My father. His brothers. The whole damn club.
I've also spent my whole life choosing when to obey.
"I'll go inside when I'm ready," I say sweetly. "Enjoy your lurking."
I turn my back on him—a deliberate choice, a calculated risk—and walk toward the stables.
My skin burns with the awareness of his eyes following me, but I don't look back.
I don't look back even when I hear his footsteps fade into the darkness.
I don't look back even when I'm finally inside the stable, leaning against a wooden post, pressing my hand to my racing heart.
Who the hell was that?
RJ. Brotherhood. "Something like that."
The horses shift in their stalls, soft whickers and the rustle of hay.
The smell of leather and animal warmth wraps around me, familiar and grounding.
One of them—the chestnut mare from earlier—pokes her velvet nose over her stall door, huffing a warm breath against my shoulder.
"Hey, pretty girl," I murmur, reaching up to stroke her forelock.
She leans into my touch, her dark eyes soft and trusting.
So different from the eyes of the man outside.
Those pale, winter-cold eyes that saw too much.
That wanted too much.
I take a deep breath. Another.
My hands are shaking.
I tell myself it's adrenaline.
Fear.
The normal response to a strange man appearing out of the shadows like some kind of gothic nightmare.
But that's not why I'm shaking.
I'm shaking because when he looked at me—when those cold eyes dropped to my mouth—I felt somethingignite.
And I wanted to burn.
I find Rev in the kitchen an hour later, perched on a counter with a cup of tea and a knowing look on her face.
"You were gone for a while."
"Went for a walk."
"In the dark?"
"The grounds are beautiful."
