Page 52 of Leather & Lies

The betrayal isn’t the worst part. It’s the loss. For a moment—god, for weeks—I’d believed there might be something real beneath his need to possess me. Something that could grow into partnership if I was brave enough to nurture it.

What a fool I’d been.

The path to the stables beckons. I could grab Whiskey, be halfway home before he could follow. But the thought of returning to the barn—where he’s probably hidden more cameras, captured more private moments—makes bile rise in my throat.

Another fork of lightning illuminates the dirt road leading down to the valley. To freedom. The wind nearly knocks me sideways as I run, mud squelching between my toes. Every step takes me further from his cameras, his control, his violation of everything I thought was private.

“Goddammit, Shiloh! The storm’s too dangerous!”

Closer now. Too close. I veer off the road into the tall grass, letting the shadows swallow me. Rain stings my face, each drop feeling like judgment. How could I have been so blind? So naive? I’d started to trust him. To believe that beneath his need to control everything, there might be something real between us.

The sound of hooves on gravel cuts through the storm—he’s mounted up to chase me. The radio at his hip crackles with voices.

“North creek’s breached the banks?—”

“Moving crews to sector seven?—”

“Boss, let us handle her. The herd needs?—”

“Like hell.” His voice carries the same edge that once made me yield. Now it fuels my fury. Even now, with his precious empire at risk, he can’t bear to let someone else track his prey.

“Sir, with respect, in this weather?—”

“I said I’ve got her.”

The radio chatter continues as I run, each transmission reminding me how thoroughly his surveillance web spans this land. How many cameras watch every acre. How completely I’ve been caught in his web without knowing.

The ground slopes sharply beneath my feet. In daylight, I’d know these paths like breathing. But the storm has transformed everything into treacherous shadows. One wrong step and?—

My foot slides in the mud. The world tilts. I throw my hands out but there’s nothing to grab, nothing to stop my fall down the rain-slicked hill. Pain explodes through my hip as I roll, unable to tell up from down in the darkness.

I slam to a stop against something solid. A fence post. For a moment, I can only lie there, rain hammering against my skin as I fight to breathe. Everything hurts, but nothing feels broken. Just bruised. Like my heart.

“Shiloh!” Closer still, but the rain distorts his voice, making it impossible to tell which direction he’s coming from. “Hellcat, please!”

The raw edge in his voice almost breaks me. Almost makes me want to believe there could be an explanation for the photos, the violation of every private moment, the planning for my father’s demise.

Lightning flashes again, showing me my path down into the valley. The storm’s fury has turned the usual creek into a roaring monster, brown water churning with debris. The bridge I normally use will be underwater by now.

But I know these lands. Know where the game trails cross the water, where the rocks rise high enough to ford even in flood season. If I can just reach them before?—

“There you are.” His voice cuts through the storm, too close, too real.

I scramble to my feet, ignoring how my body screams in protest. Through the curtain of rain, lightning highlights his massive body, too close, too dangerous to my heart.

I turn and flee into the heart of the storm, letting the darkness swallow me whole. Behind me, I hear him curse, hear his mount’s footsteps falter on the treacherous ground. Good. Let him feel what it’s like to lose control for once.

Wind howls around me, drowning out everything but the thunder of my heart. Like the storm itself is trying to tell me something.

I run anyway.

The creek roars ahead. I know these waters. Know where the rocks make a natural bridge, high enough to cross even in the worst floods. But the rain has turned every surface treacherous, and the first step onto the slick stone nearly sends me plunging into the torrent.

Above the water’s roar, I hear more radio calls. His men coordinating, mobilizing equipment, tracking the flood’s path through his network of cameras. Even nature itself can’t escape his need to watch, to control, to own.

“Shiloh, stop!” Jackson’s voice carries over the storm’s rage. “Those rocks aren’t stable!”

As if he has any right to warn me about stability. About safety.

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