Page 41 of Twisted Tate

“Because I’m fucking good at what I do.” He says it simply, like it’s a fact. “And I know what it looks like when someone is keeping secrets. I know it’s a lot, baby girl. When it gets too heavy, you tell me, baby, and I’ll carry it for you.”

I want to tell him. I want to get it out of me, this rotting thing I’ve been carrying for years. But the words won’t come.

“I’m not ready,” I whisper.

“Then you’re not fucking ready.” He presses a kiss to my forehead.

Just as we are finishing breakfast and have loaded the dishes into the dishwasher, the sound of tires on gravel makes my whole body go rigid.

“Breathe,” he says quietly, always in tune with where I’m at. “I’ve got you.”

I force air into my lungs, but my hands are shaking. I shove them behind my back so he won’t see.

He sees anyway. He always does.

“Reese.” He turns my body so that I face him. “Fox already knows I have you. He knows I’m protecting you. He’s not coming here to drag you back to your father. And I’d never let that fucking happen.”

“I know.”

“Then what is it?”

How do I explain that my entire life has been reduced to what someone was willing to pay for me or what they could take from me.

“I don’t want them to look at me like I’m broken,” I finally say.

“You’re not broken.”

“I am, though.” I laugh, and it sounds hollow. “I’m so fucking broken, Tate. You have hardly slept in days because of my issues.”

His grip on my shoulders tightens. “You don’t owe them anything. You don’t owe anyone anything. If they don’t look at you and see what I see, that’s their fucking problem.”

“But what if they don’t think I’m good enough for you? I mean I don’t know what we are and we haven’t talked about the future, but he’s your brother, and—”

“Baby girl. Listen to me now, because they are about to walk in here and I’m only going to say it once. You are far better than I could ever fucking deserve. You need to get that shit in your head.” He kisses me and then pulls me to his side. “You’re mine.”

Fox Sinclair enters first. He looks how I remember him from Raven events—tall, dark-haired, and made of the same sharp features as Tate. His green eyes sweep over me once. All of the Sinclair men have those eyes. I don’t know what he’s thinking, and my stomach lurches.

The woman who appears beside him is different. Ivy Sinclair—Ivy Graves, when I knew her—has softened since the last time I saw her at some Raven function years ago. She’s still beautiful, but there’s warmth in her expression now.

“So.” Fox steps inside and drops a bag on the floor. “This is her.”

“Her name is Reese.” Tate’s voice carries a warning.

“Easy, brother.” Fox holds up his hands, but he’s not backing down. “I’m not the fucking enemy here. But you’ve put us in a difficult position, and I need to understand exactly what we’re dealing with.”

“You know what we’re fucking dealing with. I told you on the phone.”

“You told me you were protecting her. You told me it changed things.” Fox’s gaze cuts to me. “You didn’t tell me why.”

Silence stretches between us. Ivy moves to stand beside Fox and her hand touches his arm briefly—a subtle signal I almost miss. He glances at her, and something passes between them.

“Maybe we could sit down,” Ivy says. “Have an actual conversation instead of interrogating her in the doorway.”

“I wasn’t interrogating—”

“You were about to.” She gives him a look that shuts him up. Then she turns to me with a small smile. “I’m Ivy. We’ve met before, though I doubt you remember. It was years ago.”

“I remember.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “Celeste’s engagement party.”