Page 6 of Freeing Denver
“If I check your phone, will I see numerous calls to the Russians?” he asks. “The Triads? The Italians?”
I lift my chin, fully prepared for these questions. “Yes.”
That’s honesty he doesn’t like. “Why?”
“Because I couldn’t trust you to talk me up.”
“I benefit from them trusting you,” he says, stepping farther into the room. “Why would I do anything that would jeopardize the family?”
“You can’t help it,” I hit back. “You might think you’re doing what you can to reinforce my place, but your face says everything. You look at me like I’m a viper waiting to fucking strike.” I’m breathless, exhaustion and pain flooding my system. Wesson looks up at me, whining softly. “I backed myself because I cannot rely on you.”
Alistair grips the small kitchen table and shoves it aside, the legs groaning against the kitchen floor, clearly no longer caring about the noise. Wesson bares his teeth, a low grumble sounding from his throat as he stands between Alistair and me.
“You can’t rely on me? I fuckingputyou here,” he says, ignoring Wesson and the danger he’s in.
“You had limited choices.”
“But I’ve put my bets on you!” he bellows, then runs his hand across his mouth, fury building in his expression. Wesson’s grumble becomes a growl, and I rest my hand on his head. Alistair looks into my eyes, not enough space between us for me to pull Wesson back if he perceives him as more of a threat. “You’re too close to Vince Capelli.”
I blanch. Had we been that obvious? “Is that a question?”
“An accusation.”
“Everything you say is an accusation, Alistair. I’m going to bed.”
“Vince is not a good ally to have. Be smart.”
“I’m too tired to talk about this.”
He takes my arm as I pass. “Your actions reflect?—”
“The McEwan family, I know. You say it fucking constantly. Yes, I’m close with Vince. Surprisingly, he hasn’t totally iced me out.”
He tightens his hold on my bicep. “Because he wants to fuck you.”
I snatch my arm away, fighting a wince as pain explodes across my shoulder. “Then trust me not to return the sentiment.”
He scoffs. “Trust.”
“You really think I’d fuck someone else? Colt has been gone barely a week, and you think?—”
“And what about three months from now? Six? Twelve?” he challenges, his presence crowding me, his honey eyes blazing. “You gonna be faithful when the benefits of fucking a Harland fall short?”
“Fuck you, Alistair.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m next on your list.”
I shove him. I forget the bruised ribs, the shoulder pain, the general exhaustion of my body, and I push him so hard that his back meets the wall.
But it hurts too much, and I cry out.
Heat and pain blast across my body. I’m so fucking tired of it. Of feeling like this. I fucking hate it, I hate all of it, and I’ve done nothing to deserve Alistair’s hostility.
He offers no sympathy, but I don’t want it, anyway. I fight the tears and say, “You might not believe my feelings for Colt, but he does. And that’s all I care about.”
I storm down the hall, snatching my coat off the hook.
“Where are you going?”
