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Well, when he puts it that way, I guess that’s exactly what I did.
“I’m sorry. I just don’t know how long I can stay in the dark without going crazy, and now that I’ve read those diaries, my mind is spinning off in a thousand different directions.”
He releases a pent-up sigh, his massive chest rising and falling slowly underneath my cheek. “I can imagine you’d have quite a few.”
“I know you can’t tell me everything. But tell me what you can, please.”
Weston considers my request for a few moments, then buries his face in my hair for a second before he shifts so he’s sitting up against the headboard. He trails his fingers down my bare spine and sends a shiver through me. “What you read was all true. The Rosewoods and the Barkers came over from England together hundreds of years ago. They came west together, helped settle Montana. We were two of the very few families that actually made it through the journey here. We all stuck together. The original families tried to ensure all our survival…”
“That makes sense.” And it matches with the diary entries I’ve inhaled from his ancestors.
Stories of survival on a treacherous trek west to seek new land and opportunity. Friendships built on strong backs and shared losses along the way.
I watch his eyes darken as he thinks.
His gaze drops to mine. “How far did you get in the diaries?”
Thinking back to the ancient volumes, I try to visualize the dates on each entry. “Mid-1800s, I think.”
“So, you know both families were very prosperous.”
I nod. “Yes.”
“It was only because we worked together, did what needed to be done, even back then.”
A shiver rolls through me because I know exactly what he means by doing “what needed to be done.” Those were different times. Wild, lawless, and violent.
Not much seems to have changed around here.
The Barkers still silence their competition and enemies by any means necessary.
Those journals have given me a glimpse into the Rosewood mystery, but I haven’t found anything that might even remotely answer my main question or give me a direction to go to resolve the issue that has created a guillotine over Dad’s neck.
“What does any of this have to do with my father?”
His jaw hardens, and something flashes across his hooded eyes. “I can’t tell you that, Beauty.”
I scowl at him, so badly wanting to just scream at him to tell me and fuck the consequences. But he’s given me more today than he has in the almost three weeks I’ve been here, and ruining this moment would only set us back in a way we might not recover from.
“I’m worried about him, Weston.” I swallow thickly, debating whether or not to admit to what I overheard during his phone call. “I heard you talking to someone on the phone the other day…”
His frown deepens, his eyes going black. “You heard?”
“It sounded an awful lot like my father’s in more danger than you let on, like even if he does what you want, you are still going to kill him.”
His fingers stop trailing down my spine, and instead, he uses them to tighten around my arm, almost painfully. “I told you this world isn’t for you, Beauty. No one is safe. Nothing is sacred. The longer you’re part of it, the more tainted you’ll become, until you no longer know who or what you are, until you become nothing but a cog in this giant machine without any choice.”
“Is that what you are?”
He doesn’t answer, and his grip on me doesn’t relax.
As the head of the family, Weston Barker should be making all the decisions.
He shouldn’t be a cog.
He should be the machine.
“Shouldn’t people be doing whatever you say? Shouldn’t you be able to tell them to leave my father alone?”
