Page 31 of Roped

The side of my face prickles, and I know it’s because he’s watching me still. I wish he wouldn’t do that, and I wish I wouldn’t blush at his stare the way I am. I keep my eyes on Haven, though, as I say, “You kept it from me on purpose, didn’t you? Last night.” I swallow thickly. “When I was asking about him, you didn’t tell me it was my… My father killed his parents. Everything he went through is because of my…”

His accident, his injury. The bullying. His scar. The fact that people still haven’t gotten over it. Everything he’s suffered is because of my family, my father. And I don’t know how to feel about that.

Haven shakes her head. “I didn’t say anything because whatever happened to Rad, it happened years ago, and it doesn’t affect what’s happening now.”

“How can it not affect things now?” I say, my voice all rough. “My family killed his family. My father murdered his father and his mother, and he went through—”

“Still, it has nothing to do with you,” she states.

“But—”

She squeezes my arm again. “No, it has nothing to do with you, Peyton. None of this has anything to do with you or Reverie. Not the war between our families, not Arsen’s revenge, not what happened to Rad. What’s happening is wrong, do you understand? You shouldn’t be here and neither should Reverie. I don’t agree with what’s happening, but I can tell you one thing: These men, no matter how they seem, have honor. If they said they’ll let you go at the end of this, they will. Mr. Grayson will make sure of that. He’d never go back on his word. So that’s all you need to focus on.”

By “Mr. Grayson,” she means her husband, Marsden. I don’t know and can’t imagine why a wife would call her husband by his last name, but I hope that man treats her right. Because in less than the forty-eight hours since I met her, I’ve already fallen in love with her. I’ve only ever had one friend in my life because I don’t let anyone get close to me. But if circumstances were different, I know Haven and I would be best friends.

“And as I said before, as long as you’re here, in my house, you’ll be safe.” She squeezes my arm again. “Even from him.”

Like Reverie, she’s noticed it, too, then. Not that he’s hiding it or anything. Because I can still feel him watching me, tracking my every movement, probably plotting ways to torment me. That’s what he wants from me, isn’t it? That’s why he won’t stop watching me even now. It’s because of my father, because of what my asshole dad did to his family, to him. It isn’t about the land for him, or some stupid war between families. It’s personal. And therefore, he’s more of a danger to me than any of these Graysons. But what’s even more dangerous is that I can’t find it in myself to blame him for that.

For hating me the way he does. For watching me the way a hunter watches his prey.

But I thrust all of this aside because what Haven said is also right. I should focus on one thing: getting out of this place. Making sure they don’t go back on their word. And I found something. Something crucial during my snooping with Reverie earlier this morning. And if that something leads to what I think it’s going to, then we’ll have enough leverage against the Graysons that they’ll have no choice but to let us out of this hellhole.

This is risky.

I’ve known it from the beginning, and I know it now. But it’s the only way to make sure these people don’t go back on their word when the time comes.

See, there’s a rumor about Rawhide, something I overheard when I was young, still living at Wildfire. That people disappear on this ranch. And by people, I mean prison inmates. It was something my dad and my brother would talk about. About how convicts are disappearing from the system and how it’s all somehow connected to Rawhide. They wanted to find evidence for it so they could use it to take down the Graysons and get their land. Back then, I didn’t pay much attention to it because I never paid much attention to the rivalry between our families. It used to be an abstract concept. Even the attack on my father eight years ago didn’t really shake me enough to think of it as anything other than a fairy tale. Bloody and gruesome, but a fairy tale nonetheless.

Until now. So here I am, sneaking out of my room in the middle of the night to find out the truth.

As risky as this is, I’d still be relatively calm about it if I was alone. As it is, I’m not because my best friend is with me. I wasn’t expecting that. I even tried to discourage her from coming. By, basically, daring her to come because that always works with her. I always dare her to do things, making them look like risks, and she always backs out because she likes to be careful. But for some reason, she called my bluff on this, and we’ve been trudging through the woods for the past thirty minutes or so, in search of a spot where I think we may be able to find some clues to this illegal operation. Or it could be a total bust. Either way, it’s worth a trip to find out.

I’ve got a map in my hand, a flashlight—both nicked from the office where we went snooping this morning—and from the looks of it, we’ve arrived at our destination. I look up from the large piece of paper in my hand to find a cabin.

I blink.

Is this it? This cabin in the middle of the woods. Are the Graysons running their illegal operation out of this? It looks abandoned. It seems more than abandoned with its dilapidated condition. The door looks flimsy and the windows have a thick layer of dust on them. The front porch has holes where slats should be, and the staircase leading up to it is as flimsy as the door that a strong breeze would blow apart.

“So what do we do now?” Reverie asks from beside me.

“We do what we came here to do,” I say, and taking a breath, I walk forward. “We check it out.”

Once again, I wish my best friend was safely tucked away in her temporary room instead of being here with me, but what’s done is done. The sooner we check this out, the sooner we can get back to the main house before we’re discovered. To be honest, though, I’m not really expecting to find anything in here as I go around the front porch to look through the window. Maybe that’s why it takes me a few seconds to realize what I’m seeing: a man in a chair.

Wait a second. What?

His head is slumped to the side and his body appears limp. He’s tied to the chair with his arms behind his back, and I swear, even through the darkness, I can see the blood dripping from his fingers. Is he… dead? Is that what a dead body looks like?

“Holy shit,” I breathe out.

“I don’t…” Reverie trails off.

For a few moments, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I should run, go back to my room, and pretend I never saw this; or should I go in and do what I came here to do? This is what I wanted, though, right? I wanted to find something, anything, to give me an edge over my captors. Of course, this doesn’t necessarily point to an illegal kidnapping operation, but it’s something. So why am I hesitating? Why am I not jumping at this chance?

Fuck, I know why.

It’s because of him, isn’t it? It’s because I’m afraid that he had something to do with it. Did he beat up this man? He’s certainly capable of it. What did this man do to deserve such a beating? Was anyone ever deserving of such an attack? Well, sometimes. Sometimes violence is the only answer. And that’s what makes me move: the urge to find out if he was behind this. Not proof or leverage like I wanted, but the need to know if the only man capable of saving an injured animal on this ranch is also a killer.