Page 69 of Roped

We’re in the cereal aisle when I say, “Oh, can I go get the juice I like?”

Without looking away from the shelf, he replies, “I’ll get it.”

“It’s just over there,” I tell him, my heart slamming in my chest. “Uh, two aisles over. In the refrigerated section. I’ll be back in a second.”

“No.”

I fist my fingers, try to calm my breaths. Then, as casually as I can, “If I’m not back within two minutes, you can come look for me.”

At last he looks away from the shelf, and for some crazy reason, I look into the cart he’s been pushing around. Every single thing in there is my favorite. My favorite cheese, my favorite cereal, my favorite brand of cookies, the kind of bread I like, the strawberry jelly I love. I wasn’t even paying attention because I knew this was the only chance I had to run away from him, but he filled the cart with everything I like. It makes me want to ask, what about him? What are some of the things he likes? What’s his favorite juice? Does he like cheese?

God, it’s so stupid in the face of everything that’s happening, but I can’t deny I want to know. I know this man’s deepest, darkest secrets; I know he’s killed people; I know the pain he lives with, but I also want to know all the little things about him. This is why I have to run. I can’t be with him. He makes me think of crazy things. He makes me hope for crazy things. Things like forever shopping for clothes together, forever going to a grocery store and picking out each other’s favorite things. Like him diving in front of flying bullets for me while I tie myself up for our enemies to take me so they spare him. He makes me think about pressing close to his side when people are being assholes and kissing him in front of the whole wide world to shut them up.

And I can’t do that.

People are depending on me. My mother is depending on me. For years, I thought my future was set, my fate decided. I was supposed to do whatever my father told me to so I could protect my mother. I was supposed to go out on dates with all these disgusting men until my dad found me a suitable match. I was supposed to marry the match, be a superficial society wife like everyone seems to think my mom is. College was a reprieve. Living in the city with Reverie was a reprieve. Being watched by a green-eyed, masked stranger was a reprieve. And I had made my peace with it because it was all for a good cause, for my mom.

But suddenly, I have all these hopes and dreams and crazy ideas. Not only will they never come true, but I also can’t afford to have them.

Not to mention, I still have that evidence against my dad. I could have a chance to break free of him and if not me, then at least my mother. I can’t lose sight of that. I can’t lose sight of what’s important. I’ve already failed to protect my mother so many times, I cannot fail her if there’s even a remote chance of her being free from the evil clutches of my father.

I finally come out of my thoughts and focus back on him. “Please. Just let me do something. We can’t be here for long anyway, and this way we can get things done faster.”

He takes me in and I school my features to appear calm and not completely frantic. Then he throws me a short nod, and I breathe out in relief. Although that doesn’t last long because every step I take away from him, my chest feels tighter. My heart twists and twists and my feet start to feel heavy. But I don’t let it deter me. As quickly as possible, I walk out of the store and start running.

People are staring at me as I run down the sidewalk, but I don’t care. I’m looking for a place to hide for a bit. And when I come across a restaurant bar, I decide to go in. The windows are dark and it seems more or less empty, which is all I’m looking for. The bartender, a young and handsome man only a little older than me, looks at me suspiciously when I burst through the door. But when I smile at him and tell him I want a cola, he nods. I flirt with him a little, and every second of it feels wrong. I’m not his to talk to. I’m not his to look at, but I ignore it all. A few minutes later, I tell him I’ll be back from the ladies’ room in a second.

Where I lock myself in and sit on the stall and wait.

I know there’s a threat against me out there, and I know my best chance is to stick close to him. I also know if I were on the outside looking in, I’d call myself a fool for doing what I just did. But I’m not on the outside; I’m the fool who’s this close to losing herself to a man who’ll never be hers. I know he’ll protect me from the world, but I’m trying to protect myself and my heart from him.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

IT’S BEEN ABOUT thirty minutes, give or take.

No one has come banging on the door. Not the bartender guy and not the man I’m running from. I’m pretty sure he’s still looking for me. I’m sure he’s freaking out. Which is the worst part in all of this. It’s not my intention to scare him, but I also know if I tell him—again—I don’t want to stay with him, he’s not going to listen. In fact, this time he’ll simply pick me up and throw me in a safe place until all of this is over. So like a coward, or a sensible person who feels like a coward, I’m going to let my brother do the talking.

My brother and I, we’ve always had a complicated relationship, or rather a nonexistent one. He was never around, and whenever he was, he used to stick to my father’s side. That automatically meant I never trusted him to do right by me or protect me or do any of the things big brothers do. Plus, he never came to Mom’s rescue, and that was the worst crime in my book. But if he’s willing to work with the Graysons to nail down this bastard, then maybe it’s time to reevaluate things. Maybe it’s time for me to actually sit down and ask him certain things point-blank rather than assuming I know the answers. It requires a massive level of trust, and given the men in my family, it could turn really bad, but I have to try. Because for the first time in my life, I’m in a situation where only my brother can help me.

Since the coast seems to be clear, I decide to go out there and ask to borrow their phone so I can call Brecken. I’m rounding the corner to approach the bar when my feet come to a jarring halt. Because on the exact spot at the bar where my soda is sitting is the very man I’ve been trying to run from.

He’s sitting on the stool, his elbows resting on the bar and his fingers wrapped around a tumbler of his own. It’s filled with an amber liquid that I think could be whiskey or bourbon, and I watch him raise the glass to his plush mouth. Then, throwing his head back, he downs the whole thing in one gulp. He sets it down, signals the bartender, and asks for another one. The bartender looks even more wary than he did when I suddenly flew through the door, and I know it’s because of Radisson’s scar. God, I hate him immediately and feel even worse about flirting with him.

Nervous and chewing on his lip, the bartender brings Radisson the drink, and for some reason, he’s refusing to look at me. His cheeks are red and he’s deliberately trying to keep his eyes downcast. But before I can wonder about it, he walks away and Radisson turns to me.

As soon as his green eyes, looking greener now, fall on me, I draw back. The intensity in them is that heavy and powerful. Almost as powerful as his bulk on that tiny stool. Crazily, I think it’ll give out any second under his dense muscles and bones. My heart is ready to do that already, give out from how fast it’s beating. Keeping his gaze locked with mine, he grabs the glass at the bottom, by the palm of his hand, all five of his fingers covering it, and takes a sip. Then he dips his chin, and I know he wants me to go to him.

I’ve been standing in a corner, watching everything with wide eyes and my fingers twisting my dress. But at his unspoken command, my feet move on their own. I approach him with trembling legs, and he keeps me under his scrutiny the whole time I’m walking, taking another sip of his whiskey. When I reach him, he widens his thighs on the stool, the muscles under his jeans bulging in a way that makes me bite my lip. I know what he wants, so I keep going until I’m between his muscular thighs, his heat and scent engulfing me right away.

My body shivering, I whisper, “How did you… find me?”

His expression may be blank, but I know something is going on under his cool mask as he rasps, “Never lost you.”

I jerk and curl my hands into fists at my sides. “You knew where I was the whole time?”

He takes another sip of his whiskey as the answer.

“So you were just waiting for me to come out?”