Page 79 of The Voice We Find

“You would have what?” he prompts. “You wouldn’t have stolen the van parked in my locked garage?” His gaze chills me through as he pulls out his phone and holds it in one hand. “You realize thatwith a single phone call to the police I could have you arrested for grand theft auto on the spot. Due to its value, that would be a felony and a minimum five years in jail.”

“Afelony?” I all but choke.“I’m not a criminal, Jasper. I’m your sister.”

He steps in close, his expensive cologne churning my stomach as his voice dips low. “I knew it was a mistake to listen to Mom’s bleeding heart and let you come back when you’ve never been anything but a drain on this family.” He points to the dented van. “How exactly are you planning to fix this?”

Though his words slice deep, I refuse to give him the cowardly reaction he desires from me. “I just hung up with Natalie. She’s confident she can sort this all out with insurance.”

“No.” His eyes darken as he takes my measure. “Insurance won’t be paying a dime toward the repairs for this vehicle. You will be.”

Confused, I look from the van back to him, calculating the possible deductible. It couldn’t be more than a thousand dollars, right? “But if it’s totaled—”

“Then it will come out of your trust payout.” He studies the van. “Between the customizations and inflation markups, you should plan on roughly six figures.”

My jaw slacks at the idea of handing over the majority of the payout to my wealthy brother. “But I can’t afford that.”

His patronizing expression twists into a dare. “Would you rather I send you packing and deny you a payout altogether? Because that can be arranged. It’s your choice.”

I’ve tiptoed around my brother’s entitlement for years, scared to speak my mind, scared of what he’d tell my parents, scared of the grudges he’d hold or the repercussions he’d set in motion. But staying scared has never gotten me anywhere.

I ball my fists at my side.

“Why do you hate me so much?” The question rips from my throat with such force my vision blurs.

He stares at me without any trace of emotion until I see him peer beyond me. In a matter of two seconds, his countenance morphsinto the Jasper I’ve only observed from a distance. And in one more second, I understand why.

“Sophie?”

I feel August’s comforting hand on my shoulder before he angles his body between me and my brother.

“Is there a problem here?” August asks in a tone I’ve never heard him use.

“None at all.” My brother’s ability to switch moods is impressive, I’ll give him that. He sticks out his hand to my boyfriend, and after a beat of hesitation, August accepts it. “I’m Jasper. Sophie’s brother. And you must be the award-winning August Tate I’ve read so much about.”

Acid rises in my throat. He’s read about him—how? I’ve never used his full name, much less the address of the studio.Tracked, I think. Natalie had used the wordtrackedwhen she called.

“I’ve looked you up,” Jasper says, hands in his pockets, smile on his face. “You’ve worked with some impressive artists.”

August’s stony expression is immovable. “What brings you out today?” But with a single twist of his head, he answers his own question. I feel him tense the moment he sees the extensive damage.

“Nothing to concern yourself with. Just a misunderstanding,” my brother says with an easy smile. “I’ll take those keys and leave you to your day, Sophie.”

The level of crazy I feel—from one to ten—is an eleven. I’ve never been able to understand how he can keep up the front of being a likable, decent human being when I know him as anything but.

I pull the keys from my pocket and hand them over.

Jasper tips his head and moves to the driver’s side door. The metal-on-metal screech it makes sends an involuntary shiver through my torso. “Come by the winery anytime, August. I’ll make sure you get the VIP treatment.”

August nods as my brother closes the door and starts up the engine. His hold on me tightens incrementally.

It’s not until Jasper pulls away from the curb, followed closely by the large Mercedes, that the face of the driver comes into focus.

Clinton. The pretentious stockbroker from the tasting room.

He has the audacity to wink at me before driving away.

The instant they are out of sight, August wraps his arms around me in a hug that seems to embrace every horrible truth. He kisses the top of my head, my temple. “Are you okay?”

I nod into his chest. “I am now.”

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