Page 2 of Unmasked Rivalry
“I’m sorry,” I say, crossing my arms and tipping my head back to look at him. “The last words you said to me were get the fuck out, and now you want to come in here and ask me who I am? How did you even know where to find me?”
He takes a step forward, the faint scent of leather washes over me. I don’t take a step back, even when he gets right up in my face.
“I said,” he growls. “Whothe fuckare you?”
Wow. A real charmer.
“I am Harper’s cousin, Callie.”
His eyes scan my face, as if he can tell if I’m lying by simply doing that.
“Why are you here?”
“None of your damn business, buddy.”
He leans back, arms crossing, mouth twisted. “You think you can just roll up and play the long-lost family card? How do I know you’re not full of shit?”
Is he serious?
I clench my teeth. “Not my problem if you’re poorly informed. Take it up with your HR department, or do you not have one of those in whatever biker cult this is?”
He bares his teeth in a semi-snarl. God damn, how can one person be gorgeous and terrifying all at the same time. “You got a mouth on you. Harper never said anything about a cousin.”
I shrug, not backing down. “Not my fault you two weren’t close enough to exchange genealogy reports.”
I try to step sideways, but he blocks me with a forearm that is bigger than my leg, I swear. Jesus. I meet his glare, making sure to keep my face blank. Unreadable.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he says, voice like gravel. “Why. Are. You. Here.”
I consider lying, but I actually can’t be bothered. “I inherited this shithole. My uncle seemed to think playing a cruel prank on me was his last wish. As soon as I get this dump cleaned up, I’m out. There, happy?”
He stares for far too long.
Finally, a slow grin tugs at the side of his mouth. It’s not friendly. It’s the grin of someone who’s just watched you slip on black ice and is now waiting to see how hard you land. “Good luck,” he says, voice melting to something less hostile, almost amused. “You’re gonna need it.”
Then he turns and walks out.
I stare at him, mouth agape. Oh hell no. Who does this man think he is? I march right outside after him, finding him leaning against a battered Ford pickup, lighting a cigarette.
“What the hell is your problem?” I snap, flicking my hair off my shoulders.
He doesn’t look at me when he speaks. “You’re gonna last a week, tops.”
I fold my arms. “Wanna put money on it?”
He glances over. “You want to make a bet?”
Not really, but I also don’t want to back down.
“Why not. I need something to entertain me.”
“Plenty of critters in that house to do that.”
I ignore that, even though my skin crawls.
He turns, really looking at me, smoke curling from his lips. “What’s your stake?”
I rack my brain for something that sounds impressive, but all I can picture is the wad of twenties in my duffel and the rapidly dwindling balance in my checking account. “If I’m still here in a week, you have to tell me you’re sorry for being such a dick and help me clean this place up to sell, and you have to do it without charging me anything.”
