Page 66 of Hitch
She glares at me. “Just stop.”
My world dissolves with that command, as if she’s torn out my organs with her bare hands. Reggie is determined to keep me out of this. To handle thisby herself.To refuse to let me help her with anything.
But that doesn’t mean I’lllether.
“Spend the night at the farm,” I say.
“Why?” she asks. “My tires were slashed. It’s not like my apartment was burglarized.”
The hint of spite in her tone unnerves me. Her apartment wasn’t burglarized, huh? I can change that. I can make it look like someone is after her. Make herneedmy protection, when the real danger is sleeping right beside her.
“You act like you have a choice,” I say.
“And I told you months ago that I am sick of men telling me what to do.”
The tension is thick in the air. Todd blows a puff of smoke, but Reggie and I glare at each other, our bodies full of anger. I bare my teeth, my fists curling at my side, and Reggie’s demeanor shifts in annoyance.
“Fine,” she mutters. She turns to Todd. “I guess I’m off to the farm with Mr. Farm Boy here.”
“You want me to take care of your car?” Todd asks. “I’ll bring it to Grainswept Fields.”
Reggie nods. “Let me know what I owe you.”
I get into the driver’s seat of my truck and Reggie slides in next to me. We’re silent as we go back to the farm, but once we’re there, I put my hand on her lower back as I escort her up to my room.
She sets her duffel bag down on my messy bed. The gray comforter is strewn halfway off of the mattress. I haven’t been doing much sleeping lately.
My phone vibrates.Bradenflashes on the screen. I check the message:I found another blackmail note.
God fucking damn it.
Reggie plops down into the rocking chair and it creaks underneath her. Her black hair rests on her shoulders, and I try to picture her writing those blackmail notes for the thousandth time. She’s capable of anything; why wouldn’t she blackmail us for more money and power?
But for some fucked up reason, I can’t put it together. If she’s doing it, it’s notheridea. Maybe Todd put her up to it. Or maybe Braden is pretending to be a paranoid little shit, when really, he’s the mastermind behind it. Who knows? Maybe it’s the goddamn Mortician. That fucker has been way too close to Reggie for my liking. I wouldn’t put it past him to get her to do something like that, especially if they both get paid.
But what if itisReggie?
My head is a mess, and I can’t pull apart who I should believe anymore. Hell—Braden isright.My dick has been thinking for me lately. And somehow, it’s convinced my heart to follow suit.
It’s goddamn irritating.
I pull out my pistol, the one Reggie stole from me and I took back. I stare at the engraving:Life Always Ends.
It seems fitting now. Someone’s life ought to end. This mess has been getting out of hand for far too long. It’s about time I handled it.
But even as I contemplate Reggie’s death, the idea of putting the pistol inherhands again wells inside of me, like a red light getting brighter and brighter, until it’s a blinding white all over. And I know, then, that I can’t kill her.
Reggie stares at me quizzically.
I wish I could tell her why I’m doing this, but all I know is that I’m doing what I have to do.
“You never know when you might need it,” I say, placing the pistol back in her palm. She holds the grip, then blinks at me.
“Are there bullets in it?” she asks.
I show her how to open the chamber, make sure the bullets are loaded, then I close it and place it back in her palms.
“You’re not staying here?” she asks.
