Page 89 of Westin

I freeze.

He spits, and I flinch. I just washed this floor.

“I saw you when you were in eighth grade and I fell in love with you,” he says, fighting not to slur his words. “You’re lucky it was me who got you. My brother would have torn you apart. You’d have deserved it, fucking bitch.”

All my sympathy dissipates. He doesn’t love me. He wants to own me just so he can crush me slowly. I’ve seen what men like him do to women like me.

He’ll keep me in hell just to say he got what he wanted.

A fly buzzes on the screen. He sways, and the floorboards creak.

“I don’t love you, Thomas,” I whisper.

He blows out a breath from between his teeth. “Why? Because I’m not Westin fucking Quinn from Sovereign Mountain? Because I’m not a piece of criminal trash?”

I can’t speak.

“I know it’s him. Someone saw you two going up to Sovereign Mountain.”

I swallow past my dry throat. Whoever that person was, they’d better die quickly before Westin finds them.

“No,” I whisper. “I don’t love you because you beat me.”

He tries to speak, but he stumbles over his words. It doesn’t really matter what he has to say. It’s what he did that made all the difference.

In the last three days, I’ve become a different woman. The little bit of pity I had for Thomas and his weakness is gone.

There are some transgressions that can never be forgiven.

Thomas takes a step closer.

“Stay back,” I whisper.

For a second, I can’t tell if he’s going to hit me again or burst into tears. I’m past the point where his tears would have any effect on me. Luckily, he pulls it together and clears his throat.

There’s a painfully long silence.

“Fuck you,” he says flatly.

I want to say that right back, but I know better. He hits the countertop, hard enough that it shudders. I flinch, drawing back.

“Please,” he snaps. “You’re not hurt, and you never were.”

He seems to have sobered up a little, because when he stomps back to his office, his steps clip evenly. The door slams, and my heart is the only sound in the empty kitchen.

Until another car door shuts outside. Boots crunch in the driveway, but no one comes inside. My pulse races. I’m raw from fear, from the bruises on my ribs. I listen to my blood pump through my veins. In the distance, the cattle low. A nightbird cries over the field.

On my bare feet, I move down the hall. I should go to Thomas and tell him someone is here, but I’m too afraid to ask for his help.

Maybe whatever is outside isn’t as bad as what’s inside.

I lean against the wall and crack the door. The porch light casts a golden glow over the walkway leading up to the house. Avery stands with his hat pulled low over his face. He’s dragging on a cigarette. The smoke moves in a lazy trail from his lips.

I draw back, but his gaze flicks up. His steel eyes glint in the dark.

“Come here,” he says.

I can’t move.

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