Chapter Thirteen #3
“It’s a fact,” he tells me. Then, as if muttering to himself, “Still don’t know why that’s your favorite book though.”
I keep my eyes on him for a few seconds more, as if by doing that I’ll learn all his secrets and solve the mystery he is. Not that I want to know him, but I think I need to. Keep your friends close but your enemies closer. Isn’t that what they say?
I’m trying to get away from him. Shouldn’t I know about any potential weaknesses or vulnerabilities that I can use against him? Like the fact that I now know where he keeps his knife.
Tucked in his boot.
I’ve been watching him retrieve it to chisel the twigs and fallen branches in order to make the firepit; to cut the rope to get the saddlebags down; even to skewer the meat while cooking. Every time he’s done using it, he puts it back in. I can see it even now. The black handle peeking out the top.
I’ve never used a knife before, and I don’t know how I’ll react if I do need to use it. Either on him or those wild animals he was talking about. All I know is that I have to try. I have to get away from him, and I need a weapon for my protection.
And all the information I can gather.
“So,” I begin, breathing in, “where’d you learn to cook like this?”
He keeps looking at me for a few seconds, his eyes roving over my features. As if he’s mulling something over. Just when I think I won’t be able to take his scrutiny any longer and he’s probably never going to answer me anyway, he speaks, surprising the hell out of me.
“My folks died when I was twelve. And my younger brother only wanted to eat applesauce like our ma used to make it. Since my older brother took over the ranch and our cook couldn’t get it right no matter how hard she tried, I was the only one left.
” His lips tip up but there’s no humor in his tiny smile as he continues, “Apparently, Ma used to put a pinch of cloves in it and for some goddamn reason, no one could figure it out except me. Everyone kept puttin’ cinnamon in it and Ax kept throwin’ away the bowl.
So I guess I learned cooking a long time ago. ”
I try to swallow, but something feels stuck in my throat.
I didn’t know about that. I mean, I knew about the Grayson family.
I knew there are three Grayson brothers and that the oldest is the head of the family.
Which means their parents must have passed.
I think they died in a car accident, now that I recall.
But I never thought of it in these terms. In the terms of three boys losing their parents when they were really nothing more than boys.
Three boys learning to live their lives again.
Twelve years old is too young to be doing something like that; I know. I was doing something similar: cooking and cleaning up, bandaging my mother’s wounds, trying to disappear the rest of the time.
“I didn’t know,” I say lamely.
His eyes had moved over to the fire, but now they come back to me. “Now you do.”
I lick my lips. “I always…”
He watches me do it before taking a deep breath and asking, “You always what?”
I blush and squirm in my seat. “All I’ve heard are horror stories. About the Graysons. About how all Graysons are criminals. How they’ll do anything to take our land. Steal, cheat.” I swallow. “Kill.”
He keeps his gaze locked on me. Unblinking and intense. I wish he’d look away, though. Just so I’ll have some reprieve. But I don’t think he’s going to give me that mercy.
“All true,” he murmurs at last.
“But the Turners would do that too,” I jump to say.
They would.
It’s not one-sided; I know they’re not the good guys. I knew it when I was living with them, and I know it now that I haven’t been to Black Rock in years. I want nothing to do with that place anymore. A place made of land wars and family feuds and abusive fathers.
“What’s your point?” he asks, breaking into my thoughts.
I have absolutely no idea what my point is. Except that I don’t think the Graysons are as monstrous as I’ve made them out to be.
Which is a ridiculous and dangerous line of thought. I cannot think this way. I cannot warm up to them. I don’t even know them other than what I’ve been told all my life. I don’t want to know them. Or humanize them. Besides, shouldn’t it be the other way around? I’m the captive.
“What’s your younger brother’s name?” I ask, cursing at myself because didn’t I just decide to not do this anymore?
Before I can take back my question, he replies, “Axton.”
“How old is he?”
“Just turned eighteen.”
“And your older brother is Marsden, right?”
“Right.”
“How old is he?”
“Forty.”
“How old are you?”
“This twenty questions?”
“No, this is me getting to know the family I was forcibly married into,” I say with my eyebrows raised. Although, inside, I’m still going What the fuck.
He keeps watching me as he throws back, “Old enough to say this is past your bedtime so you should go to sleep. We’ve got an early day tomorrow.”
“But I thought you wanted me to have an adventure,” I retort, pasting a sweet smile on my face.
Which he takes in before something passes over his features and he takes a deep breath. “I did, didn’t I.”
“Yup,” I reply, popping the p at the end. “So then—”
“So then,” he cuts me off and repeats my words. “How about you tell me a little about your family?”
I pause. Then, “What?”
“We’re married, aren’t we?” he says, his lips turning up a bit, but again, I don’t think there’s any humor in it. “So I should get to know them too.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You already know everything about them.”
He nods his head slowly, accepting my words. “So then how about I get to know your best friend?”
This time my voice is higher and squeakier. “What?”
“Does she suck at sociology too?”
“I don’t… What?”
“What about adventure?”
“What about it?”
“Does she like adventure or is she boring like you?”
“I’m not boring.”
“Boring. Careful. Same thing.”
“It’s—”
“Bet she’s never read a book in her life.”
“Are you implying my best friend is illiterate?”
“No. I’m implyin’ your best friend knows how to have fun.”
I don’t know where he’s going with this. Or why it would even enter his brain to talk about my best friend. But I know that I need to venture carefully. Very, very carefully. I can’t show fear. I can’t raise suspicion.
“You know,” I begin sweetly, even though I’m sort of quaking on the inside, “if you keep talking about my best friend, I’m going to take offense. We’re married, remember?”
His dark eyes glitter. “And if you take offense, I’m gonna assume you’re jealous. Like you were about the stripper.”
I scoff. “I was not jealous about the stripper.”
“No?”
“No,” I say sternly. “You can do whatever you want with whomever you want.”
His lips pull up in a slight smirk. “That your wedding vow?”
My heart races. “No, it’s me saying: I don’t care about what you do because I’m running away the first chance I get.”
“You’ve got nowhere to run, remember?” he taunts, his words dripping danger.
I do. There are woods everywhere, and again, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to make my way out of this place. But just like stealing the knife, I need to try.
“Well, I’d rather take my chances with the wild animals than stick by the side of a man who’s hell-bent on using me for his revenge plans.” I pause and then add, “Plans that, by the way, I don’t even know about. Like, what the hell do you want me for specifically?”
This makes him draw a breath, his chest swelling up and down. “Why don’t you let me worry about that part?”
Clutching the fork, I frown at him. “Are you listening to yourself? I’m involved in this too. You got me involved. Without my say-so. You ruined my future for this. I think I have a right to know.”
He clenches his jaw for a second or two before clipping, “Future.”
“Yes,” I insist. “Did you think about that for even a second, how this affects me? You know what I want to do with my life, don’t you?
I told you. I told you when I’ve never, not once, told anyone.
You know I want to work with domestic violence victims because of my history.
I was going to volunteer at the shelters this summer.
That’s why I wasn’t doing a shift at the library. You know all this and you still—”
“You can still do that,” he cuts me off.
“What?”
“Not gonna keep you tied to my bed, if you cooperate,” he says, his nostrils flaring. “You wanna volunteer at the shelter, be my guest.”
“This is your solution? Keep me married to you until you get your revenge and in the meantime, I go fulfill my dreams?”
“Isn’t that what you wanted?”
He throws that at me so casually and in such a calm voice that mine goes up. “What I wanted was to not be here, okay? What I wanted was to not be lied to and kidnapped and forced to marry a criminal, to not be used for your revenge. What about love?”
Something about him goes unnaturally still at this.
I can see his chest moving with his breaths.
I can also see his jaw pulsing. Those flames are still dancing in his dark eyes, but something about him, within him, around him, has gone still.
Maybe the night air. Maybe the earth has stopped moving.
Again, all I know is that I feel this change in him and I’m forced to go still too.
Then, with a harsh clench of his jaw that I feel in my own teeth, he goes, “What about love?”
“I”—I swallow—“want it.”
I loved you.
I don’t know where that thought comes from. Although, it shouldn’t be a surprise because it is the truth.
His eyes narrow. “Thought you said you didn’t wanna be like your mother.”
I wince. “I don’t.”
He watches me for a beat. “So this is perfect, ain’t it?”
“What’s perfect?”
“There’s no chance in hell you’re ever gonna fall in love with a criminal.”
I already did. Once.
But I keep my mouth shut and my spine straight under the massive ache in my chest and belly that’s begging me to curl into myself.
“Because love’s worse than any wild animal in these woods,” he continues. “A wolf would kill you but love’s the kind of animal that’ll eat you up but won’t let you die. It’ll keep you alive and in pain for the rest of your life.”