Page 91 of Westin

He’ll do something terrible, I know it.

CHAPTER THIRTY

WESTIN

It feels like I’ll be stuck like this forever, sitting up all night with the branches of the oak outside my window blurry in my vision. It was risky bringing her to Sovereign Mountain. I don’t regret the sex, but I’m ashamed of putting her in potential danger.

I had no business bringing her back to my bed.

So, I stay back, waiting out every agonizing second until Thomas Garrison is gone. The only solace I find in our separation is that at least she’s safe, even if it is in another man’s house.

The ranch is quiet for a few days in late fall. Sovereign took Keira to the hunting cabin to round up a few stray horses that escaped during the barn fire at her old farm. Jensen is busy doing construction work in South Platte. I don’t have anything to occupy my mind, so I start drinking again.

Not heavily, just a shot when I get in from chores. Then another, maybe two, before I can close my eyes.

It’s evening when someone knocks on my door. I’m halfway undressed, but I go and pull it open.

Keira stands outside. Hastily, I button my shirt, mind turning.

Something is wrong, I can feel it. It curls in on the cold wind swirling around her body. It smells like…death. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

“What are you doing here?” I murmur, leaning past her to look for Sovereign.

“Gerard left,” she whispers.

Her pale, freckled face is blotchy. I don’t spend much time with Keira—when she’s not up in her room at the ranch house, she’s out with the horses or Sovereign—but I know her well enough to see she’s been crying hard.

“Okay?” I press.

Her lip quivers. “I was going through a box of Clint’s things. There was a black card with a silver dog on it, and…he got really quiet when he saw it and left.”

My brows reach my hairline.

Jack fucking Russell.

I snag her elbow and pull her into the gatehouse, shutting the door. She stands in the kitchen, looking so lost that it hurts my chest. When she turns to sit at the table, her hair falls back. My eyes drop to the discreet necklace at the base of her throat. Sovereign put a collar on her.

We stare at each other. I gesture, unsure how to respond. We barely know each other, but for some reason, she came to me for help.

“You want something?” I ask.

“Whiskey,” she whispers, voice fragile.

I pour two glasses and sit opposite her. Her eyes are huge, her fingers barely gripping her glass. Her jaw shakes as she takes a drink. Then, she looks at me and, God, I hate myself and I hate Sovereign in this moment. She doesn’t deserve all this heartache. Neither does Diane.

“What did the card mean?” she asks.

“That’s Jack Russell’s calling card,” I say.

If Sovereign wants to keep secrets from her, maybe he should have been here tonight. I’m no good when it comes to crying women. I can’t refuse her the truth when she has tears rolling down her face.

“Who’s Jack Russell?”

“A hitman,” I say flatly.

Her chin trembles. Her eyes are like saucers. “Like…an assassin?”

I nod. “Just like that. When you hire Jack to take someone out, he gives you a calling card. When the job’s done, he brings a finger, maybe a tooth, as a receipt. Then, he takes the calling card back.”

---