  We'll see what Khristos thinks of it. He seems like the type who expects obedience. I'm feeling far from obedient at the moment.