Page 107 of With This Kiss
I closed my mouth.
So he wasn’t in the mood to talk. That was okay. I could give him some silence.
Or at least, I thought I could, but halfway into the drive, the silence felt like it was crushing me, pressing in on me from inside the car, and suddenly, it was just too much.
“I just wanted to see my dad,” I said. “I… I wanted to see if I could figure out why Caine was doing this.”
“And did you?” he asked. His tone told me he already knew the answer. That he already knew it was a bad idea to have even come in the first place.
I crossed my arms over my chest and looked out the window. “You don’t understand. I don’t even understand it myself.”
“So you decided the best thing to do was to put yourself in danger?”
“I wasn’t?—”
“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t tell me you didn’t because now you got the attention ofbothmy dad and Eric fucking Murphy.”
“Why is Eric Murphy important?”
He didn’t answer me. His fists were wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, as if trying to control himself.
“How did you even find me?” I asked. I hadn’t told him where I was. There was no reason he should have come here, of all places, to look for me.
He didn’t answer me. I poked him in the arm. “Reign.”
Still nothing.
I slapped his arm. “Answer me, dammit. Stop ignoring me. I don’t like this!”
I was so sick of everyone not telling me anything.
And with everyone just switching the rules around on me, so much so, I was starting to question whether or not I really knew them at all.
Reign was supposed to be different, but this fucking silent treatment was killing me.
“I have you tracked,” Reign said, his voice controlled, and his eyes fixed ahead.
I hadn’t really expected him to answer me, even if that was what I had yelled for, so it took a second for his words to register.
“Track… how?” I asked, taking him in.
“Your phone. And all your shoes have a tracking chip inside them. And as soon as I can get my hands on it, some jewelry.”
He said it so matter-of-factly, as if he didn’t see anything wrong with it, so it took me a moment to respond.
“Are you serious?” I asked.
He wasn’t serious, was he? There was no fucking way this was true.
“Why wouldn’t I be serious?”
“Pull the car over,” I demanded.
“What?”
“Pull over, or I’m jumping out of this fucking car, whether it’s moving or not, you bastard!” I yelled. I reached for the door handle, and he let out a small curse before signaling right and pulling the car off the road. We came to a stop at a nearly vacant lot. He left the engine running but turned toward me.
I was fuming.
