Page 29 of Cash

I turned the bike around and headed for the mountain. I could go back to my room at the motel and let them out, but I hated that place. It was simply a means to an end while I was here.

I wanted to go home but I couldn’t.

Because of her.

At the bottom of the path, I removed my helmet and hung it from my handlebars. I rode up along the edge, letting the branches scratch my skin. With every prick, my skin pebbled.

I made it to the top and saw him before I noticed his bike. He stood by the edge, looking out over the town.

Why was he here?

Did he have another shit day?

I turned off the bike and sat for a moment, watching him. His wide shoulders were tense. His posture stiff. He didn’t turn around to look at me, and the disappointment nudged at the monsters wanting to scream.

I scratched at my arm. The skin there was flawless aside from the tattoos. For now.

Scars covered my legs, but I hadn’t touched my arms. Not yet. Arms were harder to conceal. Especially in the humid climate of Vegas. Though like on my legs, the tattoos would help.

I walked to the edge and stood behind him. He placed his hands in his pockets, and the muscles in his neck bunched. He must have had a shit day.

Why else would he be here so stressed out? Did he have monsters too? Were they screaming to get out?

I stepped up beside him, but didn’t say a word. I didn’t know what to say. The last time we were here, I cussed him out. It was unusual for me. I only showed people, especially strangers, my happy side.

I didn’t push people away. Not like I wanted too. When you weren’t happy, people wanted to know why. I wanted to know why he wasn’t happy.

“You shouldn’t be up here,” he said, never taking his eyes off the town below.

“Why not? You’re up here,” I countered as I stared at his profile.

He turned to me briefly before boasting, “I can take care of myself. You shouldn’t be alone in the woods. You don’t know who could be up here.”

I rolled my eyes. “I can take care of myself, asshole.”

There I went again. The way he spoke to me, like I was a child, pissed me off. I had spent half my life training myself to keep my anger in check around others. But somehow this man brought it out.

I turned away, and he grabbed my arm, spinning me back to face him.

“What would you do if I hauled your tiny ass to the ground right now? If I overpowered you and ripped your fucking clothes off?” he growled.

“You’d never get that far.” I proved my words by pressing my knife to his dick. The hiss that slipped from his lips caused a satisfied smile to spread across my face and I lifted a brow, silently asking him what he would do now.

“Fuck,” he muttered, and if I wasn’t mistaken, he was hard. He released my arm and pushed me back enough that my knife was no longer pressed against him.

We stared each other down, and his nostrils flared. “Go home.”

“Fuck you. Last time I checked, this was a free country. This is state land, not private property.”

“You sure about that?” he asked, taking a step closer. I took a step back, not out of fear. No, I wasn’t afraid of him. But I was afraid of myself. Afraid I would launch myself at him.

God, he was fucking sexy. And his angry, misplaced concern for my safety should have been a turnoff.

Pretty sure I had daddy issues. Seeing as I had never had one. I had only ever had women in my life. Other than Thorne, but we were only eleven when he left me alone.

My eyes slipped to his cut, noting his name.

Cash.