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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

FREYA

Aiden doesn’t let me out of the house. I don’t know how he expects me to pay rent without a job. When I don’t show up for work, Tracy comes to the front door, but he turns her away. I see her, staring up at the upper windows from her truck. I wave, but she doesn’t see me.

Part of me knows he won’t kick me out of the house even if I can’t make rent. He’s too sadistic for a solution that simple, or he’d have done it already.

Something holds him back.

So, I keep my head down. I cook, I clean, I avoid the men he brings to the house. I sort through the remnants of my collection and put the few insects that survived into a shoebox and hide it under my bed.

I had over two hundred specimens. Now, I only have thirteen left.

My only companions are the books under my bed, stacked up and covered with a sheet. I have twenty-three of them, worn by my hands and annotated with blue ink. Aiden knows I have them, but if I keep them hidden, he won’t touch them. The only reason my collection is gone was because it was within easy reach during his temper tantrum .

In a week, my room is put back to rights, but it will never be the same again. My rainbow of colors is gone. Now, I sit alone on the bed with my book in my lap and stare out the window.

I wonder every night if Deacon looks at the same horizon.

One morning, I try to leave the yard and walk up the fence line. Aiden stops me, standing on the porch. He gives a sharp whistle and jerks his head toward the door. Flushed, I come back and walk past him up the porch steps.

“I can’t trust you,” he says. “Ryder Ranch is no friend of ours. I can’t have you sneaking off to fuck around with that asshole.”

I sink back into misery. My books get another reread. I paint ferns in the front and along the margins. Then, I go downstairs and make dinner and sit there like a wooden doll while the men eat.

The next morning, Aiden is already in the kitchen. He has a cup of coffee in one hand, leaning against the counter.

“You can go back to work,” he says.

I nod, eyes down.

“Good. Get you out of the fucking house,” he says, as if he didn’t just lock me in for the last week. That’s what Aiden does. He tells me one thing then does another. Sometimes, I think he likes giving me whiplash.

I take eggs out of the laundry room and start cracking them into a bowl. His eyes are on me, following my every move. I’m sure disgust is churning inside him.

“I don’t want to fucking support you anymore,” he says. “You’re not my daughter.”

He’s blowing off steam. Every day since I turned eighteen, he’s had the opportunity to kick me out, and he hasn’t done it. Something holds him back. I beat the eggs, folding them to keep them fluffy. I have no option to leave anyway. Any job that would hire me won’t pay enough for me to have an apartment and buy my own groceries.

I’m trapped in this endless cycle, and I don’t see any way out of it. Nobody thought ahead for me when I was little. I was left to grow up without a plan for my future. Now, that future is here .

Aiden’s thumb flicks the lighter, the same way Deacon does. Absently back, forth.

“You owe me rent for this month,” he says.

My lips crack. I wet them.

“I can’t pay you if you won’t let me work,” I say, keeping my voice steady.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t work,” he snaps. “But you needed some kind of punishment for whoring around with Deacon Ryder.”

I turn, trying to bite back my anger.

“Why do you care?”

It’s a daring question. Aiden’s eyes narrow. He takes a slow drag, smoking curling from his nose.

“Because Deacon Ryder is fucking us,” he says coolly. “I’m trying to set this family up for good. He’s standing between me and millions in development rights because that fucker’s got some idea about pride.”

His reaction makes a little more sense. I turn back around and pick up the spatula, turning it over in my fingers so I have something to do. It takes me a second, but I realize Aiden is talking again.

“You hearing me?”

“Sorry,” I say.

“I said, you get me that rent,” he says. “And have Bittern take you to Knifely to get the groceries this evening. Got it?”

I nod, keeping my eyes on the pan. The eggs cook slowly as I stir, scraping up from the bottom. His presence lingers, suffocating. Then, he strides from the room. The back door slams open and shut.

My shoulders sink. Hands shaky, I take out my phone and text Bittern.

Aiden wants me to go grocery shopping in Knifley this evening. Please pick me up. I don’t want Aiden to take me.

He doesn’t answer, but that’s not unusual. He’s working. Nobody bothers me for the rest of the day. I make dinner, but only Ryland and Aiden show up. That’s not unusual either, but I do walk down to the part of the driveway where I have service and send Bittern another text. He answers back this time, saying he got another nail in his tire. He’ll be too late to drive me.

I go back inside and sit at the table.

“Bittern’s got a flat tire,” I say. “I can’t get the groceries tonight.”

Aiden wipes his hands on his napkin and sits back. “I’ll take you,” he says. “I don’t know what the fuck’s going on with his tires. Jesus Christ.”

I shrink back, glancing at Ryland. He cocks his head, smirking. He knows I don’t want to be alone with Aiden, and he thinks it’s funny. A little sick, I gather up the empty dishes and start the dishwasher.

Teeth gritted, I gather up the bags, change into a sweater, boots, and jeans, and meet Aiden by his truck. He doesn’t help me in. Instead, he waits in the driver’s seat until I scramble up and slam the door.

I press against the wall, trying to make him forget I’m here. He rolls down the window an inch and lights a cigarette.

I don’t know why it disgusts me so much when Aiden smokes but not as much when Deacon does it. Maybe it’s because Bittern is dying of black lung. He should know better, but he’ll never pay for it the way Bittern will. Evil people like Aiden always live to be a hundred and five, probably dried to jerky from all their sins.

We get to the grocery store without speaking. Aiden says he’ll be back and peels out of the parking lot after giving me two hundred dollars. Grateful he’s gone, I take my time filling the cart with everything we’ll need for the week.

He’s outside, waiting with the engine on. For some reason, he helps me load the bags in the car. I don’t like that. I’m more comfortable when he’s mean. That’s normal.

My mouth is dry when I get in. He holds out his hand.

“Change,” he says.

I give him the ten dollars left over, and he pushes it into his pocket and puts the truck in gear. He pulls onto the road. I watch from the corner of my eye while the street lights flicker over his face. His jaw is flexed, one hand hanging over the steering wheel.

Just the way Deacon drives .

I shudder, not meaning to. He looks at me, eyes hidden by shadow.

“You cold or something?” he says.

“No, sir,” I say.

He makes a noise in his throat but doesn’t speak again. We head out onto the highway then turn off onto the state route when we see cop lights up ahead. It’s clear there’s some kind of accident. I lean forward as we turn away, frowning.

“Some of those fucking trucks can’t drive,” says Aiden.

I swallow past my dry throat. It seems like he wants me to answer.

“There was a semi jackknifed on the road during the storm in the same place,” I say. “Tracy told me, right when the rain started.”

His brows push together. “No, there wasn’t. I drove right through that part of the highway coming home. It was clear.”

I have to stay casual, but it hits me like a thunderclap that Deacon wasn’t entirely truthful that day. But I’m not surprised. He wants me, and he’s shown it through everything he’s said and done since that night.

“Oh, I might have misunderstood,” I say, keeping my voice quiet.

He flicks his attention back to the road. I sit there, fingers laced, and stare straight ahead. Why would Deacon have lied to me about the highway being shut down? Unless…he was just trying to get me home to Ryder Ranch?

I wouldn’t put it past him.

My heart thumps as I press against the door and let my temple rest on the window. When we get back, I’ll have to put the groceries away and clean up the kitchen again. I’m so tired, I can barely keep my eyes open. Then, I should get up early and see if Bittern will take me to see if Tracy will let me keep my job.

My eyelids flicker. I jerk my head up.

“What the fuck?”

I snap my eyes open. Aiden is leaning forward, eyes squinted. I follow his gaze, and my entire body tingles in fear.

There’s a man standing in the middle of the road. He’s got his back to us, but he’s not visibly armed.

“Stay in the truck,” says Aiden, taking a pistol out of the glove box .

He goes to open the door, but there’s a colossal crash that shakes the entire truck. I scream and slam back against the seat. Something fell onto the hood of the truck, crushing it. For a second, I think it’s an animal.

Then, I realize it’s a man, crouched, a hat on his head and a rifle over his shoulder. He turns his head, revealing a face half covered in a black bandana.

Oh God, I’m going to die. Or worse.

Aiden lifts his pistol. Quick as a flash, the man stands and brings his boot down on Aiden’s side of the windshield. The truck shudders from the enormous impact. It doesn’t shatter, instead splintering like ice and bends in. I hear myself panting, pressing my body against the seat. Aiden is pushing open the door, getting out and lifting his gun.

“Hold,” someone shouts.

The first man, face also covered, appears behind him. He’s got a pistol, and he puts the barrel to Aiden’s temple. Aiden goes still, sweat etching down his face.

The man in black jumps to the ground and circles the truck to my side. My ears ring, my blood roaring in my ears. Frantically, fingers shaking, I unlatch my seatbelt and start to crawl into the back seat. I know Aiden has another gun back there.

A hand closes around my ankle and pulls me back. It picks me up and swings me around, tossing me over the man’s shoulder, knocking all the wind from my lungs.

My survival instincts kick in hard. I wrench my body hard from side to side, trying to hit him in the face with my hip. He swears, one hand gripping my upper thigh, clamping me down hard.

We’re moving, and I see the pavement beneath him. I turn my head, trying to lift it, and he shifts me. The movement makes my face jolt into his back. Right then, I smell it: clean skin, salt, a familiar soap. I know this man intimately. I’ve spent enough time tangled up with his body, I should have known right away.

It’s Deacon.

Relief and rage pour through my veins .

A truck door opens, and I’m dumped, albeit carefully, into the passenger side. The door shuts, but I can’t see through the windows. I’m in Deacon’s truck, I can tell even in the dark. Distantly, I hear another truck rev behind us, and Deacon swings into the truck, pulling his hat and bandana off. He has the truck in gear, and he’s backing up, palm flat on the wheel and head turned.

Behind us, wheels screech. I glance back and make out Jensen’s truck turning off onto a side road and disappearing. Deacon keeps going in reverse, at easily fifty miles an hour. My mouth is so dry, I couldn’t speak if I tried.

He shoots out onto the state route, spins the truck in a circle, and takes off toward Ryder Ranch with his foot on the gas.

“Sorry about that, sweetheart,” he says. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

My jaw is on the floor. I look at him and then look straight ahead. We’re speeding down the highway. My heart is still pounding from seeing him drop from the trees like a feral animal and land on Aiden’s truck.

The only thing I can think is that there’s no going back.

He made the choice for me. Now, I have no one but Deacon. That should scare me, and maybe it does, but I don’t feel fear through my shock and indignation. Beneath it all is a strong, hot current of what he activates in me every time our bodies are near.

It makes my heart pound for a different reason entirely.