Page 28 of Bitter Rival

Normally, running clears my head and frees me from distractions but not today.

The more I learn about Daisy, the more certain I am that my father is laughing at me from the grave.

If he wanted to punish me further, he couldn’t have found a better way than to force me to be in close proximity with Daisy Fucking Larsson.

As I run, my feet pounding the gravel road and the pale morning sunshine filtering through the leafy branches, I keep trying to remind myself of all the reasons why I should hate her. But my mind keeps reverting to all the reasons I shouldn’t.

Those damn duffel bags on the curb.

The look on her face when I sat across from her at that burger joint and she told me her mother left.

At barely seventeen, Daisy was out there on her own fending for herself with some shirtless asshole.

Driving across the country in a beat-up junker that looked as if it wouldn’t make it to the next gas station let alone across the desert.

Would you take a bullet for me, baby?

Even as a little girl, Daisy was only ever looking for one thing, the one thing her mother wasn’t capable of giving. Love.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Daisy

It’s almost midnight when I creep into the house, avoiding the floorboards that creak so I won’t wake Beckett.

I feel like a kid sneaking in after curfew. Not that I ever had a curfew or a concerned parent waiting up for me. I pretty much raised myself with varying degrees of success.

The house is dark and quiet, and judging by the absence of the Aston Martin in the driveway, Grayson and the others have gone back to the city.

After I woke up on the terrace earlier, Grayson invited me to join them for lunch but one look at Beckett’s face had me declining the invitation.

I didn’t relish the idea of being the fifth wheel either, so I drove up the coast and did a self-portrait session with the towering redwoods and rugged cliffs surrounding the beach as my backdrop.

Now I’m tired and windblown, and all I want to do is climb into that hot tub.

I flick the switch in the hallway, strip down to my bra and underwear and drop my clothes on a lounger on the terrace, then dart around the side of the house and follow the stone-paved path through the woods.

I’m not used to how dark it gets out here without the neon signs and streetlights but after a few minutes, my eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and there’s enough silvery light from the moon to guide my way.

Leafy branches rustle in the breeze and the air is scented with fir and cedar and loamy earth. Pine needles from the giant conifers litter the path and cling to the soles of my feet.

I have no idea why Beckett chose to set up a hot tub this far from the house, but he likes to make everything more difficult than it needs to be.

An owl hoots in the distance and I jump, slapping my hand over my mouth to stop the scream.

I laugh at myself. It’s just an owl.

A branch snaps underfoot, but it wasn’t my foot. I freeze in my tracks, heart pounding in my throat, and run through a mental inventory of the wild animals that live in this neck of the woods and how dangerous they might be.

Another footfall sounds behind me, and goosebumps raise all the hairs on my arms.

I spin around and collide with something hard. This time I scream. A high-pitched scream that scares all the birds from the trees and echoes through the woods.

Amidst the frenzy of wings flapping and my pulse beating triple time, a low, raspy voice cuts through the chaos. “Jesus. Calm down. Are you trying to split my eardrums?”

I take a few rapid, shallow breaths, and when my heart rate returns to normal, I look up at Beckett. Not a wild animal, after all. Just the big bad wolf.

His face is cast in shadows, razor-sharp cheekbones more pronounced, and pale eyes gleam in the darkness.

---