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You don’t send your thirty-year-old single daughter up Barker Mountain to The Beast without one clear purpose—and it sure as hell isn’t to be the man’s housekeeper.
Finally saying the words out loud, in such close proximity to this man, who could so easily do anything he wants to me in this moment, makes my entire body tremble and tears well in my eyes despite my best effort to maintain a strong front.
I was so sure driving up here that I’d be all right, that I could handle Weston Barker and whatever he turned out to be, but I was so fucking wrong. I underestimated The Beast and what his mere presence could do to me.
An image of his face as he stared down at me in that forest flashes through my head.
Silver hair shimmering in the faint moonlight filtering in.
Strong, angular jaw covered with a matching beard.
Full lips set in a hard, thin line.
Anger flaring behind his ruthless eyes.
Hard muscles rippling on his exposed chest.
Arms flexing as he gripped his weapon and raised it over me, then grasped my wrist and easily lifted me like I weighed nothing.
This isn’t a man you fuck around with, and that’s exactly what Dad did.
Now he sits staring at me, as if he doesn’t know what he’s looking at, like I’m some sort of puzzle he’s trying to fit together when the pieces don’t seem to match up.
There isn’t any reason for him to be confused.
I’ve done exactly what he asked.
What is necessary to save the only family I have left.
So why does The Beast look so confused?
He slowly relaxes the stony set of his shoulders, then reaches over and grabs his drink, taking another sip before he averts his gaze and stares down into it. “So, your father received the message and sent you as a sacrificial lamb?”
I shake my head as a single tear slips from the corner of my eye and trickles down my cheek. “God, no. My father forbade me from coming. We argued about it. I waited until he left town to drive up. He never would’ve allowed me to come if he knew I planned to honor your demand.”
His jaw tightens, flexing under his trimmed beard. “Good father.”
The observation lodges a boulder right in the middle of my throat, that I can’t seem to swallow past, and I choke on a sob. “He’s a great dad, the best. I don’t know what he did, what happened with Rosewood, but—”
Hell, I don’t even know who or what Rosewood is…
“You shouldn’t involve yourself in business that isn’t yours.”
Shit.
That was stupid.
I shouldn’t have brought it up.
Of course, this man doesn’t want to discuss his business with me.
Dozens—maybe hundreds—of legitimate companies and illegal fronts. Thousands of employees—on and off the books. All spread across the state of Montana. Bringing in billions every year in the Barker name. Protected by a sister who sits in the damn governor’s office as the head of the state government and a cousin who serves as a federal senator. Not to mention the various second and third cousins and other relatives who hold positions in local governments all around the state.
It doesn’t matter who or what Rosewood is, anyway.
The damage is done.
That bloody axe embedded in the door with a note bearing my name sent a direct message I couldn’t ignore, despite Dad wanting to stick his head in the sand.
