Page 1 of Veiled in Brick

Chapter 1

A bottle floats in the ocean, the letter haphazardly rolled and stuffed inside of it hiding a message for a select few deemed worthy to read. It pitches and yaws through the waves, safely holding the contents as it aimlessly wanders. Storms pass. Lightning strikes. And yet the bottle remains the same, protecting the fragile sheet of paper from the elements. The bottle is impenetrable. The waves crash and the rain pours, but it remains the same—unyielding. Bobbing along as if the glass is unbreakable.

Until someone comes along, grabs the bottle by the neck, and throws it to the ground.

The seemingly everlasting protection that was once in place is shattered to pieces, and the letter is stolen. There’s no telling if it’s in good hands. It could be ripped to bits in the blink of an eye—soaked in acetone rendering the ink unreadable—burned until it’s reduced to ash. Of course, not all things are what they seem…but the possibility of the letter being destroyed sounds more likely than any other outcome.

I’m biased, though, because it’s me. I’m the bottle. And I just wanted to be left the fuck at sea.

Ugh. I’m being dramatic—I should rewind to the point where I stopped recognizing my life. I could go as far back as when I was packing up my belongings to follow my best friend, Claire Branson, to Salem, Virginia. The venture across state lines from North Carolina wasn’t what caused my head to spin, though, for our lives were both as normal as they could possibly have been.

Normal. We got an apartment. We had jobs. She fell in love with her bartender coworker, Luke Turner. Her ex-boyfriend and old accomplice Colton Langdon blackmailed her for a heaping pile of money that she didn’t have, leading our newfound group to set up a sting operation for the drug dealer to whom Colton was indebted. We watched a man die.

You know. Typical girl things.

Traumatic as those events were and as often as I unintentionally revisited the horror in my mind, they weren’t what caused my world to feel like it turned upside down. It was the goddamn men—and I was currently sandwiched between the two that most often sent my mind reeling.

“I found a nice place to get dinner—”

“This shit again?”

The voices came forth from either side of me, and I slowly returned my empty bottle of cider to the counter. I took my time, rotating it atop the coaster as if I wanted to view the label. I swallowed the last sip that I held in my mouth and looked toward the second voice, Liam Cohen.

My dear friend and across-the-hall neighbor’s mouth was twisted in an amused grin that stretched the scar above his upper lip. The expression softened my annoyance, but only just. I shoved his brawny shoulder, and I was certain that the resulting sway of his body was one that was put on for show.

“Will you be nice?” I admonished him, and his dark eyes damn near sparkled.

“What is it,” Liam leaned forward to speak past me, “the fiftieth time that you’ve asked her out?”

I sighed, clamping my teeth together to prevent myself from responding sarcastically, ‘This week.’

“She said no, Jay,” Liam added. “She doesn’t do—”

“Dates,” I finished Liam’s sentence for him as I twisted myself to look at James Turner. “I don’t do dates.”

The grimace on James’ face that was clearly directed at Liam vanished as I looked into his grey eyes. He smiled, his crooked nose scrunching up, and he tucked his hair behind his ears.

“I know,” he replied, confidence unwavering. “You’ve said so before.”

Liam and I spoke simultaneously.

He advised, “Let it go, man,” and I questioned aloud:

“Do you want to fuck, Jay?”

James chuckled, shaking his head in amusement for it was not the first time that I had asked him that question.

Liam groaned loudly as he lifted his half-filled beer to his lips, “Dammit, Zo’.”

“Go ahead, take me out back,” I continued, challenging James and ignoring Liam’s clear disapproval. “I’ll drop to my knees and suck you off before you can say boo, but I’m not going on a date.”

The all-knowing laugh from behind the bar brought my line of sight to Claire. Her red hair shined, the yellow neon lighting along the wall behind her illuminating her in a glow that would have looked angelic if we weren’t all sitting in the dim, dusty bar that was down the street from our apartment complex. We all adored Henry’s—the bar, that is. Although Claire and Luke were required to frequent Henry’s considering that they were employed here, the rest of our group enjoyed going here on a regular basis.

Claire smiled wide as she looked at my empty bottle and silently replaced it with a full one.

“Are we doing this again, Zoey?” she asked me with one of her brows angled up high.

Luke approached us all from behind the counter, popping two shot glasses on the bartop as he grinned at her with soft, loving eyes, inquiring, “Doing what?”

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