Page 58 of Leather & Lies

I’m out of bed before I consciously decide to move, catching her arm as she reaches for her duffel bag. “Don’t.”

“Let go.” Two words, carrying the weight of everything broken between us.

“No.” I turn her to face me, but she keeps her eyes fixed on my chest. “Look at me, goddammit.”

The distance in her expression cuts deeper than her fury ever could. She finally meets my gaze, and I see it all—the betrayal, the hurt, the steel determination that first drew me to her.

“You’ve been watching me for years.” Her voice carries that precise edge she uses with dangerous stallions. Like I’m something wild that might spook at any sudden movement. “Every private moment. Every vulnerability. Every fucking habit. You didn’t just take my father’s ranch—you tookeverything.”

“I kept you safe.” The words taste like ash. “Protected you from his creditors.”

“Protected me?” A bitter laugh escapes her. “You violated everything. My privacy. My trust.” She wrenches away from my grip, and this time I let her go. “God, I let myself believe there was something real between us. That underneath all the games and power plays, you actually?—”

She cuts herself off, but I hear the words she doesn’t say.Loved her.

“It was real.” I step closer, but she backs away. “Everything between us?—”

“Was a lie.” She shoves my reaching hand away. “I can’t do this. Can’t be a possession you own and control and manipulate into trusting you. I won’t lose myself that way.”

“You’re mine.” The words tear from my throat, raw and desperate. “You’ve always been mine.”

“No.” She shoulders her bag, and something in my chest cracks at the finality in her voice. “I’m not. And I never was.”

“You’ll lose everything.” Blood pounds in my ears, drowning out everything but the need to stop her. “The ranch. Your father’s legacy. Everything you’ve spent your life protecting.”

“I know.” Her voice catches, but her spine stays straight. In the predawn light, she’s wild and precious as she slips through my fingers forever. “But I’ll keep my soul.”

Something snaps inside me. The mirror shatters under my fist, glass raining down like diamond shards. Not enough. I send a lamp crashing into the wall. My hands find the edge of the massive oak dresser and pull it to the ground, sending clothing and wood splintering over the floor.

“Jackson!” Her voice cuts through the red haze of rage, and I freeze.

Jesus Christ. She’s pressed against the wall, eyes wide, and for the first time since I’ve known her, I see real fear in her expression. Horror floods me as I realize how close she was to the desk, how easily I could have?—

My hands shake as I back away from her, bile rising in my throat. Blood drips steadily from my knuckles onto the hardwood floor. I’ve spent years telling myself I’m not like my father. That my need to control comes from protection, not violence. But the devastation around me tells a different story.

“Go,” I snarl, and force myself to turn away, bracing my hands on the window frame, focusing on the pain of glass embedded in my palms instead of the need to chase her down. To use every weapon in my arsenal to bring her back.

As she walks toward my bedroom door, head high like a queen in exile, I stay rooted in place, my whole body trembling with the effort of not moving. Through the wall of windows, dawn breaks over my empire. All this power, all this control, and I can’t keep the one thing that matters.

The door closes with a decisive click.

I let her go.

Through the rising storm of my own rage, I hear her footsteps on the stairs. Each one echoes like a death knell. My hands still shake with the need to chase her, stop her, keep her. Blood drips steadily from my mangled knuckles onto the hardwood floor, marking her path like some twisted breadcrumb trail.

I could watch her departure on my phone, catalog every detail—the exact time, the way she doesn’t look back, how her hands grip the steering wheel. My habits of observation are acid in my veins. Pain radiates up my arm, but it’s nothing compared to the hollow ache spreading through my chest.

I could stop her. Could use every piece of leverage I’ve spent years gathering. Could destroy her completely, leave her with nothing but me to cling to. Could make one phone call and start the machinery I’ve spent years building. Could take everything, leave her with nothing but surrender as an option.

I spent six years building a system designed to track her every move, to predict her every thought.

But for what? So she can look at me with that shattered expression again? So she can break a little more each day under my control?

I slam my fist into the wall again, and plaster crumbles beneath my knuckles. This isn’t supposed to hurt. I’ve spent my entire adult life ensuring nothing could touch me, building an empire where pain belongs to others.

“Fuck.” The word scrapes my throat raw as I sink to the floor, back against the wall, surrounded by the wreckage of my control.

My phone buzzes with an incoming call from Lucas. One press and I could set the machinery in motion. Find her. Take her. Keep her.

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