I practically stagger to the kitchen counter, not hearing their words, even though they continue to talk in loud, obnoxious voices. I go forward on autopilot, frying eggs and bacon and stacking up two plates.
“About fucking time,” Father says as I put the food down. “What the hell has gotten into you?”
“She’s usually very compliant,” Shawn says. “So don’t worry.”
Is that supposed to be a term of endearment?
“Well, don’t hesitate to use your spurs, old boy,” Father says, winking and jostling Shawn’s arm.
“Of course!” Shawn laughs. “Gotta break those fillies in well, or they’ll never be nice, docile broodmares.”
Both of them laugh, and I sit there in disbelief, watching them shovel food into their mouths. Nausea rises in me with every insult, and the scent of bacon turns my stomach even further.
I stop paying attention to the conversation, drifting back to the kitchen counter to clean up and make myself some coffee. The only time I pay attention to them is if they look my way, but they don’t give me any more orders.
Shawn doesn’t even look at me, just keeps his back turned and his focus completely on Father. They take their time eatingbreakfast, and with every second that drags by, my head throbs harder with the lancing ache of a migraine.
I’m in hell. Last night I thought I was in heaven, but this is hell.
“Okay, then,” Father says, standing up. “Are we ready?”
“We sure are,” Shawn answers, getting up as well. “We definitely need to work on that resource issue. Now that you’ve explained it to me, I understand the situation much better. I really want to see how you run things, and how it can work to my benefit.”
“I assure you, it does,” Father says, nodding. “Don’t worry about a thing. Hopefully, your wife will be in better shape when you return. Seriously, Sara, you need to do better than this!”
“I have to agree,” Shawn says, turning to face me. His green eyes are hard and glassy, his soft, lovely mouth that gave me so much pleasure now set in a stubborn line. “Clean yourself up—and this damn house, too,” he says, shaking his head. “I expect it all done by this afternoon, and some dinner made, as well.”
“You see to it,” Father adds menacingly. “Or you know what will happen.”
I take a small step back, gulping down my fear. The threat of being thrown to his dogs was bad enough before, but now that I know what it’s like to be touched tenderly and with respect, the idea of being taken against my will is beyond horrific.
Kind of like what I feel right now. As if my innocence has been stolen, and now I can never know that kind of pleasure again.
The two of them leave, finally, and I sit down at the table, my aching head in my hands. I’m in so much pain, I can’t even cry.
My trust has been shattered, and I’ve never felt so stupid in my whole entire life, but at least I know the truth now. He’s a fucking jerk like all the rest!
Chapter 15 - Shawn
Leaving the house, I feel like a mongrel dog that’s been kicked into the gutter. Upsetting Sara like that was, without a doubt, the worst thing I’ve ever done.
And I’ve done some questionable shit in my career.
It would have been bad enough to say those things to her, but after last night, I know I’ve committed a sin I don’t deserve to be forgiven for. I can’t wait to get home and explain everything to her, and if she’s still mad after I’ve said my piece, I won’t blame her one bit.
But I have to get the old man back on side—he’s beginning to suspect something isn’t right.
When I came out first thing in the morning to put on some coffee, the only thought in my mind was bringing Sara breakfast in bed and picking some nice flowers for her. I got the shock of my life when I found Jackson waiting on the porch, and I know damn well he didn’t announce his presence to me because he was hoping to catch me doing something he could use to challenge my position.
I covered as best I could, even though every word to Sara was like a blade in my chest. I can tell by Jackson’s sly gaze that he’s still suspicious of me, and I don’t think there’s anything I can do to change that now.
He’s been plotting my demise this entire time, anyway. He just needs an excuse so he can keep Rex and Brad off his back. What is the old fucker planning?
“So, you’re up for a hunt, are you?” Jackson asks.
“You bet,” I reply. “Does the pack hunt often?”
“Not really. We’re always too scared to go far beyond limits. That’s why we have livestock.”
