Page 17 of Roped

I was right when I said it was my fault that my best friend is here. Only I didn’t know how awfully right I was about it.

The reason Reverie was taken was because they mistakenly thought she was me, Peyton Turner. And why not? This whole thing started because of me, didn’t it? Because of the assignment Reverie completed for me. The one where she had to interview a prison inmate via letters. Only she wrote those letters as Peyton, and she thought she was writing to an inmate named Bo Porter.

It turned out that neither were who they said they were. Bo Porter? While he was an inmate there, he just wasn’t who was writing to Reverie. Instead, it was Arsenal Grayson, or Arsen, as everyone calls him. Who was doing time for the attempted murder of none other than my father.

When I said people have attempted to kill my father in the past, I wasn’t lying. I also wasn’t lying about how all of them have ended up dead themselves. Well, except one man, Arsen. And again, it would make sense because he’s a Grayson. If my father is untouchable, the Graysons are immortal.

I know there are three Grayson brothers, the oldest being the patriarch of the family, given their parents died a long time ago. In all my memories, the oldest Grayson, Marsden, has been the main villain. The one who oversees everything on the ranch, who controls his two younger brothers and every move their family makes against mine. And I will admit that I never really paid much attention to the other Grayson brothers until eight years ago, when the middle brother, Arsen, broke into our ranch and tried to kill my father. I was eleven at the time and away at camp, but everyone said that it was the worst, most dangerous thing to ever happen between our two families. So much so that my older brother, already on his way to take over the Turner empire, forced me and my mom to move to the city for our own safety. Of course Reverie came with us; I wouldn’t have left her behind in that hellhole.

Fast-forward eight years, and here we are. Arsen is out of prison and he wants payback. What better way to get that than to seize the Turner land, once and for all? And apparently, in order to accomplish that, he needs the Turner Princess. He thought Reverie was the princess, but of course, she isn’t. When he found out the truth, he had my stalker bring me to Rawhide.

In short, my best friend got caught up in the middle of it all, and again, it’s my fault. Getting her to safety is my number one priority right now, and they say they’ll let us go once they have what they want.

Which is why I’ve agreed to cooperate with them.

I didn’t know I was this valuable, but if they need me to get a piece of my family’s land, then so be it. It’s not as if I have any attachment to it. It could all burn to the ground for all I care. I also don’t care about my father and hold no loyalty to him apart from what he forces out of me. In fact, this is the perfect way to mess with him without even having to lift a finger. Let the decades-old enemies kill each other while I sit back and watch.

So there. All mysteries solved; all questions answered. So why do I think something is missing? That there’s something they’re not telling me? No, not them, him specifically.

A knock at the door jolts me out of my thoughts and I look up from where I’m sitting at the end of the bed as it opens. In walks Haven Grayson. The first thing you notice about her is how beautiful she is. Stunningly, so. With her raven-colored hair, all shiny and long—longer than even mine, and mine goes down to the crack of my butt—and her dark eyes and dusky skin, she’s one of the most gorgeous women I’ve ever come across. Her almond-shaped eyes, wide forehead, and coloring may be the result of some Native American blood in her. Whatever her heritage, as I said, she is beautiful, and she looks like she belongs here in her feminine plaid shirt, washed-out jeans, and cowboy boots. A quintessential cowgirl. She also happens to be the mistress of the house, given that she’s Marsden’s wife. A very odd and unexpected pairing. Only because Marsden has to be at least forty, if not older, and Haven looks like she’s close to my and Reverie’s age, maybe a few years older.

Standing at the door, she says, “Hey.”

I spring up to my feet. “Hey.”

She regards me carefully. “You finding everything okay?”

Another thing about her: She’s kind. And friendly. I’ve only been here half a day, and so far, she’s shown no signs of hostility toward me even though I’m a Turner, the real Turner girl. If anything, she seems sympathetic to my and my best friend’s situation. After I arrived here and found Reverie in the house—unharmed, thank fucking God—Haven showed us to a room where we could have some privacy, which was where I finally learned the truth. She even brought us food at lunchtime without our having to ask. And once that was done, she showed me to this room where I’ll be staying until they let me go. Yes, she’s supposed to keep an eye on both Reverie and me, something we were made aware of, but so far, she’s been nice about it. Doesn’t mean I trust her, though. She’s a Grayson.

“Everything’s fine,” I reply.

She accepts my answer with a nod. “I brought you some clothes.”

I glance at the stack of clothes in her arms before pointing to the borrowed dress she brought me earlier that I’m wearing. A simple blue sundress with spaghetti straps and a knee-length hem. “I already have clothes.”

Haven throws me a little smile. “You’re going to need more if you’re staying here for a while.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Does that mean I have a choice to leave?”

She shakes her head. “Not really, no.”

“Didn’t think so.”

She watches me a beat. Then, “I’m really sorry about that.”

Despite her kind behavior so far, I can’t help but ask, “Why are you so nice to me?”

If she’s taken aback by my question, she doesn’t show it. “Why wouldn’t I be nice to you?”

“Because I’m a Turner.”

“So?”

“And you’re a Grayson.”

“I know.”

“This isn’t normal,” I say, gesturing between us. “Us being cordial with each other. We’ve got beef.”