Page 110 of Braving the Storm
It’s all your fault. It would have been her birthday if it wasn’t for what you did.
“The jet is booked to depart at seven this evening.” Antoine’s voice is cold, hard, and calculating when he interrupts my desolate thoughts. He makes a disapproving noise as he stops the video, leaving me feeling entirely violated and with my head spinning that he’s had access to my phone this entire time.
“I’m not leaving.” My voice barely manages a shaky whisper.
“Briar, you’ve always been so pathetic, when are you going to get it through your head that there are more important things than what you want?” Cris skewers me right through the heart, as always.
“No, I'm not going anywhere with you.”
“Yes, you are.” Antoine gets up and braces himself to lean over me; with one hand on the back of my chair, he drops his mouth close to my ear, which puts his cloying fragrance over me like a gag. “I guarantee you I’ve already got a lineup of your father’s old maids and cleaners who are all prepared to give statements that they saw your uncle going into your bedroom when you were a minor. They’ll go on record to say they found pregnancy tests in your bathroom trash while you were still underage. I’ll have doctors who will say they helped you two cover up the fact he committed assault.”
I’m shaking as the man carries on, eerily calm and deathly assured of his success.
“You think the negative publicity was bad when rumors flew that he played a hand in his wife’s death? Just wait ‘til I leak it to every news outlet that former pro rodeo star Stôrmand Lane was fucking histeenage niece.”
Antoine taps his phone screen, bringing up the still frame from when he paused the video a moment ago, the shot clearly showing inked fingers in my hair, S.T.O.R.M tattooed on his knuckles, and the side of my breast.
“Welcome to the patriarchy, you little whore. Something you should remember is that Montgomery’s will always win.”
I don’t know if I can think, or speak, or feel my extremities. Every part of me is numb and hopelessly broken in the space of a few short seconds.
I came in here with a plan, and these two lecherous creatures torpedoed that within a second.
How did I ever think I could escape their bullying, cruel existence?
“You’ve got until the time we’re due to take off. Go pack your shit and say goodbye to your stupid horsey friends… and don’t forget, if you even think about not getting on that jet tonight, everything I need to destroy that man is right here, ready to send with one click.”
He shoves the phone under my nose once more, and while it’s almost impossible to focus on the blur of text on the screen, I see enough.
Flashes of words and phrases of his pre-prepared media release. Gross violations of Storm’s personal life, none of which matters because he’s not interested in the truth. He’s interested in a character assassination, and this man sits in control of the media narrative like a spoiled emperor child.
All of the evil untruths are there, along with screenshots from the video, ready to be distributed with one tap.
Just like he’s got me pinned beneath that bony, pale thumb of his once more.
Chapter 38
Over the sharp, repetitive banging of nails being driven into wood, I hear a car pull up outside the barn. If it isn’t horseshoes I’m nailing into place, then I’m busy doing this kind of work that always seems to be in high demand around the various ranches that populate Crimson Ridge. Either way, for someone who spent half his life flung around on the back of a bull and thought that would be my entire career, I now spend a lot of my time with a hammer in my fist.
A smile tugs at my lips where I’ve got three final nails to finish securing this plank tucked in my mouth. The sharp tang of metal coats my tongue, and the faint scent of stored hay fills the air.
My eyes drift up to the open doorway of the empty space as I pluck one nail out and pinch my lips together to hold the others in place. Briar knows I’m working out here, or at least she’ll pretty quickly figure it out by following the sound of hammering.
I set to work, driving these last nails home, and by the time I’ve secured the third in place, her footsteps scuff and catch my attention.
Without fail, she always steals my attention.
Even in the short amount of time since this morning when I haven’t had her with me, nearly every thought has been full ofBriar. How much I’ve fallen for her, wondering how best to convince this girl to stay with me, they’ve rolled around on repeat inside my brain.
Does Briar want to be with me? Does she wantthislife?
Putting all bullshit complications about what others might perceive of us being together to one side—because absolutely none of that matters to me in the slightest—does this girl have any idea how badly I want her to stay?
Our lives are already entangled, just like our clothes in the bedroom we share, the way our bodies find the ability to at any given opportunity, and all I can think is that she belongs in my life.
I’ve never had a reason to grow attached to anyone, and now I can’t imagine my days without her laughter, her sharp quips, her soft palm finding its home wrapped up in mine when it’s just the two of us.
All of that chaos crumbles into insignificance as she draws nearer.
