Page 144 of The Wrong Ride Home

She swallowed.

“We were together for a year, inseparable,” I continued, stroking her hand.

I saw tears spring in her eyes. Fiona was not my mother. This woman had genuine feelings, even if they didn’t run deep. She loved me, or rather, she loved the version of me she knew, the one I’d let her see. I’d hurt her, but I felt no remorse. We’d always have broken up, but the way we did was a direct result of her treating Elena and the others at the ranch like dirt at the bottom of her shoe.

“Duke, I can’t…can’t be hurt like that again,” she whispered.

A part of me felt bad for her, but then I thought about Elena’s blood on my shaking hands as I got her back to the ranch house, scared shitless that she was going to die, and thebadfeeling went right out the window.

“I promise.” I tilted my head, smiling at her.

She bit her lower lip. “Were you with…her?”

I shook my head. “I couldn’t. I told you I missed you.”

That was a calculated lie that I knew would work because she couldn’t imagine a man like me being interested in a woman like Elena. All she saw was someone without a college degree who smelled like hay and horses. What she knew of me told her that wouldn’t appeal to me.

She released a shaky breath and laughed softly. “So…are we back together now?”

“Only if you want.”

She nodded. “And…the ranch?”

I let go of her hand and leaned back. “That ranch is a disaster. You were right. It’s a losing proposition. The only way to salvage anything out of it—and you were right about that as well—is to sell it.”

She looked shocked, and then a smile burst through her. “Oh, God, Duke, I’m so relieved.” Then she became serious. “I’m not gonna lie, baby—but you’ve made things a hell of a lot more complicated by screwing Piper over. Even Congressman Thornton has been looking into how to rezone parts of the ranch, so you’ll be compelled to sell.”

She said Piper’s name like they were equals, like two sharks circling the same kill. But I doubted Piper saw Fiona as a peer—Piper owned the company and Fiona worked for her. The power dynamics were clear, at least to me. The fact that Fiona didn’t see it told me one thing—Piper was damn good at playing people.

I played with the cuff of my sleeve, acting contrite. “Well, that’s not an issue now, is it? ‘Cause Iamselling.”

“Have you…ah…talked to Kaz?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Came to you first, wanted your advice on how to proceed.AndI don’t trust Kaz.”

Her shoulders slumped in relief. “I don’t know why Piper works with him. I find him…well, lacking gravitas. He’s just too blasé.”

When the waiter returned with our steaks, I let her think she was in control. We talked as we ate, and I let her lead the conversation, interjecting once in a while to bring us back to Piper.

By the time we were done with our meal and were sipping the last of the wine, she was settled, sure of her power over me.

“I need to know, Duke—why come to me instead of going straight to Piper?”

I rested my elbows on the table and hunched forward. “Look…I don’t know if you heard, but someone tried to kill me.”

“I did, yes.”

That was my first clue. She didn’t say, “Oh, but I heard that it was Elena who was shot.” She didn’t say, “What? Oh my God, are you okay?”

She simply said, “Yes, I did,” and averted her eyes.

I felt something cold and heavy rest inside me. It wasn’t like I didn’t have good people instincts, I did. When it came to business, I was a shark; I knew how to get what I wanted. However, apparently, in my personal life, I let people get from me whattheywanted.

My mother and my girlfriend both seemed to have zero qualms about killing me, actually murdering me in cold blood. Had I been this obsessed with money? Had greed ridden me so hard that I never saw them because I was so much like them? Had I changed, or…was I just reverting back to the person who loved Elena, a sweet, honest woman who wouldn’t know how to manipulate someone to save her life?

I never used to indulge in self-analysis—yeah, I thought it was an indulgence. Better to focus on goals, on action, rather than digging into whatever the hell was inside me. But maybe I should have. Because watching Fiona talk business with that razor-sharp ruthlessness I’d once found attractive felt like looking into a mirror.

I wouldn’t go as far as murder, but blackmail? I wouldn’t have called it that—no, I’d have dressed it up as strategic leverage or subtle coercion. But that was just semantics, wasn’t it? Even now, wasn’t I manipulating Fiona? Sure, I told myself it was for the right reasons, but how many times in the past had I justified my actions, convinced I was doing what needed to be done?

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