Page 18 of Brutal Heir

“Hush.” His voice is gentler than I’ve ever heard it when directed at me.

He turns around, and I brace myself against his broad back so I’m not just dangling here. He opens the driver’s side door and gently lowers me onto his seat. It’s the most thoughtful thing he’s ever done.

I lose all strength in my extremities as adrenaline rushes through me.

“You’re okay now.” He nods, as if to assure me everything’s fine. “If you’re gonna throw up, aim for the floorboard. Don’t open the door.”

I shut my eyes, utterly embarrassed at what just happened. “I won’t,” I manage to croak, shaking my head.

“Good girl.”

Good grief. He didn’t just try to praise me for not throwing up, did he?

“Let me go check the dozer then we’re outta here.”

He closes the door, making sure I’m secured inside the truck. While I sit here, my heart racing and my body stilltrembling with fear, he continues on to finish the job. He pauses, taking another look at where the snake should be, then keeps walking. Meanwhile, I can barely find the strength to drag myself over to the passenger seat.

You don’t belong here.

After a few minutes, Ezequiel comes back to the truck, his expression stoic, unreadable. He climbs into the driver’s seat and starts the engine, the sound filling the cab of the truck. We drive down the dirt road, back toward the hanger.

I’m still shaken, my hands trembling in my lap. I’m embarrassed that I let my fear get the best of me. Worse still, I had to be rescued by him. At the same time, I’m grateful to him for being there, for protecting me from danger.

We drive in silence for a while, the only sound the rumble of the truck. He doesn’t even put music on.

I’m lost in my thought, trying to figure out what to do now that he’s been proven right. We’re finally within sight of the hangar. I gather up my courage and say what has to be said.

Chapter 9

Ezequiel

“Ezequiel,” she says, breaking the silence that had descended upon us. I glance over at her for a second then turn my attention back to the road. “Thank you,” she whispers.

I’m not in the mood for gratitude from her or anyone else. I have enough on my mind already. I keep my eyes on the road and my thoughts to myself. But she seems to need to say more.

She takes a deep breath. “I thought I could handle it,” she says, her voice trembling. Every word she utters seems to cause her physical pain. “I’m not some fragile flower that needs protecting. I can take care of myself, normally,” she adds in a rush. “But you’re right…I don’t belong out here.”

What the hell is she talking about? I never said she didn’t belong here. But before I can even open my mouth, she continues, “I’ll turn in my resignation when Bill’s back in the office on Monday.”

Oh hell. I clench my jaw. She’s taken my words and run off with them, totally missing the point I was trying to make.

“I know you’re not a fragile flower.” I keep my eyes fixed on the road so I don’t lose my cool. “But that doesn’t mean you won’t get hurt out here. You aren’t careful. You charge ahead without looking or listening.”

“I heard you loud and clear,” she bites out. “You don’t want me here.”

“Enough.” I slam on the brakes, and the truck jerks to a stop. I turn to her then, looking her in the eye, while I set her ass straight.

“I never said you didn’t belong out here, Sage,” I say, keeping my voice as even as I can manage.

“You did,” she retorts, clearly not wanting to back down.

I let out an exasperated breath. “What did I say to you?” I ask, defensively.

“You said I don’t belong here,” she answers, her voice rising.

“No.” I shake my head, trying to remain calm.

Her eyebrows shoot up. “I’ve had those words echoing in my head since they came out of your mouth, Ezequiel. You said you thought I don’t belong here.”

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