Page 22 of Unmasked Rivalry
Did my uncle know?
The wind howls against the old farmhouse, and in moments, it’s pouring with rain. I’m not entirely sure this house can handle rain, but I guess I’m about to find out. I move into the kitchen, switching on the fluorescent and shuffling the mess of paperwork into piles by subject. The harder I try to organize, the faster my heart beats. This isn’t only about Harper. This is about the hole in the world she left, and how her absence reverberates through everything, even my hands, shaking as I hold the evidence. The money, the signatures, her name—her goddamn handwriting, loopy and ridiculous, on every other line.
I’m halfway through circling another false cattle order when the front door slams open and Knox steps in, dripping wet, wild-eyed with a fury I can taste from all the way over here. He’s soaked—his jacket, black tee, even his boots squelch. His hair, usually well put together in a messy kind of way, is stuck to his forehead, making him look so dark and dangerous, I have to swallow. There’s a bottle dangling from his hand, bourbon, almost empty.
“You’re here,” he rasps, like it’s a threat.
“Where the hell else would I be?” I mutter.
He advances on me, every inch of him vibrating, and when he’s close, I see that his eyes are glassy and his jaw is so tight the muscles bunch in his cheek. He smells like rain and whiskey, the heady mix making my entire body flinch, then soften.
His eyes move to all the papers.
“For fuck’s sake, Callie. What the hell are you doing? She wasn’t part of this, you need to back off.”
Oh, how wrong he is.
I laugh bitterly and wave my hands over the papers. “You’re wrong. So wrong. Harper’s signature is all over these, proof that she was involved. She was cleaning money for Ralston, she was running his dirty business through the farm. Don’t believe me, it’s all here.”
He reacts like I’ve slapped him—he recoils, fists clenched around the neck of the bottle. “Bullshit.”
“Look at it, then.” I shove the paperwork at him, and he bats it aside. Pages flutter to the floor and scatter.
Anger bubbles in my chest.
I get it, he doesn’t want to think his precious Harper was lying to him, but she was, and now it’s coming back on me.
“Don’t.” His voice is a threat, low and sharp, but I’m not scared, not really. Maybe I should be.
“What? Tell you the truth? You can deny it all you want, but the proof is right here.”
He looks at me, searching for something. I don’t know what he’s hoping to find, but as he steps towards me, tossing the bottle to the ground and caging me in against the kitchen counter, I forget where I am. I hold my breath, staring at his drunk face, still so handsome it hurts.
“Why would she do that?” His words are jagged. “Why would she work for them?”
I wish I knew.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. I know you’re angry, she didn’t just lie to you, she lied to all of us.”
A laugh, bitter. “Wouldn’t be the first time a girl did that.”
I glare at him. “Oh, because men have never lied.”
“Fuck you.”
I bare my teeth at him. “Fuck you too. You can be angry at me all you want, but she’s the one who lied, and she’s the one who got me into this mess. So go on, take it out on me, refuse to admit what’s right in front of you. I’m done with people like you.”
I shove at his chest, but it does nothing.
He moves, so fast I don’t see it coming. One hand tangles in my hair, the other grabs my jaw rough enough to hurt. His mouth crushes mine, all teeth and whiskey and pent-up frustration. It’s angry, desperate, and I open to him because I don’t know what else to do. My hands fist in his shirt, dragging him closer, and for one perfect, terrifying second, I forget everything.
He’s wet, he’s hard, and I can’t seem to make myself pull away.
He tastes like salt and bourbon and something all his. His tongue dances against mine, and I want to bite him, draw blood, make him feel something that isn’t pain. He must sense it because he softens, just a fraction, his lips gliding over mine insuch a way I forget how to breathe. I gasp, and he laughs into my mouth, a low vibration that drives me insane. There’s nothing gentle in the way he presses me to the counter, nothing sweet about the way his fingers dig into my hip. But I know this is what he wants—me, angry, alive, fighting him every inch.
And fuck me, I want it too.
But I’m too proud, too raw, too wrecked to let him use me to cover up his own heartbreak and betrayal. He is in love with Harper. She might not be here, but she belonged to him, and he just found out she lied. I break the kiss, shoving him back with both hands, chests heaving and eyes blazing.
