“That was unavoidable.”
Still frustrated, I scrub a hand down my face. “You keep acting like you had no choice. Like you couldn’t just let me go—like you still can’t.”
“I had choices,” Wyatt returns, taking up a half step between us with a darker gaze now. “But none of them were good.”
“Stop dodging my questions.”
“Then stop asking them,” he utters.
Standing there with minimal space between us, I force myself not to focus on how close he is or how his cologne surrounds me like a temptation. Luckily, his infuriating self keeps me on track well enough.
Every word of his feels deliberate and measured, as if he’s unwilling to let me catch him stumbling for even a second.
Yet, I can see something else beneath the surface. Something he’s not telling me, and something I have the urge to pick at.
I study him for as long as I can stand it, letting the pieces click into place slowly but surely. “You haven’t rushed to sell me off to anyone, and given how I share your name now, you aren’t planning to…you’re really not doing this for money, are you?”
Watching him closely, I catch how the smallest tells betray him, showing more vulnerability than I’m sure he wants. His jaw tightens, and he averts his gaze so quickly that I almost miss it entirely.
Interesting.
“It’s not about my brothers either. They didn’t come into the equation until after you realized who I am,” I continue, not bothering to hide my train of thought, well aware that each one is getting me closer to whatever he’s guarding. “You don’t want them dead. If you did, you’d be using me differently.”
“Stop digging,” he warns, gaze hard.
“It’s not about me either…not really. You weren’t expecting to find me at that warehouse.”
With a tight jaw, Wyatt leans closer and grits out, “Enough.”
A flicker of satisfaction moves through me at the thought of making him squirm, if even a little bit. “What is it then? Who are you trying to hurt?”
Despite his frustration, he takes another breath and lets the silence fill in the gaps before speaking. “I’m not trying to hurt anyone.”
I don’t expect that sincerity from him, yet it only makes that tension worse.
For a while, it almost seems like he’s about to tell me everything, if only to get it off his chest, or to shut me up. His eyes pin me there while something raw and conflicted burns beneath the surface. Then, just as quickly, it’s gone.
“You ask too many questions,” he says plainly, closing back up again.
My own anger sparks in response to how easily he controls himself and the situation. “And you never answer them.”
“That’s the point.”
The finality in his tone aggravates me, but I bite my tongue. He’s being cagey for a reason, and that’s something to keep note of. It’s enough for now.
With a feigned air of calmness, Wyatt pulls away from the counter, reaching for a jacket draped over one of the chairs tucked under the island. The movement feels like a definitive end to the conversation, even if I’m not done with it.
I tighten my arms over my chest. “Where are you going?”
“Out,” he mumbles, sounding tired of me now, not caring if he comes across like a grump.
My brows pinch. “You’re leaving me here?”
“Yes.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“You stay inside,” Wyatt says, sliding the jacket on while barely giving me a glance. “No calls, no testing the locks, and no leaving. Wait until I get back.”
