Page 142 of The Rut in the Road

He stopped chopping, then looked over at me. “I’m sure,” he replied. “Although I get the feeling you’re not talking about onions.”

I sighed. I wasn’t good at talking around things. “I don’t need to be coddled,” I said. “And you’re coddling me.”

“Rayn, you’re vulnerable. You need to be taken care of and protected.”

I went from slightly annoyed straight to furious.

Yes, six months or so ago, I would have needed—I did need—his protection. But I didn’t now, and I felt like I’d more than proven that at the warehouse. And yet, he continued to treat me like I was fragile and breakable, supposedly for my own good.

What it felt like was that he didn’t trust me. He didn’t trust my abilities.

Hart’s words from the warehouse came back to me:You’re treating him like a child or a pet instead of your partner.

He didn’t think of me as an equal, but as a child to be protected.

And I didn’t think much of that.

“I can take care of myself,” I ground out between clenched teeth.

He rounded on me, the knife he’d been using to cut onions still in his hand—not threatening me with it, of course, but, still, it was there. “And what would you do if someone came after you directly with a weapon?” he demanded, crowding me.

I knew what he was doing. Or, rather, what he thought he was doing. Proving a point. Getting in my space to let me know how easy it would be to hurt me. Kill me.

I bared my teeth at him. “Kill them,” I snapped back. “Just like I killed my uncle.” And the man driving the car into the crowd at the Dance with the Dead.

I realized what I’d said a split second after the words left my mouth. Far, far too late to take it back.

Long before he fully processed what I’d said.

“The fuck do you mean,just like you killed your uncle?” he hissed, eyes wide, nostrils flared, the hand holding the knife lowering to his side.

I reached out and took it from him, his fingers pliant as they let go of the wooden handle. I set it on the counter.

“I killed him,” I repeated. “With death magic. When he threatened my mother, my unborn sister, and me.”

“He fell down the stairs,” Raj said slowly, but he didn’t take his eyes off me and his body remained tight, coiled, tense. Untrusting.

“That’s the official report,” I replied flatly. “But he was dead before he fell over.”

“Rayn—”

I turned an angry glare on him. “Going to arrest me?” I challenged him, still angry. “Have me incarcerated or committed for homicide? Murder?”

“Rayn—”

“Or doesn’t the statute of limitations apply when it’s your boyfriend?” I glared at him. “Just like trusting me as a memberof the team stops applying when at even the slightest hint of danger… because I’m your boyfriend?”

He stared at me.

I let out a huff of breath. “Let me know when you decide what your answer’s going to be,” I said, anger making me impatient and unwilling to compromise. I turned and walked out of his kitchen, headed for the front door. I let it slam behind me, striding to the car and practically throwing myself into the driver’s seat.

I’d already backed halfway down the driveway when he stepped in front of the rear bumper, and I hit the brakes hard, panic rising in the back of my throat.

He just stood there, refusing to let me leave.

I stayed where I was, angry breaths heaving my chest, until I couldn’t take it anymore and flung myself back out of the car.

“What do you want from me?” I demanded.