Not the word I’d use. It’s creepy. Disgusting. Hell, why does my name feel dirty now?
“I had this tattooed six months after you left. I carry you with me all the time.” He approaches and lifts my chin. I want to spit in his face. He fingers my nose ring. “This is new.”
I’m not sure if his words are laced with annoyance, upset I have the stud in my nose, but I snap at him. “Not really. Got it six months after I left. Probably around the same time you plastered that shitty tat on yourself and pierced your own face.”
His nostrils flare, and he steps back.
It’s chilly, but he keeps his shirt off, and I swear it’s to rub that damn flower in my face. He spreads his arms wide, turning in a slow circle. “All this is my empire, and I owe it all to you.”
I look around.
“I knew I’d catch up with you someday, Lily. To think one of my men is from Pinebrook—it feels like fate. When the rangers called the sheriff in Ruin about your hospital stay, it was my lucky day. I had one of my men in Ruin’s station. It wasn’t too much longer before the DEA kicked everyone out and your brother replaced the sheriff.”
“My brother? Liam?”
“That wife of his is something beautiful. She played a role in the dismantling of the Ruin operation.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about. My mom mentioned Fleur, Liam’s new wife. I don’t know the full story of how they met, only that it was unconventional. She didn’t mention Liam was the new sheriff, though. Granted, when I called her, I mostly cried. I told her, while I wasn’t ready to talk about my reasons, I wanted her to know I didn’t leave the family because of them and that I loved her. I like to think Ms. Sullivan would be proud.
Regardless, I can’t help the sense of pride that Liam’s the sheriff. He always wanted to follow in my grandfather’s footsteps. There’s so much back home I’ve missed.
My shoulders slump, and I sit against the uncomfortable stump.
“Don’t worry, my little flower. None of that matters. What matters now is that I’m in with the cartel, andIam building this empire. For us.”
“You’re insane. I want nothing to do with you!”
He flinches at that, but his face hardens, and he pounds on the table next to him. Tightly packed bags of powder jump along with the workers on either side, measuring and bagging. He grabs one and walks it over to me before squatting.
Watching me the way a predator watches a cornered animal, he rips the plastic open one-handed. The powder spills in a messy, uneven pile across his knee. He drags a finger through it,coating the tip, then brings it to his nose. With a sharp inhale, his nostrils flaring, he snorts. His eyelids flutter shut for half a second, then snap open, darker.
A slow grin tugs at his mouth. “The perfect mix.”
I swallow, my throat dry. I don’t know this man. Whoever he’s grown into, it’s ten times worse than the younger him.
“I’ve watched you with him over the past couple of months. You’re too damaged for him, Lil. He has a proper life here, another woman who’d create a perfect life with him. Do you really think he wants you? You’re just the rescue he can’t avoid, the chase he wants before settling down.”
I shake my head, keeping his words from toying with my mind. Noahlovesme. He loves me, right?
He flicks the excess powder from his fingers, then his hand shoots out. Rough fingers clamp around the side of my face, his palm calloused and heated against my cheek. I jerk back, disgusted, but there’s nowhere to go—just the cold bite of the tree trunk scraping my spine and the weight of his hold keeping me still.
A sharp sting of fear tightens in my ribs, and the night air feels too thick to breathe. For a moment I think I hear the rustling of underbrush, but he doesn’t notice, and my mind quickly replaces the thought with an ominous gut punch.
He tilts my face up, forcing my eye to his, and his gaze … it’s cold and assessing.
My stomach knots. The pulse in my throat speeds up the more the pressure of his grip grows. His thumb digs into my jaw and my mouth opens in a silent wince. He fingers my lips, smearing the few drops of tears that’ve leaked down my face.
With his other hand, he rubs the lily on his chest. He stays low, his weight balanced on the balls of his feet. Crouched, he creeps forward, his boots shuffling against the dirt until the shadow of his face meets mine.
His mouth is inches from me, and he hovers there, patient and controlled. He moves a hand toward my nose.
Pain explodes through my face. One second, his hand is there, the next a tearing sensation rips through my skin as he yanks the stud in my nose free.
A strangled cry bursts from my lips and a metallic tang floods my senses. It’s not much, but the warmth of it dips to my lips. He holds the side of my face as I struggle to pull away—indifferent to me or the pain he’s caused.
“What the hell!” Tears flood my waterline, and I do my best to keep from bursting into sobs. I’ve been hurt worse, so much worse. I refuse to give himanysatisfaction.
The night presses in around us, the wind shifting colder. I latch on to the numbness, and suck in tiny breaths as he tilts my head side to side, examining my nose before he glances at the piercing in his hand.
