Nash: A Rough Romance Piper Stone (ebook reader for comics txt) 📖

Hell, no. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

“Get your other things. We’re leaving,” he said gruffly.

“Then what?”

“Then we’re going to talk. And…” Damn him for allowing the words to linger. “After that, you’re going to learn another lesson about not following the rules.”

“Rules. You don’t own me.”

Maybe a small part of me wanted him to deny that fact, to tell me once again that he owned me. It was obvious by his hesitation that he had no intention of doing that ever again.

“Nope,” he said in a subdued voice. “I don’t; however, a deal is a deal. I’ll continue to remind you of that until you finally get it. If that’s something you can do.”

As he walked away, a sense of dread as well as sadness swept through me.

And excitement.

And hunger.

I closed my eyes once again, fighting the insane urges pulsing through me. I had to let go of the ugly emotions. I had to find that strength I’d developed years before in order to survive.

Fuck everything.

I was on my own.

The house was even smaller than the cabin, although obviously built long after the house at the ranch. I couldn’t help but smile seeing the bearskin rug in front of the stone fireplace. The entire setting was cozy and romantic. I envisioned roaring fires and candles, bottles of cabernet and appetizers of shrimp and scallops.

As well as incredible nights of unbridled sex.

While I appreciated the setting, Reaper ignored the location as much as possible, barely acknowledging the kind offering during the truck ride. He’d remained almost completely silent, not once looking in my direction.

After helping carry in the groceries, I remained in the kitchen while Reaper went to find wood and build a fire. I’d never felt so out of place. While the generosity and kindness that we’d been offered was wonderful, I had no idea how to repay it.

I studied the two pictures that Bryce had positioned on the small desk in the corner of the room. Both highlighted a memorable event, their happy faces digging into my mind, creating a wave of discord. As I pulled the second picture into my hand, I realized I was tracing their faces, maybe in some wayward attempt to capture whatever moment they were sharing.

When I felt his presence, I found it difficult to look at him, even more uncertain of what to say.

“The sheriff thinks you’re a grifter.”

I certainly wasn’t expecting his statement. “What the hell does that mean?”

“That you’re lying, using my generosity.”

I was thrown, fighting the tears from forming. “Your generosity? I didn’t lie to you. Damn it. Why are you doing this? Why do you think that way after…”

“And why didn’t you call me?”

I had no good answer. “I guess I lost track of time around Caroline.”

“Uh-huh.”

I heard him grumbling as he walked further into the room, searching through the cabinets and finding two glasses. As he’d done before, he didn’t ask me what I’d like to drink, pulling the bottle of bourbon he’d purchased closer, twisting the top. I continued to stare at the pictures, brushing away the fallen tears, frustrated as hell with my reaction.

“Come into the living room,” he commanded, his usual dark inflection driving into the core of my being.

He’d taken both glasses with him, his long strides and the heavy thumping of his boots another reminder that I’d pissed him off.

Sighing, I followed, moving closer to the fledgling fire, sinking onto the rug. The silence between us kept my nerves on edge, my pulse skipping. A part of me wanted him to just get whatever punishment he was prepared to inflict over with. The apprehension was killing me.

“The sheriff has some connections in Chicago. She’s going to see what she can find out. Someone betrayed you.”

“The only person it could be is the DA,” I said softly. “He had the address. He told me point blank that no one was going to learn where he’d sent me. Unless he placed the information in some location where others had access, I don’t see any other way.”

“Only you know if that could be true.”

I snapped my head in his direction, weighing the options of what I wanted to say and what I should say. “I get why you don’t buy my story, but—”

“Because you haven’t told me everything. There’s a distinct reason that a man like Dante Giordani would target you, even utilizing several of his men. If he wasn’t convicted of the crime you witnessed, then your testimony no longer holds any merit.”

Sighing, every nerve stood on end. “Okay.”

“That means he still finds you a threat. While you’re beautiful as fuck, the kind of woman any man would want on their arm, the prick had other reasons for trying to get close to you that he deemed risk worthy. That’s what the real issue is, sweetheart.”

I wanted to rip his tough guy smirk off his face, but as usual, he’d read me far too well. How was I that transparent?

His interruption was more like a quiet bellow, the kind of voice that would stop anyone in their tracks. There was one more part to my story, although I wasn’t certain why it would matter in the first place. “Fine. You want to know the ugly truth? The job I accepted, upending my previous life was little more than grunt work in an accounting firm, but I had hopes to put in my time and possibly make partner. And I worked hard, asking for additional responsibilities when other employees made certain they left at five o’clock sharp. My boss was more than inclined to give me more and more work.”

“Go on. What does this have to do with Dante?”

“Dante was just another client with the people I worked for. Okay? He was nothing more than a name on a piece of paper, a tax return. It wasn’t my place to check out every client to ensure they weren’t criminals before I did my job!” My