Page 86 of The Love You Fight For
“What are you getting at, Ashton?”
He smiles.
“Of course, I was worried,” he says. “When I brought it up to your father, he attempted to track your phone, but we found it discarded at your condo.”
He waits for me to freak out, but I don’t. I’ve known my father tracks my phone. I know he also has the whole house in Franklin recorded every second of every day. None of this is news to me, so I remain quiet. I keep my face placid, and when he realizes I won’t react the way he wants, he continues talking.
These men love to hear themselves talk.
“So then your father—out of concern for you—activated the tracker on your car. For security, of course?—”
“Of course,” I agree with a nod.
He blinks.
I already knew they’d activated the tracker on my car, too. That’s what Agent Sexton called to tell me while I was at the lake. It’s what scared me so badly that I had to leave immediately.
They tracked my car to The Outpost’s parking lot and one of my father’s “security” stalked the place for two days. He stayed there until Lennon dropped me off, and then he tailed me back to D.C.
I’ve been ready for weeks with a lie for the moment someone asked. I was going to say that I stayed with my friend and she took care of me while I was sick. But no one has asked, and that’s been more nerve-wracking than anything else.
I do not trust my father.
It’s one of the main reasons I hadn’t gone back to Franklin until this past weekend. Until I just couldn’t take it anymore. And even then, I didn’t stay long enough to raise alarm.
Or so I thought.
“Well, imagine how worried we were when we found you at the same bar on Friday night. You can’t be going to seedy bars now that your father is a presidential candidate, Samantha. That’s the kind of press we don’t need. And this....”
He turns his phone and shows me a picture that makes my breath lodge in my chest.
It’s of me and Chris from Saturday morning. He walked me to my car and kissed me goodbye before I came back to D.C. My blood boils in my veins, and I have to fight to control my breathing.
“You’re having me followed.” I flick my eyes to Ashton. “Did my father put you up to this, or are you finally showing ambition of your own?”
I’m so furious, I can barely see straight. He’s smug. He thinks he’s gotten one over on me. He thinks he’s in control.
“Samantha, how do you think this would look if it got out?” he asks, his voice condescending. “Your father has made it very clear which outcome would be most advantageous for all of us.”
“For all of us? Do tell me, Ashton, which outcome would that be?”
He grits his teeth and his nostrils flare. Then he leans into me slowly, eliciting flashbacks of the night in his car after my father’s dinner.
“You are to bemine, Samantha, or have you forgotten? Do you know how this will make me look?—”
I laugh, cutting him off, and he bristles.
“Now it makes sense. You’re not concerned for my father. You just don’t want to look like you got pl?—”
Heat erupts in my cheek where his hand connects, and tears spring to my eyes because of the sting. On impulse, my hand shoots up and cradles the ache, my head rearing back in shock.
“You will not make a fool out of me,” he seethes before I can even utter a word. “Especially not with someone who isn’t even worthy of cleaning my fucking toilets. Do you understand? Do you understand me, Samantha?”
As he shouts, his spit lands on my face, but I don’t flinch away. I breathe in and out through my nose, my teeth clenched so tightly I fear I might crack a molar. I let the pause fill the space before I finally address him.
“No. I do not understand,” I say slowly. Clearly. I never break eye contact. “If you ever hit me again, I will ruin you. I will burn everything you fucking care about to the ground. You’re lucky I deign to be seen with you, let alone allow my father to sell this bullshit story about usdating. You’re a means to an end, Ashton, and you’re fucking disposable. Touch me again, and you will fucking regret it.”
His eyes rage as he stares me down. His smug grin is long gone.
