Page 17 of Twisted Tate

It’s one of the reasons I brought her out there. The signal was lost from the moment I picked her up. I have a jammer in my car so they won’t know where she went after Velum, and then without service, he won’t know where she is now.

She looks up at me, and there’s something defiant in her expression. “Is this the interrogation part? Because I liked the breakfast part better.”

“This is me trying to understand your situation.”

“My situation is that I’m trapped in a cabin with a man who wants to use me to destroy my father.” She stands up from the stool, and the movement makes her tits shift under that shirt in a way that’s extremely fucking distracting. “That’s my situation. Is there anything else you need to know?”

“Yeah.” I cross my arms to keep from reaching for her. “I need to know why you haven’t once asked about checking in with your father. Is there some reason for that?”

She goes still. And I know I’m onto something when I see the fork tremble in her hand.

“Why would there be?”

Her tone is anything but convincing.

“Bullshit. What is going on, Reese?” I push off from the counter and walk toward her. “What or who are you afraid of?”

“No one. I just didn’t feel like dealing with—”

“Don’t.” I stop in front of her, and soften my tone. “Don’t lie to me about this.”

We stare at each other. She’s breathing faster now, her chest rising and falling, and I’m acutely aware that I’m still half hard from the counter confrontation. I should not be thinking about fucking her while I’m trying to interrogate her, but apparently my cock didn’t get that memo. I can see the war happening behind her eyes. There’s something she wants to say but she won’t allow herself.

“Even if I told you,” she says quietly, “you couldn’t do anything about it.”

“Try me.”

She shakes her head, but I catch the way her gaze drops to my mouth for just a second before she drags it back up. She’s thinking about kissing me. Even now, even in the middle of this, she’s thinking about it.

Fuck, this woman is going to destroy me.

“You don’t understand. My father—the people he’s connected to—you can’t just—”

“I can do whatever the fuck I want.” I step closer, crowding her space. This close, I can smell that floral scent again, can see the rapid flutter of her pulse in her throat, can imagine exactly how easy it would be to pin her against the counter and taste her. But I won’t. She knows what it’s going to take for me to do so. “I’m Tate Sinclair. My family runs Talon enforcement. I’ve killed men for less than whatever put that fear in your eyes. So tell me who I need to add to my list.”

“Your list?”

“The list of people I’m going to destroy for hurting you.”

I know something has happened to her. I don’t know what or how bad yet, but someone is going to fucking pay for it.

She stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “I never said anyone hurt me.”

“I know.” I hold her gaze. “I can see it all over you.”

Something cracks in her expression. Just for a second, just a flash of raw pain before she locks it back down.

“I need to—” She steps back, shaking her head. “I need some air. Where can I—”

She turns away from me, reaching up to push her hair back from her face.

The movement makes her tank top ride up.

And there, on her left side, are a series of bruises, one the size of a man’s fist.

Everything stops.

The bruise is yellowing at the edges and is at least a week old. But the center is still dark purple, still ugly, still unmistakably the result of someone hitting her hard enough to leave damage that’s lasted days.